Chapter 96: One Hundred and Three: Coincidence and Unexplained Merit (Revised)

One Hundred and Three: Coincidence and Unexplained Merit (Revised)

“I am 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 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 interaction, and showed no sufficient ability.”

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“I ate only two slices of bread over three full days; hunger kept me awake at night. Fortunately, I’d paid my rent for a month 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, packed in body bags, were occasionally brought in, and we helped move 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 to be delivered or taken 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 dreamed 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—the one who’d quit suddenly.”

“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. His clothes had been completely removed—not even a scrap of fabric remained.”

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“I saw a strange mark on his chest—bluish-black, its exact shape I couldn’t describe; 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 take you to the crematorium myself. I’ll carry 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 up for it.”

“After saying that, I zipped the body bag back up and slid it into the drawer.”

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

“Since that day, every time I slept, I dreamed of thick fog.”

“I sensed something was about to happen—I felt something, perhaps not even human, would come for me soon. But no one believed me. They thought the environment and my job had broken my mind, that I needed 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—but his features were sharp, striking 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 come here and tell you tall tales.”

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

The male customer blinked:

“You were just making that up?”

Laughter erupted around the bar.

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

“Stranger, you actually believed Lumi’an’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 watchman!”

“Yeah, he talks nonsense about spending thirty years east of the Sailunzuo River, thirty years west of it—nothing but blather!” 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 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 ‘Novel Weekly.’”

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

“Looks like she writes well.”

“Sorry for misleading you.”

The man in the brown tweed coat, 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 outsider nodded:

“I’m Ryan Koss.”

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

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.

His expression was cold; he barely glanced at the farmers and herders 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 toward Lumi’an held unhidden amusement—she clearly found the whole thing 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 Keldu.

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 walked into 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.

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

Ryan Koss explained for her:

“That surname frightens 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:

‘Rather face pirate generals 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 subject 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 the ‘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. “One ‘Green Fairy,’ and one ‘Spicy Heart’ for me.”

“Spicy Heart” was a famous fruit brandy.

“Why not give me a ‘Green Fairy’ too?” the thin middle-aged man who’d first exposed Lumi’an’s lies shouted. “I told you the truth—I can tell you everything about this kid!”

“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 story for kids 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 pay for all these 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 Aurèle 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 Dariel down the mountain; it takes a full afternoon to walk there."

"Brought back to the village?" Liyamin 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 originally called," Lumian said with a grin, taking a sip of absinthe.

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