“Hurry up and get dressed, you little rascal, so naughty…” The woman, seeing Henry Clark’s appearance, reluctantly moved her body away, reached down to grab him, and giggled as she reminded him.

Bang bang bang… At this moment, the front door was pounded so hard it made their ears ring. “Honey, open the door!”

“Damn!” Completely naked, Henry Clark picked up his clothes and saw that, in the heat of the moment, his little universe had exploded—he hadn’t bothered to properly take off his clothes, just tore them off. Now, looking at the tattered clothes that even a performance artist wouldn’t wear, he was truly at a loss.

The woman also started to panic, but there was nowhere in the house to hide a grown man. “Got it, the windowsill! Darling, hurry and hide on the windowsill.” She quickly stuffed all of Henry Clark’s ragged clothes into his hands, grabbed his travel bag, and pulled her little lover toward the bedroom. At the same time, she called out toward the tightly closed door in a calm voice, “Wait a minute, what’s the rush? I haven’t even put my clothes on yet.”

“I should put something on before I go up.” Henry Clark poked his head out to look at the ledge connected to the windowsill—it was at least ten centimeters wide, enough for someone to stand on.

The woman pressed her finger to her lips, signaling Henry Clark to be quiet. She listened carefully and, sure enough, heard the sound of a key in the door. Her face changed. “There’s no time! It’s dark now, no one will see you. Hurry up, you little rascal. I’ll come find you after I send that bastard out.” As she spoke, she pushed Henry Clark onto the windowsill. By now, the sun had already set, with only a bit of afterglow left in the sky. It was much darker, and as long as he was careful not to make any noise, no one should notice.

Gritting his teeth, Henry Clark climbed up onto the windowsill stark naked. After taking the travel bag, he couldn’t resist giving the woman’s ample chest a squeeze. “Hurry, darling.”

“Oh, you heartless little rascal!” The woman let out a soft hum, her flirtatious eyes sparkling, her blushing face glowing seductively in the sunset’s afterglow. The sight made Henry Clark’s naked little brother stand at full attention…

Inside, the woman was arguing with her husband, because there was suddenly an extra man’s shoe in the house. Hearing the couple’s argument and the chaotic footsteps approaching the bedroom window, Henry Clark grew nervous. What to do? Go back? Facing another man’s husband naked—he wasn’t shameless enough for that.

He looked down and noticed there seemed to be a platform on the first floor. Jumping from the third floor to that platform—having spent years in dangerous places and honed his skills—Henry Clark figured he could do it easily. Once he landed, he could grab a set of clothes from his travel bag, get dressed, and make his escape. That seemed like the best option.

Gritting his teeth, Henry Clark stretched out his arms to keep his balance, and like a nimble, hairless (with 90% of his body hairless—let’s be clear, Henry Clark does not have alopecia) swallow, he descended toward the first-floor platform. But as he dropped past the second floor, Henry Clark felt his foot catch on something—maybe a wire or a cable.

A cold sweat broke out all over Henry Clark. That snag made him lose his balance, but, true to his experience surviving countless life-and-death situations, he calmly let go of the travel bag and torn clothes, and as his body flipped, he pressed his hands downward, believing that as long as his palms hit the platform first, he could cushion the fall and absorb the impact, ensuring he’d be unharmed.

The moment his fingers touched the platform, Henry Clark’s face, full of determination and courage, froze. The platform broke through with just a light touch of his fingers. What kind of platform was this? It was just a plastic canopy. The sky was too dark, and midair, Henry Clark had no time to judge the quality of the platform…

Then, having lost the initiative, Henry Clark felt everything go black, then bright, then black again, and his head crashed into something unknown, blocking his mouth and nose. When he opened his mouth, something rushed in, and Henry Clark tasted a familiar flavor of tofu. His struggling legs seemed to kick something, and then a wave of numbness swept through his whole body.

The old couple who made tofu opened their mouths as wide as soybeans bursting in the steamer, their eyes staring at the two hairy legs shaking wildly outside the tofu barrel under the flickering light, until finally, like two dead fish, they hung limply over the edge.

“Ghost…” The old couple clung to each other, letting out a shrill scream as piercing as the one on their wedding night.

Before losing consciousness, Henry Clark was filled with mixed emotions. After a year away, he’d finally returned to his beloved homeland, found a beautiful and fiery girl, and just wanted to relax a bit—yet ended up in such a mess. If he really died choking on tofu, he’d rather hang himself naked from a utility pole—that would at least be more heroic. Damn it, what kind of crap is this?

The next morning, the front page of the morning paper featured a sensational headline: Strange News: Unnamed Naked Man Choked to Death by Tofu!