The time on the plane is actually quite wonderful. Although it’s brief and disconnected from the world, it’s truly a period of exclusive personal time. Three or four hours to read a book, to detach from short videos, to watch a good movie without missing a single shot—sometimes it can be healing! The uncut version of "Breaking Hell" I watched this time offers a more detailed portrayal of the details during death and embalming. Watching it, I felt choked up several times. I think, this emotional impact isn’t really because of “death” itself, but more like a forced confrontation with oneself and the surroundings. After watching, I reflected on my own “hell.” The details of embalming—body weight, stiffness, grooming, covering, closing—are laid out clearly in front of you: no poetry, no jump cuts, no deliberate avoidance. It makes me realize a cold, yet brutal fact: ultimately, everyone will end up here, regardless of whether your life was dignified, understood, or reconciled. When someone reaches this point, the most tragic thing is what Xiao Pin said back then: did the person spend all the money? Clearly not. It’s that some words, if not spoken now, will truly have no chance to be said; some relationships, if not faced now, will be settled directly by time; some emotions you think you can “deal with later” are quietly draining you all along. Master Namo’s ritual to “break hell” for the departed, besides helping the deceased, is actually ringing the bell for the living. The plane continues to fly steadily forward, and outside the window, the world is compressed into clouds and light and shadow. I feel like I’ve been detached from my daily identity, roles, labels—leaving only a simple “person.” When we are alive, we are too good at avoiding, which is why we find it hard to escape the endless hell of regrets. To parents: understanding comes too late, pride is too rigid; to partners: wanting to be seen but afraid to reveal vulnerability; to ourselves: unforgiving, unwilling to let go, not allowing failure; to the past: it’s already over, yet we keep replaying it in our minds. We avoid expressing ourselves, avoid conflict, avoid vulnerability, and also avoid admitting: some hardened pride is just a shell of fear. The cruelest part of “Breaking Hell” is that it doesn’t tell you “how to live your life,” it just repeatedly puts one question in front of you: if today were the end, is there a relationship or a part of yourself that you’ve always known you should face but never dared to? Thank you for this buffer zone on the plane! The departed need to break hell, but if the living keep dragging on without breaking, hell will become a daily state.