The departed wife

Dis stood behind Kallen, watching his grandson.

While everyone else had been so frightened by the sight before them that they collapsed to the floor,

of everyone present,

only the grandfather and grandson remained calm.

"Did you notice anything?"

Kallen turned back, glanced at Dis, and shook his head.

"Nothing at all?"

Kallen shook his head again and said,

"It's disappointing."

"Disappointing?"

"Yes."

Although he had deliberately provoked the killer over the phone, Kallen had still held out a little hope.

"Hope" and "disappointment" were hardly appropriate words for the scene before them. In fact, when Kallen hung up and brought his grandfather over, he had also been worried that something might happen to Mrs. Hughes;

but the human mind was complicated. You could worry, feel anxious, and grieve indignantly over Old Darcy's death, while setting aside another part of yourself to assess and consider the "work" before you from a different perspective. There was no contradiction.

And in front of his grandfather, Kallen had little need to hide it.

"What's disappointing about it?"

"It's monotonous, clichéd, and unoriginal."

"Even this?"

Dis looked again at the "building-block Old Darcy" in front of them.

"This is about all he can manage." Kallen shrugged. "Ultimately, the arrangement at the Crown Ballroom owed more to the setting than to the killer's work. This time, we're seeing his actual level."

"Did you really come here to admire it?" Dis asked.

"No, there should be something else interesting." Kallen began scanning their surroundings. "I remember that when I spoke to the killer on the phone, he was struggling with the final assembly."

"So?"

"From an investigative standpoint, after hanging up, the killer probably forced the final piece into place."

"So that's what you're looking for?"

"Yes."

"I'll help you look."

"Thank you, Grandpa."

Kallen first walked over to Mrs. Hughes and helped her to her feet.

Mrs. Hughes was very fair. He had noticed it the first time he saw her, and up close, he could see just how fair she really was;

some kinds of fairness were superficial, static, dull, and uninteresting;

others had substance, movement, and sensuality, and could make you reluctant to let go.

Uncle Mason and Aunt Mary had both advised him to be "careful" around Mrs. Hughes. As people with experience, they knew what she represented.

"Old Darcy..."

Mrs. Hughes was a tear-streaked beauty.

"Ma'am, you should call the police now."

"Oh... all right." At heart, Mrs. Hughes was still a strong, capable woman. She wiped away her tears and walked toward the telephone.

As for the three people still lying on the floor, Kallen did not help them up. Instead, he began searching the cremation room himself, while Dis also walked around and looked.

The cremation room was not particularly large, but with three furnaces to accommodate, it could hardly be cramped.

Kallen first noticed the furnace that was still hot. He went over to inspect it but found nothing unusual.

Next, Kallen approached one of the other furnaces.

"Hm?"

Slightly puzzled, Kallen reached for the lever beside it, opened it, then pulled the tray out with some effort.

A person lay facedown on the tray.

The person was wearing a Hughes Crematorium uniform.

"Ah!"

Mrs. Hughes screamed behind Kallen, making him jump too.

"There's... there's another one here!" Mrs. Hughes was terrified.

"No, it's still the same one." Kallen bent down, picked up the tongs, and prodded the corpse's hand on the tray.

The hand came out of the sleeve;

then Kallen prodded the corpse's head, which also came out through the uniform's neck opening.

Only half of the head remained: the back, with none of the front.

The hand was the same, only half of it remaining. There were no bones, just the outer skin. It looked rather like a prepared "boneless pickled chicken foot."

Kallen turned and walked over to the counter holding the urns, then used the tongs to turn over the foot inside one of them.

Before, the "foot" had been "standing" on its side;

only after turning it over did he discover that it had been cut in two. This was just one half.

Rising slightly onto his toes, he used the tongs to turn Old Darcy's head in the topmost urn. As it turned, he saw that only half a head remained. The back was missing, as though someone had sliced a watermelon crosswise.

So,

half of Old Darcy lay on the furnace tray, while the assembled Old Darcy piled up on the counter was also only half.

The killer had divided Old Darcy into "two halves."

"There's something here too." Dis pushed over a two-wheeled cart. It was normally used to transport ashes and miscellaneous supplies, but now it held a hammer, nails, a ball of thread, rope, and several jars and bottles;

"What's in this bottle..." Curious, Kallen nudged it with the tongs, but there was no label on it.

"Strong adhesive," Dis said.

"Glue..."

Kallen took a few steps back, quietly retreating to the telephone.

Dis came over and stood beside Kallen. "Half a body on the furnace tray, and half here in the urns. So what exactly was the killer trying to do?"

Kallen pressed his lips together and told Dis,

"Old Darcy was cremating Old Darcy."

"Is that what it means?"

