Chapter 530: Reply

"I'm a failure. I barely notice whether the sun is shining or not — there's no time.

"My parents couldn't support me, my education is poor, and I'm alone in the city searching for a future.

"I applied for many jobs but never got hired. Probably no one likes a person who isn't good at talking, doesn't enjoy socializing, and hasn't shown enough ability.

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"For three whole days I ate only two loaves of bread. The hunger kept me awake at night. Luckily, I'd paid a month's rent in advance, so I could keep staying in that dark basement and didn't have to go outside and endure the unusually cold winter wind.

"Finally, I found a job — keeping night watch at a hospital, watching over the morgue.

"The hospital at night was even colder than I'd imagined. The wall lamps in the corridor weren't lit; everywhere was dim. I could only see my feet by the faint light seeping out from the rooms.

"The smell there was awful. From time to time, bodies were brought in stuffed inside body bags, and we'd work together to move them into the morgue.

"It wasn't a great job, but at least it let me afford bread, and the idle hours at night could be used for studying. After all, hardly anyone wanted to come to the morgue — unless there was a body to deliver or take away for cremation. Of course, I still didn't have enough money to buy books, and for now I saw no hope of saving any.

"I have to thank my former colleague. If he hadn't suddenly quit, I probably couldn't have even gotten a job like this.

"I dreamed of rotating onto the day shift. Right now, I always sleep when the sun comes up and get up after nightfall, which has made my body a bit weak, and my head sometimes throbs with pain.

"One day, the porters brought in a new body.

"From what others said, it was that former colleague of mine who'd suddenly quit.

"I was a little curious about him. After everyone left, I pulled out the drawer and quietly opened the body bag.

"He was an old man, his face pale and blue, covered in wrinkles. Under the very dim light, he looked terrifying.

"He didn't have much hair, and most of it was white. All his clothes had been stripped off — not even a scrap of cloth was left on him.

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"I saw a strange mark on his chest, bluish-black. I can't describe exactly what it looked like — the light was just too dim at the time.

"I reached out and touched that mark. Nothing special.

"Looking at this former colleague, I wondered: if I keep going on like this, when I'm old, will I end up just like him…

"I told him that tomorrow I'd accompany him to the crematorium and personally take his ashes to the nearest free public cemetery, so the people in charge of such things wouldn't find it too much trouble and just toss them into some river or random patch of wasteland.

"That would cost me a morning's sleep, but it was all right — Sunday was coming soon, so I could make it up.

"After saying that, I fixed the body bag and shoved it back into the drawer.

"The light in the room seemed to grow even dimmer…

"After that day, every time I slept, I would always dream of a great fog.

"I had a premonition that something would happen before long, a premonition that sooner or later something — I'm not sure it could even be called a person — would come looking for me. But no one was willing to believe me. They thought that in that kind of environment, with that kind of work, my mind had become a bit abnormal and I needed to see a doctor…"

A male guest sitting at the bar turned to the storyteller, who had suddenly stopped:

"And then?"

This male guest was in his thirties, wearing a brown tweed jacket and pale yellow trousers, his hair pressed down flat, a simple dark bowler hat at his hand.

He looked utterly ordinary, like most people in the tavern — black hair, light blue eyes, neither handsome nor ugly, lacking any distinctive features.

And in his eyes, the storyteller was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, with an upright build and long, slender limbs, likewise short black hair and light blue eyes, but with sharply defined features that caught the eye.

The young man gazed at the empty wine glass before him and sighed:

"And then?

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"And then I quit my job, went back to the countryside, and came here to shoot the breeze with you."

As he spoke, a smile spread across his face — a smile tinged with a hint of mischief.

The male guest froze for a moment:

"What you just told me — that was all tall tales?"

"Haha." A burst of laughter erupted around the bar.

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

"Outsider, you actually believed Lumian's story? Every day he tells a different one. Yesterday he was a poor wretch whose fiancée broke off their engagement because of his poverty, and today he's turned into a corpse-keeper!"

"Right — something about thirty years on the east bank of the Serenzo River, thirty years on the right bank of the Serenzo River, just spouting nonsense!" another tavern regular chimed in.

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

The black-haired young man called Lumian braced both hands on the bar, slowly stood up, and said with a grin:

"As you all know, these aren't stories I make up — they're all written by my sister. She loves writing stories the most, and she's even a columnist for Fiction Weekly."

With that, he turned aside, spread his hands toward the outsider guest, and flashed a brilliant smile:

"Seems she writes pretty well.

"Sorry — I made you misunderstand."

The plainly featured man in the brown tweed jacket wasn't angry. He stood up as well and replied with a smile:

"A very interesting story.

"How should I address you?"

"Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself before asking someone else?" Lumian said with a laugh.

