She probably hadn't slept in a bed with anyone else in life. She tossed and turned several times, feeling uncomfortable. On top of that, she was wrapped too tightly in the quilt and was getting hot.
Since lying down, Wei Xunzhou hadn't moved at all. If not for the silence that allowed her to hear his breathing, Di Yao would have thought he had disappeared.
Wait, strictly speaking, Wei Xunzhou had indeed disappeared. Now, the one lying beside Di Yao was merely a ghost. Ghosts only dissipate; they don't have physical bodies.
Di Yao lay on her side, watching Wei Xunzhou's sleeping face. Her mind was very active, and she felt no drowsiness at all.
Wei Xunzhou slept very properly. The blue quilt was pressed under his arm. If there had been a black quilt in the house, Di Yao would definitely have been startled if she rolled over in the middle of the night.
Di Yao noticed his high nose bridge and long eyelashes. The hair scattered beside him softened his usually sharp features, revealing a hint of fatigue and a faint, sickly air.
"Can ghosts get sick?" Di Yao thought, remembering how Wei Xunzhou always wore a cloak when going out and how pale his lips were. She frowned slightly.
If he was sick, he would need medicine. But Ning Shuhe had said there was no food or drink here. What could be done? And how could she reincarnate early?
Annoyed, Di Yao forgot her restraint. She stretched her hands and feet out from under the quilt. Still feeling uncomfortable, she lifted one leg and draped it over the quilt. She tried to be quiet, but her elbow knocked the pillow that served as a barrier, pushing it quite a bit towards Wei Xunzhou and even bumping his arm.
Alarm bells rang in Di Yao's heart. She held her breath and listened for any movement beside her. When she was sure she hadn't woken Wei Xunzhou, she reached out, grabbed the pillow, and hugged it to her chest.
Somehow, after hugging the pillow, Di Yao felt much more at ease. She didn't mind that it was hard; she only felt comfort and peace.
Although her memories were gone, her body remembered.
Di Yao fell asleep holding the pillow.
...
Di Yao woke up naturally, opened her eyes, and stretched while lying flat.
Wei Xunzhou had gotten up at some point and folded the quilt. The surface of the mattress beside her was still cool.
Di Yao threw off the quilt and got out of bed, nudging off the pillow she had been hugging. Memories of the night before flooded back, making her feel a bit guilty.
"He shouldn't know that I deliberately destroyed that 'boundary line,' right? Definitely not. I'll just say I'm a messy sleeper."
She didn't know what time it was. Di Yao walked barefoot to the window and looked at the sky in the Underworld. It was indeed brighter than last night and more visible, but it could hardly be called daytime—at most, it was a "green sky."
Despite its strangeness, the scenery of the Underworld did have a unique charm.
Di Yao stood in her yard, looking around at the neighboring houses. Each yard varied in size, some with simple huts, others with luxurious homes.
"Shouldn't the residences in Wrongful Death City be allocated equally? At least they should be uniform, so they'd be pleasing to the eye. Why are they of such varying quality? Doesn't anyone complain? Or is housing purely based on luck?"
Di Yao put her hands on her hips and looked around her own house with satisfaction. Their house was one of the best in the vicinity.
Wei Xunzhou was nowhere to be seen. Di Yao tidied up and left the house. She walked along the path, looking around, and roughly familiarized herself with the nearby roads.
About half of the houses here were empty, as the plaques outside the yards had no names. Occasionally, Di Yao witnessed the blank plaques automatically displaying names.
In theory, there were quite a few ghosts living here, but she encountered very few on the road, making the surroundings feel desolate.
When Di Yao finally ran into a few pedestrians with leisurely expressions, she quickly approached them to ask about the situation.
It turned out that residences in Wrongful Death City were automatically allocated based on the specifications of the owner's coffin and burial goods in life. If someone had been casually buried, they might only get an empty yard without even a place to lie down. Moreover, it was forbidden to stay elsewhere without permission, or punishment would be meted out.
Hearing this explanation, it made sense.
"It seems my husband and I were quite well-off in life," Di Yao thought.
She was about to thank the kind pedestrian when she looked up and saw a purple-faced man hanging from the beam of a thatched house with a missing door not far away.
Author's note:
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I don't know why this chapter has such high click-through. I've thought about it for a long time and still haven't figured it out, but I suddenly noticed a problem:
Originally, I wanted to use the word "界线" (boundary line) for the title, but I didn't think carefully and used the first one that appeared in my input method, "界限" (boundary). Upon reflection, "界限" and "界线" have similar meanings but are different; the latter refers to a concrete thing, while the former refers to an abstract concept, including emotions. In this chapter, the pillow is a "界线," but it also symbolizes the emotional gap between the couple, so using "界限" is also acceptable. On second thought, I think "界限" might be even better—a fitting coincidence.
I don't know what I'm saying in the middle of the night. If it seems nonsense, just assume I've gone crazy doing logic fill-in-the-blank exercises, haha.