Chapter 457: The Closet

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 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 weren't lit, everything was dim, and I could only see my feet by the faint light leaking from the rooms.

The smell there was awful; 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 could be used for studying—after all, hardly anyone wanted to come to the morgue unless a corpse 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 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 told me 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 too dim.

I reached out and 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 to grow even dimmer…

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

I sense something's about to happen—I sense something, perhaps not even human, will come for me soon. But no one believes me; they think the environment and this job have damaged my mind, that I need 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 people in the tavern—black hair, pale blue eyes, neither ugly nor handsome, lacking any striking features.

But to his eyes, 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 appeared on his face.

The male customer blinked in surprise:

"You were just making that up?"

"Ha!" Laughter erupted around the bar.

As the laughter faded, a thin middle-aged man looked at the embarrassed guest and said:

"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, blabbering nonsense about thirty years on the east side of Sailunzuohe, thirty years on the right side—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 foreign guest, spread his hands, 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 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—not large—darker than lake blue. He wore a white vest, a blue fine wool coat, and black trousers, clearly dressed with care.

He looked cold, barely glancing at the farmers and herders 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; she looked at Luman with unhidden amusement, finding the whole thing entertaining.

Under the tavern's gas wall lamps, the woman named Liya revealed a pert nose and beautifully curved lips—undoubtedly a beauty in the countryside of Kerdou.

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere dress, a cream-colored short coat, and Ma Ma Xier boots. Silver bells were tied to both her veil and boots; as she entered the tavern, they jingled all the way, 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 herders confused, he added:

"Anyone who's met 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?" 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 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.

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, 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 told you the truth—I can tell you everything about this kid!" the thin middle-aged man who first exposed Luman's lies shouted. "Stranger, I can tell you still doubt whether the story's real!"

"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 could 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 before him.

Ryan looked at him, asking:

"Is that okay?"

"Sure, as long as your wallet can cover the drinks," Luman said carelessly.

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

Pierre's face lit up:

"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 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 in the mountains, 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 before," Lu Cai Mian said with a grin, taking a sip of absinthe.

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