Dying Is Not an Option—Tell That to My System!

Hong Xian tried to calm him down, but it was no use.

Lu Chunhe was losing his mind.

"Calm down, calm down? How the hell am I supposed to calm down?! I—I just overdosed a dying man! He's gonna die! I'm gonna die! Everything's gonna die!"

Big D barked anxiously, circling his master as if trying to shake him from his panic. But Lu Chunhe barely noticed. His hands shook, his breath came in sharp bursts, and his mind was a chaotic storm. The system's punishment kept flashing in his head like lightning.

Three days of unbearable torture.

He wasn't afraid of pain. He wasn't afraid of hunger. He had clawed his way through worse. But this? This was humiliation incarnate.

A man could lose his life, but not his dignity!

"I'll go insane," he muttered, gripping Hong Xian's shoulders. "Don't let anyone near me for the next three days. No one! Do you hear me? No one!"

Before Hong Xian could respond, Lu Chunhe dashed to his hut. He slammed the door, nailed it shut, and grabbed everything he could find—belts, ropes, torn cloth—tying himself up like a damned mummy. He wrapped layer after layer, so tight that even if he thrashed, he wouldn't be able to move.

And then....

"AHHHHHH—!!"

Screams of agony tore through the village.

At first, the villagers were concerned. Big D scratched at the door, whining pitifully. Hong Xian paced outside, his brow furrowed.

"He's suffering," one of the farmers said grimly. "Should we—should we help?"

But then, the screams changed.

"AHH—AHH—OOH—UHH—EEHH—"

The villagers exchanged glances.

"Why does it...sound like that?"

The screams continued, shifting from pure agony to something entirely different.

"IT HURTS! IT HURTS! OH GOD—AHH! DAMN IT! AHHH!"

The women turned away, faces red. The men coughed awkwardly. The elders shook their heads knowingly.

The children, however, couldn't stop laughing.

"HAHAHAHA! What's wrong with Uncle Chunhe? Why's he screaming like that?"

Their small bodies shook with mirth, tumbling over as they clutched their stomachs.

Inside the hut, Lu Chunhe was a mess. His mind swirled with confusion and fever. His body burned from the inside out—a twisted fire crawling beneath his skin. His muscles tensed, his mind spiraled out of control. The room seemed to shrink around him.

He felt like he was drowning in his own heat.

 This wasn't some discomfort—this was madness-inducing heat that stripped away all rationality, leaving only primal torment behind.

"It hurts... it hurts... please... make it stop..."

Three days. Three nights.

The village, at first worried, soon adjusted. By the second day, they had grown numb to the sounds. By the third, they simply ignored them.

Then, on the morning of the fourth day, all was silent.

Too silent.

Hong Xian hesitated outside the hut. "Should we check?"

Big D let out a whimper, his tail flicking anxiously. The villagers, for all their nonchalance, were still human—concern flickered in their gazes.

Summoning his courage, Hong Xian pushed open the door.

And then...

Silence.

The villagers stared.

There, hanging from the ceiling, wrapped so tightly in cloth that only his face was visible, was Lu Chunhe.

His expression was blank, eyes half-lidded.

He looked...enlightened. As if he had transcended mortal suffering and achieved some profound, otherworldly realization.

One of the children pointed at him.

"Uncle Chunhe looks like a—like a BUG! HAHAHAHA!"

Laughter erupted. The village, which had once been on edge due to the massacre by the river, suddenly found themselves crying tears of mirth.

And just like that, they forgot about the corpses, the danger looming on the horizon.

Because for the past three days, nothing was more terrifying than the sounds coming from Lu Chunhe's hut.