Chapter 111: One Hundred Eighteen: Secretly Crossing the Chen Cang Pass

One Hundred Eighteen: Secretly Crossing the Chen Cang Pass

“I’m a failure; I barely notice whether the sunlight is brilliant or not, because I have no time.”

“My parents couldn’t support me, my education was low, and I wandered alone through the city searching for a future.”

“I applied for many jobs but was never hired—perhaps no one liked someone who couldn’t speak well, avoided communication, and showed no sufficient ability.”

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“I ate only two loaves of bread over three full days; hunger kept me awake at night. Luckily, I’d paid a month’s rent in advance, so I could still stay in that dark basement, avoiding the bitterly cold winter winds outside.”

“Finally, I found a job: night watch at the hospital, guarding the morgue.”

“The hospital nights were colder than I imagined. The corridor wall lamps were unlit; everything was dim, and I could barely see my feet by the faint glow seeping from the rooms.”

“The smell was foul. Corpses, packed in body bags, were occasionally delivered, and we helped carry them into the morgue.”

“It wasn’t a good job, but at least it let me afford bread, and my idle nights could be used for studying—after all, few wanted to come to the morgue unless a corpse needed bringing in or taking away for cremation. Still, I couldn’t afford books, and I saw no hope of saving money.”

“I owe thanks to my predecessor—if he hadn’t quit suddenly, I might never have gotten even this job.”

“I dream of switching to day shifts. Now I sleep when the sun rises and wake when night falls, leaving my body weak and my head occasionally throbbing.”

“One day, a laborer delivered a new corpse.”

“Others said it was my former colleague who had quit so suddenly.”

“I was curious about him. After everyone left, I pulled out the drawer and quietly opened the body bag.”

“He was an old man, his face bluish-white, covered in wrinkles, terrifying under the dim light.”

“He had little hair, most of it white. All his clothes had been removed—not even a scrap of fabric remained.”

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“I saw a strange mark on his chest—dark bluish-black. I couldn’t describe its shape; the lighting was far too dim.”

“I reached out and touched the mark. Nothing special.”

“Looking at my former colleague, I wondered—if I kept going like this, when I grew old, would I end up like him?”

“I told him: ‘Tomorrow I’ll accompany you to the crematorium. I’ll personally take your ashes to the nearest free cemetery, so those in charge won’t get lazy and dump you by some river or wasteland.’”

“It’ll cost me one morning’s sleep, but it’s almost Sunday—I can make it up.”

“After saying that, I sealed the body bag and shoved it back into the drawer.”

“The room’s light seemed even dimmer…”

“Since that day, every time I sleep, I dream of thick fog.”

“I sense something’s about to happen—I feel something, perhaps not even human, will come for me soon. But no one believes me; they think the environment and my job have broken my mind, that I need a doctor…”

A male customer seated at the bar looked at the storyteller who had suddenly fallen silent:

“And then?”

The man was in his thirties, wearing a brown tweed coat and light-yellow trousers, his hair flattened, a simple dark round hat beside him.

He looked ordinary, like most patrons in the tavern—black hair, pale blue eyes, neither ugly nor handsome, lacking any striking features.

To him, the storyteller was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, tall and slender-limbed, with short black hair and pale blue eyes, his features sharp enough to catch the eye.

The young man stared at his empty glass and sighed:

“And then?”

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“Then I quit and returned to the countryside—to tell you tall tales like this.”

As he spoke, a mischievous smile spread across his face.

The male customer blinked in surprise:

“You were just making all that up?”

Laughter erupted around the bar.

As the laughter subsided, a thin middle-aged man glanced at the embarrassed guest and said:

“Stranger, you actually believed Lumian’s story? He tells a different one every day. Yesterday he was a poor fool whose fiancée broke off their engagement; today he’s a corpse watcher!”

“Yeah, he claims he spent thirty years east of the Sailunzuohe, thirty years west of it—only babbling nonsense!” added another regular.

They were all farmers from the large village of Keldu, dressed in short jackets of black, gray, or brown.

The black-haired young man called Lumian pushed himself up from the bar with both hands and smiled:

“You know, these aren’t my stories—they’re written by my sister. She loves writing, and she’s even a columnist for the ‘Novel Weekly.’”

He turned to the foreign guest, spread his hands, and grinned brightly:

“Looks like she writes well.”

