Chapter 531: Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

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

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

"I applied for many jobs but never got hired. Probably no one wants a person who isn't good at talking, doesn't like to communicate, and hasn't shown much ability.

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"For three whole days I ate nothing but 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 living in that dark basement and didn't have to go outside and face the bitter winter wind.

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

"The hospital nights were 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 would be delivered stuffed into body bags, and we'd work together to move them into the morgue.

"It wasn't a good job, but at least it let me afford bread, and the free time 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 I couldn't see any hope of saving up.

"I have to thank my former colleague. If he hadn't suddenly quit, I probably wouldn'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 when night falls, 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 greenish, covered in wrinkles — quite frightening under the very dim light.

"He didn't have much hair, and most of it was white. His clothes had all been removed; 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 simply too dim at the time.

"I reached out and touched the 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 would accompany him to the crematorium and personally take his ashes to the nearest free cemetery, so the people in charge of such things wouldn't find it too much trouble and just toss him into some river or wasteland.

"That would cost me a morning's sleep, but it was all right — Sunday was coming soon, and 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 if it could 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, doing that kind of work, my mind had become a little unhinged and I needed to see a doctor…"

A male guest sitting at the bar looked toward 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 resting by 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 frame and long limbs, likewise black-haired and light-blue-eyed, but with sharply defined features that caught the eye.

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

"And then?

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"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 was taken aback:

"What you were just telling 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? He tells a different one every day. 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, going on about thirty years on the east bank of the Sorenzo River, thirty years on the right bank of the Sorenzo River — nothing but nonsense!" another tavern regular chimed in.

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

The black-haired young man called Lumian braced his hands against 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 the Fiction Weekly."

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

"Seems she writes pretty well.

"Sorry for the misunderstanding."

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."

The latter remark referred to the man and woman sitting right beside him.

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

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

The woman appeared 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 gas lamp's glow in the tavern, the woman called Liya revealed a pert nose and beautifully curved lips — in a rural place like Cordu Village, she could definitely be considered a beauty.

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere sheath dress, paired with an off-white short jacket and a pair of Masière boots; small silver bells were tied to her veil and boots, and when she had walked into the tavern just now, she had jingled all the way, drawing every eye and making many a man stare blankly.

In their eyes, this was the sort of fashionable attire found only in big cities like the provincial capital Bigorre 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 is it — is there something wrong with my surname?" Lumian asked curiously.

Ryan Koss helped Liya explain.

"That surname of yours inspires dread. I could barely control my own voice just now."

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

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

"'Better to run into those pirate admirals or even pirate kings than to 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 since such a legend exists, he can't be far off."

He dropped the subject and said to Lumian:

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

"A glass of 'Green Fairy.'" Without the slightest courtesy, Lumian sat back down.

Ryan Koss frowned slightly.

"'Green Fairy'... absinthe?

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

"I didn't realize Trier's fashion trends had already spread this far," 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 — there's no point worrying about a little extra harm. This drink lets our spirits relax a great deal more."

"Fine." Ryan sat back down and looked toward 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'm the one who told you the truth just now — and I can even tell you everything about this brat, from beginning to end!" The thin middle-aged man who had been the first to expose Lumian's daily storytelling protested loudly. "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 tell it myself? That way I'd get an extra glass of 'Green Fairy.'"

"Because they wouldn't know whether to believe what you say," the middle-aged man called Pierre replied with a smug grin. "Your sister's favorite story to tell the children 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 toward him and asked for his consent.

"Is that all right?"

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

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

Pierre's face immediately broke into a broad smile.

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

"Five years ago, his 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 corpse-watcher? Hm, the nearest hospital to us is in Dariège, down the mountain — a whole afternoon's walk."

"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 it was originally," Lumian said with a grin, taking a sip of absinthe.

From the look of it, having his past exposed like this didn't make him feel the least bit self-conscious or ashamed.