Chapter 113

One Hundred and Twenty: The Magistrate’s Official Authority Is About to Overflow

“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 went three full days eating only two loaves of bread; hunger kept me awake at night. Fortunately, 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 got a job: night watch at a 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 light leaking from the rooms.”

“The smell was unbearable; corpses in body bags were occasionally brought in, and we helped carry them into the morgue.”

“It wasn’t a good job, but at least it let me buy bread, and my free nights gave me time to study—after all, few wanted to come to the morgue unless a body 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 daytime shifts; now I sleep when the sun rises and wake when night falls, leaving me weak and occasionally giving me sharp headaches.”

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

“Others told me it was my former colleague who had quit 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 left on him.”

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“I saw a strange mark on his chest—bluish-black, its shape impossible to describe, the light was too dim.”

“I reached out and touched the mark—it felt nothing special.”

“Looking at my former colleague, I wondered: if I keep going like this, when I’m old, will I end up like him…?”

“I told him: tomorrow I’ll accompany you to the crematorium and personally take your ashes to the nearest free cemetery, so those responsible 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 up for it.”

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

“The room’s light seemed to grow even dimmer…”

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

“I sense something is about to happen—I sense something, perhaps not even human, will come for me soon. But no one believes me; they think the environment and my job have driven me mad, 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 jacket and light-yellow trousers, his hair flattened, a simple dark round hat beside him.

He looked ordinary, like most 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, came here to brag to you.”

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

The male customer blinked in surprise:

“You were just making up that whole story?”

“Ha!” Laughter erupted around the bar.

As the laughter subsided, a thin middle-aged man gazed at the embarrassed guest:

“Stranger, you actually believed Lumi’an’s tale? He tells a different story every day—yesterday he was a poor fool whose fiancée broke off their engagement; today he’s a corpse watcher!”

“Yeah, he talks nonsense about spending thirty years east of the Sailunzuohe, thirty years south of it—just rambling!” added another regular.

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

The black-haired young man called Lumi’an pushed himself up from the bar with both hands, smiling:

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

He turned to the foreign guest, shrugged, and beamed:

“Looks like she writes well.”

“Sorry for misleading you.”

The man in the brown tweed, ordinary-looking, didn’t get angry—he stood and smiled back:

“An interesting story.”

“What’s your name?”

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

The foreign guest nodded:

“I’m Ryan Cos.”

“These two are my companions, Valente and Liya.”

He meant the man and woman sitting beside him.

The man was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his blond hair dusted with powder, his eyes a shade darker than lake-blue, dressed in a white vest, blue fine wool coat, and black trousers—clearly dressed with care.

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

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

Her eyes matched her hair, fixed on Lumi’an with unhidden amusement, treating the earlier scene as mere entertainment.

Under the tavern’s gas wall lamps, the woman named Liya revealed a pert nose and elegantly curved lips—undoubtedly beautiful by Kerdou village standards.

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere body-hugging dress, a cream-colored short coat, and Ma Xier boots; silver bells were tied to both her veil and boots, jingling as she entered, drawing every man’s gaze.

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

Lumi’an nodded to the three outsiders:

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

“Li?” Liya blurted out.

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

Ryan Cos explained for her:

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

Seeing the farmers and herders confused, he added:

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

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

“His surname is also Li.”

“Is he that terrifying?” Lumi’an asked.

Ryan shook his head:

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

He dropped the topic and said to Lumi’an:

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

“A ‘Green Fairy,’” Lumi’an 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 Terreil’s trends had reached here,” Liya added with a smile.

Lumi’an “oh”ed:

“So Terreil people like ‘Green Fairy’ too…”

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

“Alright,” Ryan sat back, signaling 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 could tell you everything about this kid!” shouted the thin middle-aged man who’d first exposed Lumi’an’s daily lies. “Stranger, I can tell you still doubt whether the story’s true!”

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

Before Ryan could respond, Lumi’an added:

“Why can’t I tell it myself? Then I’d get another ‘Green Fairy’!”

“Because they don’t know whether to believe you,” Pierre grinned smugly. “Your sister’s favorite story for children is ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’—a liar loses all credibility.”

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

Ryan looked at him, asking:

“Is that okay?”

“Sure—as long as your wallet can cover the drinks,” Lumi’an 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 Auror brought him back to the village, and he never left again. Think about it—he was only thirteen before that. How could he have worked as a corpse watcher in a hospital? The nearest hospital to us is Daliere at the foot of the mountain; it takes a full afternoon to walk there."

"Brought back to the village?" Liya 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 Auror."

"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.