Chapter 121: One Hundred Twenty-Eight: The Twin Birds and the Beheading March

One Hundred Twenty-Eight: The Twin Birds and the Beheading March

“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 conversation, 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. Fortunately, I’d paid a month’s rent in advance, so I could still stay in that dark basement, spared from the bitter winter winds outside.”

“Finally, I found 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 glow seeping from the rooms.”

“The smell was unbearable. Corpses, packed in body bags, were delivered intermittently, 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 could be used for studying—after all, few wanted to come to the morgue unless a corpse needed moving or burning. Still, I couldn’t afford books, nor did I see any 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 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 abruptly.”

“I was curious about him. After everyone left, I pulled out the drawer and quietly unzipped 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—bluish-black, its shape impossible to describe, the light being so 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 take your ashes to the nearest free cemetery myself, 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 zipped the body bag back up and slid it into the drawer.”

“The room’s light seemed to dim further…”

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

“I sense something is 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 toward 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.”

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

The male customer blinked:

“You were just making all that up?”

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 west of it—nothing but gibberish!” 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 even a columnist for the ‘Novel Weekly.’”

He turned to the foreign guest, gesturing with an open palm, beaming:

“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, eyes slightly larger than average, a shade deeper than lake blue. He wore a white vest, a blue fine wool coat, and black trousers—clearly dressed with care.

His expression was cold; he barely glanced 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, fixed on Lumi’an with unhidden amusement, finding the whole scene entertaining.

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 dress, a cream-colored small 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 fit only for great 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 frightens me—I almost lost control of my voice just now.”

Seeing the farmers and shepherds puzzled, 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?” Lumi’an asked.

Ryan shook his head:

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

He dropped the subject and turned 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 the ‘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 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 told you the truth—I can tell you everything about this kid!” shouted the thin middle-aged man who had first exposed Lumi’an’s lies. “Stranger, I can see you still doubt whether the story’s real!”

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

Before Ryan could decide, Lumi’an added:

“Why can’t I just 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 as the bartender slid 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 Daliéri down 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 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 exposed like this.