Chapter 115: One Hundred Twenty-Two: The Man Died in the Morning, the Corpse Committed Suicide in the Evening

One Hundred Twenty-Two: The Man Died in the Morning, the Corpse Committed Suicide in the Evening

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

“My parents couldn’t support me, my education was low, and I was alone in 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 got 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 light leaking from the rooms.”

“The smell was unbearable; corpses in body bags kept arriving, 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 day 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 brought in a new corpse.”

“Others said 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 lighting was far too dim.”

“I 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 take you to the crematorium myself and bring 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 darker…”

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

“I sense something’s coming soon—I feel something, perhaps not even human, will come for me. 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 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, also with black short hair and pale blue eyes, but with sharp features that caught 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.”

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

The male customer blinked:

“You were just making up that 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 story? He tells a different one every day—yesterday he was a poor fool abandoned by his fiancée; today he’s a corpse watcher!”

“Yeah, blabbering nonsense about thirty years east of the Sailunzuohe, thirty years south of it—nothing but lies!” 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, and she’s a columnist for the ‘Novel Weekly.’”

He turned to the foreign guest, spreading his hands with a bright grin:

“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?” 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, with yellow hair dusted with powder, small eyes a shade darker than lake blue, wearing 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 pale gray hair tied 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 a beauty in the rural village of Kerdou.

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 the tavern, drawing every man’s gaze.

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

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 shepherds 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 encounter 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 Teriel’s trends had reached here,” Liya added with a smile.

Lumi’an “oh”ed:

“So Teriel people 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 truly relax.”

“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 exposed 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!” Lumi’an called back.

Before Ryan could decide, Lumi’an added:

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

“Because they won’t believe what you say,” Pierre grinned smugly. “Your sister’s favorite tale for children is ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’—liars lose 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 biggest prankster—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 is Daliere at the foot of the mountain, a full afternoon’s walk away."

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

She tilted her head slightly, producing a tinkling 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.