Chapter 455: Target

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 wasn't good at speaking, avoided communication, and showed no sufficient ability.

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I went three full days eating only two slices 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 found a job: night watch at the hospital, guarding the morgue.

The hospital nights were colder than I imagined; the corridor wall lamps weren't lit, everything was dim, and I could barely see my feet by the faint light leaking from the rooms.

The smell there was awful; 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 to be brought in 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 day 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 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, mostly 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—dark bluish-black—I couldn't describe its shape; the light was 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 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…

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

I sense something's about to happen—I sense something that may not even be human will come for me soon. But no one believes me; they think the environment and the job have broken my mind, that I need to see a doctor…

A male customer sitting 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:

"You were just making up that story?"

"Ha!" Laughter erupted around the bar.

As the laughter faded, 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 corpse watcher!"

"Yeah, he says he spent thirty years east of the Sailunzuohe, thirty years west of it—just nonsense!" another regular added.

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 stories; she's even a columnist for the 'Novel Weekly.'"

He turned to the foreign guest, shrugged, and grinned brightly:

"Looks like she writes well."

"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 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 yellow hair dusted with powder, his eyes a shade darker than lake-blue, dressed in a white vest, blue fine wool coat, and black trousers—he'd clearly dressed carefully for the occasion.

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

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

Her eyes matched her hair; she looked at Luman with unhidden amusement, clearly finding yesterday's events amusing.

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

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

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.

"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 shepherds confused, he added:

"Anyone who's met sailors or sea 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?" 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:

"'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 people in Teriel like 'Green Fairy' too…"

"For us, life is hard enough—we don't need to care about a little extra 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!" the thin middle-aged man who first exposed Luman's daily lies shouted, "Stranger, I can tell you still doubt whether the story's true!"

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

Before Ryan could decide, Luman 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 kids is 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf'—a liar loses all credibility."

"Fine." Luman shrugged, watching the bartender slide 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's face lit up:

"Generous stranger, this boy is the village's biggest prankster—you must keep your distance from him."

Five years ago, he was brought back to the village by his sister Auror, 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 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 I was called before," Lu Cai Mian said with a grin, sipping his absinthe.

He showed no shame or embarrassment at all about his past being revealed.