“Sorry for misleading you.”

The man in the brown tweed coat, ordinary in appearance, didn’t get angry. He stood and smiled back:

“A fascinating story.”

“What’s your name?”

“Isn’t it common sense to introduce yourself before asking someone else’s?” Lumian laughed.

The foreign guest nodded:

“I’m Ryan Cos.”

“These two are my companions, Valentin and Lya.”

He meant the man and woman sitting beside him.

The man was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his yellow hair dusted with powder. His eyes, not large, were a shade darker than lake-blue. He wore a white vest, a blue fine wool coat, and black trousers—clearly dressed with care.

He looked cold, barely glancing at the farmers and shepherds around him.

The woman appeared younger than the two men. Her light-gray hair was coiled into an intricate bun, covered by a white veil as a hat.

Her eyes matched her hair, and her gaze at Lumian held unhidden amusement—she found yesterday’s events merely entertaining.

Under the tavern’s gas wall lamps, the woman named Lya revealed a pert nose and elegantly curved lips—undoubtedly a beauty in the rural village of Keldu.

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere dress, a cream-colored short coat, and Ma Xier boots. Silver bells were tied to both her veil and boots, jingling as she entered the tavern, drawing every man’s stare.

In their eyes, this was fashion only seen in big cities like Bigor or the capital, Teriel.

Lumian nodded to the three outsiders:

“I’m Lumian Li. You can just call me Lumian.”

“Li?” Lya blurted out.

“What’s wrong with my surname?” Lumian asked curiously.

Ryan Cos explained for her:

“That surname frightens me—I almost lost control of my voice just now.”

Seeing the farmers and shepherds confused, he added:

“Anyone who’s dealt with sailors or merchants knows this saying across the Five Seas:

“Better to face pirate generals or kings than to meet a man named Frank Li.”

“His surname is also Li.”

“Is he that terrifying?” Lumian asked.

Ryan shook his head:

“I don’t know, but if such a legend exists, he must be formidable.”

He dropped the subject and said to Lumian:

“Thank you for the story—it deserves a drink. What would you like?”

“A ‘Green Fairy,’” Lumian said without hesitation, sitting back down.

Ryan frowned slightly:

“‘Green Fairy’… absinthe?”

“I should warn you—absinthe is harmful. It can cause madness and hallucinations.”

“I didn’t realize Teriel’s trends had reached here,” Lya added with a smile.

Lumian said “Oh”:

“So Teriel folks like ‘Green Fairy’ too…”

“For us, life is hard enough—we don’t need to care about a little more harm. This drink lets our minds relax more.”

“Alright,” Ryan sat back and called to the bartender, “One ‘Green Fairy,’ and one ‘Spicy Heart’ for me.”

“Spicy Heart” was a famous fruit brandy.

“Why not give me a ‘Green Fairy’ too? I was the one who revealed the truth—I can tell you everything about this kid!” the thin middle-aged man protested.

“Pierre, you’d do anything for a free drink!” Lumian called back.

Before Ryan could decide, Lumian added:

“Why can’t I tell the story myself? Then I’d get another ‘Green Fairy.’”

“Because they won’t believe you,” Pierre grinned smugly. “Your sister’s favorite tale for children is ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf.’ A liar loses all credibility.”

“Fine,” Lumian shrugged, watching the bartender slide a pale green drink before him.

Ryan looked at him and asked:

“Is that okay?”

“Sure—as long as your wallet can cover the drinks,” Lumian said carelessly.

“Then another ‘Green Fairy,’” Ryan nodded.

Pierre’s face lit up with a grin.

"Generous outsider, this boy is the village's most mischievous troublemaker—you must keep your distance from him."

"Five years ago, his sister Aurèle brought him back to the village, and he never left again. Think about it—he was only thirteen before that. How could he possibly have worked as a grave watcher in a hospital? The nearest hospital to us is Dariel, down in the mountains; it takes a full afternoon to walk there."

"Brought back to the village?" Lyam asked sharply.

She tilted her head slightly, producing a jingling sound.

Pierre nodded:

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"Then he took his sister's surname 'Li,' and even his name 'Lumian' was given by Aurèle."

"I've forgotten what he was called originally," Lumian said with a grin, sipping absinthe.

He showed no shame or embarrassment at having his past so openly revealed.