The figure wore a long black robe, like an executioner from some religion. Most of his body blended into the shadows as he blocked the doorway—and the future.
A few strands of Hair Strands hung from either side of the hood, exposing part of a bloodless, pallid chin. His throat shifted as he spoke in a low voice.
"The time has come. Tong En, A Jing, come with me."
The man on the sofa wore a dark expression and said nothing, as though he had anticipated this day long ago.
He neither spoke nor moved. He merely watched the black-robed figure at the door, an indescribable emotion surfacing in his deep eyes.
"Where are we going? To die with you, right?"
Unlike him, his wife was far more agitated. In a manner that sounded like accusation—even condemnation—she pointed at the black-robed figure.
She had once been a very quiet woman, but some part of her nature had been changed—or exposed—over those seven years.
No one else in the room spoke. Only her.
"We lost. The consequence of losing is death, and I can accept that."
She pointed at the black-robed figure, her eyes filled with hatred, then pointed at the other three Black Robed Figures standing outside the door, by the window, and in the Living Room.
"But you want me to become like him, him, and him after I die—to become neither human nor ghost—and then help you carry out that plan that can never succeed.
I refuse!"
"Cough, cough..."
The black-robed figure at the door coughed awkwardly a few times, wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and said in an incredibly hoarse voice:
"People are never satisfied. Grant you one wish, and you want a second.
A Jing, you weren't like this before..."
He did