Chapter 443: Reversing to the Source

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—maybe no one liked someone who wasn't good at speaking, 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. 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 there was foul; corpses 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 for cremation. Of course, I still 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 not have gotten even this job.

I dreamed of switching to day shifts—I always slept when the sun rose and woke when night fell, leaving my body weak and my head occasionally throbbing.

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 exact shape I couldn't describe, the light was just too dim.

I reached out and touched the mark—it felt 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 and 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 darker…

…After that day, every time I slept, I dreamed of thick fog.

I sensed something was about to happen, sensed that sooner or later, something I couldn't even call human would come for me—but no one believed me; they thought I'd gone mad from working in that environment and needed a doctor…

A male customer sitting at the bar looked at the storyteller who had suddenly stopped:

"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 people 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 short black 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, came here to brag to you."

As he spoke, a mischievous smile appeared on his face.

The male customer blinked:

"You were just making that up?"

"Ha!" Laughter erupted around the bar.

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

"Stranger, you actually believed Luman'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 morgue guard!"

"Yeah, babbling nonsense about thirty years east of Sailunzuohe, thirty years south of Sailunzuohe—just rambling!" added another regular.

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

The black-haired young man called Luman 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 outsider, spread his hands, and grinned brightly:

"Looks like she writes well. Xingwen Reader

"Sorry for misleading you."

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

"An interesting story."

"What's your name?"

"Isn't it common sense to introduce yourself before asking someone else's?" Luman laughed.

The outsider nodded:

"I'm Ryan Cos."

"These two are my companions, Valente and Liya."

He meant the man and woman sitting beside him. Xingwen Reader

The man was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his yellow hair dusted with powder, his eyes—not large—darker than lake blue, dressed in a white vest, blue fine wool coat, and black trousers, clearly well-prepared for going out.

…His expression was cold; he barely glanced at the farmers and herders around him.

The woman looked 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, and her gaze at Luman held unhidden amusement—she seemed to find yesterday's events merely entertaining.

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

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere body-hugging dress, a cream-colored small coat, and Ma Ma Xier boots, each with a small silver bell tied to the veil and boots. When she entered the tavern, the bells jingled all the way, drawing everyone's eyes—many men stared, transfixed.

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

Luman nodded to the three outsiders:

"I'm Luman Li. You can just call me Luman."

"Li?" Liya blurted out. Xingwen Reader

"What's wrong with my surname?" Luman 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 on 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?" Luman 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 Luman:

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

"A 'Green Fairy.'" Luman didn't hesitate, sitting back down.

Ryan frowned slightly: Xingwen Reader, go read a book.

"'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.

Luman "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 helps us relax mentally."

"Alright." Ryan sat back down and called 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 told you the truth—I can tell you everything about this kid!" shouted the thin middle-aged man who had first exposed Luman's daily lies, "Stranger, I can tell you still doubt whether the story's true!"

"Pierre, you'd do anything for a free drink!" Luman called back loudly.

…Before Ryan could decide, Luman added: Go read a book.

"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 kids is 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.' A liar loses all credibility."

"Fine." Luman shrugged as the bartender pushed a pale green drink toward him.

Ryan looked at him, asking:

"Is that okay?"

"Sure—as long as your wallet can cover the drinks." Luman didn't care.

"Then another 'Green Fairy.'" Ryan nodded.

Pierre beamed:

"Generous stranger, this boy is the village's biggest prankster—stay far away from him."

Five years ago, he was brought back to the village by his sister Auror, and never left since. 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 at the foot of the mountain, a full afternoon's walk away.

"Brought back to the village?" Li Li Limin asked sharply.

She tilted her head slightly, making a jingling sound.

Pierre nodded:

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"Then he took his sister's surname 'Li,' and even his name 'Lu Cai Mian' was given by Auror."

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

He showed no shame or embarrassment at having his past exposed like this.

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