<blockquote>It’s always dark in a coffin.
The dead don’t need light or air. They don’t need space, either, because the reality of the coffin is a world in and of itself: a small one, separated from the three realms by layer upon layer of pain turned grief turned obscurity until not even that remains, washed away by waves of existence flowing around it. All that’s left is the heavy weight of being forgotten. Time measures it with life growing in the soil above.
Xie Lian knows it intimately. After all, he was once nailed with a wooden dowel to the bottom of a coffin, and buried in it.
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Or: Hualian in the coffin in chapter 121, but make it traumatic rather than horny.</blockquote>