"I have to say, Mr. Morik," Death said as he sampled the beef, nodding to Wu Heng, "your butler's cooking is far superior to my fast food."
After saying that, he took another bite and could not help nodding again.
"The sauce has rich layers of flavor, the heat was controlled with precision, and the meat is tender. It deserves praise." As he evaluated the food, he carried himself like an old-fashioned gentleman with refined taste.
Yet Hannah, standing by the side, felt even her spirit body trembling slightly.
As a ghost, her perception of the boundary between life and death far surpassed that of the living.
Before Death, what she felt was not pressure, but an absolute stillness and sense of final destination rooted deep within the soul of existence itself—far more intense than what she felt before the Reaper Butler.
It was as though every shred of energy sustaining her existence instinctively yearned toward the "silence" he represented.
She tried her utmost to maintain her composure, but her trembling fingertips and slightly translucent form exposed her fear.
Even the ever-composed Reaper Butler appeared exceptionally restrained and formal at that moment. Every movement strictly followed ancient etiquette, and he did not dare show the slightest negligence.
After the meal, everyone moved to Wu Heng's study.
Cold energy flames danced in the fireplace, casting light across faces bearing different expressions. The conversation turned to deeper matters.
Holding a glass of aged red wine like congealed blood, Death's gaze seemed to pierce through the walls. "So, you believe that the meaning of life's brief journey lies in resisting that final inevitability?"
His tone was that of someone engaged in a purely philosophical discussion.
"No." Wu Heng toyed with an ancient incantation-rune stone, his gaze calm. "Its meaning lies in the process