The guest from out of town nodded:

"My name is Ryan Koss.

"These two are my companions, Valentine and Leah."

That last remark referred to the man and woman sitting right beside him.

The man was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his yellow hair dusted with a little powder, his not-large eyes a shade deeper than lake blue. He wore a white waistcoat, a blue fine-wool tailcoat, and black trousers — clearly having put considerable effort into his appearance before going out.

His expression was rather cold, and he barely glanced at the surrounding farmers and herdsmen.

The woman looked younger than the two men. Her long, light-gray hair was done up in an elaborate bun, and she wore a white gauze veil as a head covering.

Her eyes were the same color as her hair, and the gaze she directed at Lumian held undisguised amusement, as if she found everything that had just happened merely entertaining.

Under the glow of the tavern's gas wall lamps, the woman called Liya revealed a pert nose and elegantly curved lips — in a rural place like Kordu Village, she could definitely be called a beauty.

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere sheath dress, paired with an off-white bolero and a pair of Marsir riding boots; two small silver bells were tied to her veil and boots respectively. When she walked into the tavern just now, she jingled all the way, drawing every eye — quite a few men stared so hard their gazes went rigid.

In their eyes, this was the sort of fashionable attire you'd only see in big cities like the provincial capital Bigor or the capital Trier.

Lumian nodded to the three out-of-towners.

"My name is Lumian Lee. You can just call me Lumian."

"Lee?" Liya blurted out.

"What's wrong? Is there a problem with my surname?" Lumian asked curiously.

Ryan Koss helped Liya explain.

"That surname of yours inspires dread. I almost couldn't control my own voice just now."

Seeing the blank looks on the surrounding farmers and herdsmen, he elaborated.

"Anyone who's had dealings with sailors or sea merchants knows there's a saying that circulates across the Five Seas."

"'Better to run into those pirate admirals or even pirate kings than to ever meet a man named Frank Lee.'"

"That man's surname is also Lee."

"Is he that terrifying?" Lumian asked.

Ryan shook his head.

"I don't know for certain, but if a legend like that exists, it can't be far from the truth."

He dropped the subject and said to Lumian.

"Thank you for your story. It's worth a drink. What would you like?"

"'Green Fairy.'" Lumian, not standing on ceremony at all, sat back down.

Ryan Koss frowned slightly.

"'Green Fairy'... absinthe?"

"I think I should warn you — wormwood is harmful to the body. This liquor can cause mental derangement and make you hallucinate."

"I didn't realize Trier's fashion trends had already spread all the way here," Liya added with a smile from the side.

Lumian made an "oh" sound.

"So people in Trier like drinking 'Green Fairy' too..."

"For us, life is already hard enough — no point worrying about a little extra harm. This drink helps our spirits relax a lot more."

"Alright." Ryan sat back down and looked at the bartender. "One 'Green Fairy,' and add a 'Spicy Heart' for me."

"Spicy Heart" was a well-known fruit brandy.

"Why not get me a 'Green Fairy' too? I was the one who told you the truth just now — I can even tell you everything about this brat, from start to finish!" The thin middle-aged man who had first exposed Lumian's daily storytelling shouted indignantly. "Out-of-towners, I can tell you still have doubts about whether that story was true!"

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

Before Ryan could decide, Lumian added.

"Why can't I just tell it myself? That way I'd get to drink one more 'Green Fairy.'"

"Because they wouldn't know whether to believe what you say," the middle-aged man called Pierre said with a smug grin. "Your big sister's favorite story to tell the kids is 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.' A person who lies all the time is bound to lose all trust."

"Fine." Lumian shrugged and watched the bartender slide a pale green drink in front of him.

Ryan looked at him and asked.

"Is that alright?"

"No problem, as long as your wallet can cover the cost of these drinks," Lumian said, utterly unconcerned.

"Then one more 'Green Fairy,'" Ryan nodded.

Pierre's face immediately broke into a huge grin.

"Generous out-of-towner, this brat is the biggest prankster in the whole village — you'd best keep your distance from him."

"Five years ago, his big sister Aurore brought him back to the village, and he's never left since. Think about it — before that, he was only thirteen. How could he possibly have gone to a hospital to work as a mortuary attendant? Hm, the nearest hospital to us is down in Daliege, a whole afternoon's walk away."

"Brought back to the village?" Liya asked sharply.

She tilted her head slightly, producing a faint jingling sound.

Pierre nodded.

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"After that, he took Aurore's surname 'Lee.' Even his given name 'Lumian' was chosen by Aurore."

"I've even forgotten what my original name was," Lumian said with a grin, taking a sip of absinthe.

From the look of it, he felt not the slightest shame or embarrassment at having his past exposed like this.