Chapter 1512: Handkerchief

"I'm a failure, hardly paying attention to whether the sunshine is bright or not, because I have no time.

"My parents couldn't provide me any support, my education isn't high either, alone in the city searching for a future.

"I applied for many jobs, but none of them would hire me—probably because no one likes a person who isn't good at talking, doesn't like to socialize, and hasn't shown enough ability.

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"I went a full three days eating only two loaves of bread; hunger kept me from sleeping at night. Fortunately, I had paid a month's rent in advance, so I could still stay in that dark basement, without having to go outside and endure the unusually cold winter wind.

"Finally, I found a job—keeping night watch at a 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 rely on the little light seeping out from the rooms to see my feet.

"The smell there was awful. From time to time, the dead were stuffed into body bags and delivered, and we worked together to help carry them into the morgue.

"This isn't a very good job, but at least it lets me afford bread. The free time at night can also be used to study—after all, not many people are willing to come to the morgue, unless there's a corpse that needs to be delivered or taken away for cremation. Of course, I don't have enough money to buy books yet, and right now I can't see any hope of saving up.

"I have to thank my former colleague—if he hadn't suddenly quit, I might not have been able to get even this kind of job.

"I dream of being able to rotate to the day shift. Right now I always sleep when the sun comes up and get up after night falls, which has made my body a bit weak, and my head occasionally throbs.

"One day, the porters delivered a new corpse.

"From what others said, this was my former colleague who had suddenly quit.

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

"He was an old man, his face both blue and white, covered in wrinkles, looking very frightening under the very dim light.

"He didn't have much hair, most of it white. His clothes had all been stripped off, not even a single piece of cloth left on him.

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"I saw a strange mark on his chest, a blue-black one. I couldn't describe its exact shape—the lighting at the time was really too dim.

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

"Looking at this former colleague, I was thinking—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 bring his ashes to the nearest free cemetery, so those in charge of these matters wouldn't find it troublesome and just toss them into some river or wasteland.

"This will cost me a morning's sleep, but luckily, tomorrow's Sunday, so I can make it up.

"After saying that, I fixed up the body bag and stuffed it back into the cabinet.

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

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

"I had a premonition that something would happen soon, a premonition that sooner or later something that might or might not be called a human would come looking for me. But no one was willing to believe me—they thought that working in that kind of environment, in that kind of job, my mind had become a bit abnormal, and I needed to see a doctor..."

A male guest sitting at the counter 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 very flat, with a plain dark bowler hat beside his hand.

He looked ordinary, just like most of the people in the tavern—black hair, light blue eyes, neither good-looking nor ugly, lacking any obvious distinguishing features.

And the storyteller in his eyes was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, with a tall, straight figure and long limbs, also with short black hair and light blue eyes, but with sharp, striking features that would catch one's eye at a glance.

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

"And then?

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

As he spoke, a smile spread across his face—a smile with a teasing edge to it.

That male guest was taken aback for a moment:

"Everything you just told—was that just shooting the breeze?"

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

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

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

"Right on—something 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 Cordu, this large village, wearing short jackets in black, gray, or brown.

The black-haired young man called Lumian placed both hands on the counter, slowly stood up, and said with a smile:

"You all know this isn't a story I made up—they're all written by my sister. She loves writing stories the most; she's even a columnist for some 'Novel Weekly.'"

After saying that, he turned sideways, spread his hands toward the out-of-town guest, and grinned brightly:

"Looks like she really writes well.

"Sorry for the misunderstanding."

The man in the brown tweed jacket, ordinary in appearance, didn't get angry. He stood up as well and replied with a smile:

"A very interesting story.

"What should I call you?"

"Isn't it common sense to introduce yourself before asking about someone else?" Lumian said with a smile.

The out-of-town guest nodded:

"My name is Ryan Cose.

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

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

The man was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with a little powder dusted on his blond hair. His not-very-large eyes were a shade darker than lake-blue. He wore a white waistcoat, a blue fine-tweed jacket, and black trousers—clearly having taken great pains with his appearance before going out.

His expression was rather cold, and he paid little attention to the farmers and herdsmen around him.

The woman looked younger than the two men. Her light gray long hair was tied into a complicated bun, wrapped in a white veil that served as a hat.

Her eyes were the same color as her hair. The gaze she turned on Lumian carried undisguised amusement, as if she found what had just happened purely entertaining.

Under the tavern's gas wall lamps, the woman called Leah revealed a pert nose and beautifully curved lips—absolutely worthy of being called a beauty in a backwater village like Cordu.

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere body-hugging dress, paired with an off-white short jacket and a pair of Maxir long boots; a silver bell hung from each of her veil and boots, jingling merrily as she walked into the tavern, drawing plenty of attention and making many a man's gaze go rigid.

In their eyes, this was the sort of fashionable getup only seen in big cities like the provincial capital Bigo or the capital Trier.

Lumian nodded to the three outsiders:

"I'm Lumian Lee. You can just call me Lumian."

"Lee?" Leah blurted out.

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

Ryan Coos helped Leah explain:

"Your surname inspires fear. I almost couldn't control my own voice just now."

Seeing the farmers and herdsmen around them looking puzzled, he elaborated:

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

'Better to run into those pirate generals—or even kings—than to meet a man called Frank Lee.'

"That man's surname is also Lee."

"Is he very fearsome?" Lumian asked.

Ryan shook his head:

"I don't know, but since there's such a legend, he can't be far off."

He cut off the topic and said to Lumian:

"Thanks for the story. It deserves a drink. What'll you have?"

"A 'Green Fairy,'" Lumian said without a shred of politeness, sitting back down.

Ryan Coos frowned slightly:

"'Green Fairy'… absinthe?

"I think I need to warn you—wormwood is harmful to the human body. This kind of liquor can cause mental derangement and hallucinations."

"I didn't expect Trier's trends had already spread here." Leah beside him added with a smile.

Lumian let out an "Oh":

"So Trier folk like 'Green Fairy' too…

"For us, life is already hard enough—no point fussing over a little extra harm. This stuff lets our spirits relax more."

"Fine." Ryan sat back in his seat, looked at the bartender. "One 'Green Fairy,' and add me a 'Heartburn.'"

"Heartburn" was a famous fruit brandy.

"Why not get me a 'Green Fairy' too? I'm the one who told you the truth earlier, and I can tell you everything about this kid straight!" the lean middle-aged man who'd been the first to expose Lumian's daily storytelling shouted indignantly. "Outsiders, I can tell you still have doubts about whether that story was true!"

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

Before Ryan could decide, Lumian added:

"Why can't I tell it myself? Then I could get one more 'Green Fairy.'"

"Because they don't know whether to believe what you say." The middle-aged man called Pierre said with a smug grin. "Your sister's favorite story for the kids is 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.' A man who always lies must lose his credit."

"Fine." Lumian shrugged, watching the bartender slide a pale-green drink in front of him.

Ryan looked at him, asking:

"Is that all right?"

"No problem, as long as your wallet can cover the bill." Lumian was entirely unbothered.

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

Pierre's face immediately broke into a smile:

"Generous outsiders, this kid is the biggest prankster in the village. You must 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 have been a corpse-watcher at a hospital? The nearest hospital to us is Daliege down the mountain, a full afternoon's walk."

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

She tilted her head slightly, producing a jingling sound.

Pierre nodded:

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"After that, he took Aurore's surname 'Lee,' and even the name 'Lumian' was given by Aurore."

"I've forgotten what I was originally called." Lumian took a sip of absinthe and said with a grin.

He didn't seem the least bit inferior or ashamed at having his past aired like this.