"The killer likes using irony to express his artistic feelings. Half of Old Darcy lay facedown on the tray, while the other half stood beside him, wearing gloves and holding a small hammer, ready to push him into the furnace.

"Or perhaps one half of Old Darcy would be cremated, and the other half would prepare to break up his own bones and put them in an urn.

"Viewed from a particular angle, something divided in two can look like two complete people."

"Like wax figures," Dis said.

Wax figures in museums were posed to look as if they were doing something, such as a farmer plowing or a soldier charging.

"Yes, Grandpa, that's a very apt comparison. I believe that's exactly the effect the killer wanted to create."

"But if that was what the killer wanted to express, why did it end up like this? Did your phone call leave him without enough time?"

"I think he realized he didn't have the skills to do such precise work. Dividing a corpse, then stitching and securing it together, takes not only a lot of work but also considerable skill as a 'tailor.'

"So he had to settle for second best, and it ended up like this."

No wonder a little needling over the phone had made the killer "explode." At the time, he had been wallowing in frustration because his creative ability could not keep up with his ideas.

"But, Grandpa, there's something I don't understand. At the Crown Ballroom, the killer used 'Song of the Soul' to mock the Berry Church. Logically, this one should have a religious connection too.

"Criticizing authority, mocking religion, believing you alone are sober while everyone else is drunk-those are common sources of an artist's emotional high."

"What we have here already does," Dis said. "The doctrines of the Abyss God Church include an account of the abyss god. According to legend, he divided himself into two halves;

"one half fell into hell for eternity;

"the other turned into glittering powder and ascended to heaven.

"Then,

"his self in hell and his self in heaven used themselves as a medium to force open a space. It belonged to heaven and connected to hell, yet existed independently. It was called... the abyss.

"His followers also like to call him the master of the abyss."

"The Lord of the Abyss?" Kallen looked at Dis. "Why have I never heard of him?"

"The church originated somewhere very remote. Moreover, its rituals and doctrines are so extreme that many national governments have banned it from preaching within their borders.

"Never mind Rojia City; there are no Abyss Church organizations anywhere in Ruilan. At least, not openly."

The police arrived.

Once again, Chief Duke led them.

When he received the report, his veteran detective's sixth sense told him that this seemed to be another work by that killer.

All afternoon,

the words "a new work of art" had kept pounding inside Chief Duke's head,

along with the calm expression of that young man named Immoreles when he said them.

If he had not had so much on his plate, and if the Immerlis Family-especially its elderly patriarch-had not been so well connected in Rojia City, Chief Duke would have loved to find an excuse to detain the young man and give him some thorough "attention."

Then,

when Chief Duke entered the Hughes Crematorium with his men and saw Kallen already standing there, he clenched both fists and shouted in disbelief,

"Damn it, have you signed a partnership agreement with the Grim Reaper? How do you get here so quickly every time!"

"Hello, Chief Duke," Dis said.

"Mm, hm?" Chief Duke reached out to shake Dis's hand. "Hello, Father Dis."

The police began their work,

while Kallen, having spoken directly to the killer, was asked to give a detailed statement.

Chief Duke stayed throughout;

"...That's everything I know."

"So this time, he's switched from the Berry Church to the Abyss Church?" Chief Duke puffed on his pipe and tapped his forehead. "What worries me now is whether he'll keep killing."

Kallen answered calmly, "He certainly will, and very soon."

"Very soon?"

"Because this work of his was a failure.

"The killer thinks very highly of himself, but his actual abilities are mediocre. Someone like that won't stop to reflect on his shortcomings. Instead, he'll keep impatiently trying to prove himself again."

In his earlier account, Kallen had left out the "mockery" he had directed at the killer over the phone.

"By the way, Chief, have you identified the first victim?"

Chief Duke shook his head and said,

"We have a lead, but we're waiting for the police in the neighboring city to confirm it. The deceased probably wasn't local.

"There's something else. You said the killer and the victim should have had a close relationship, to give it that sense of personal involvement."

"Yes, so I suggest you start by investigating Darcy's social connections."

Chief Duke narrowed his eyes and leaned forward slightly, looking at Kallen as he asked,

"Then once we identify the first victim, we can compare their social circles and use the overlap to narrow down the suspects?"

"In theory, yes."

"Would the killer really be that stupid?" Chief Duke asked incredulously.

Kallen shrugged,

and said,

"He really is that stupid."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

Kallen thanked Mrs. Hughes.

She had personally driven him and his grandfather back to Mink Street.

"I'm very sorry for the trouble."

"Not at all," Dis replied.

Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. "Old Darcy worked for me for years. I never imagined something like this would happen to him. Father Dis, please take care of his funeral. I'll cover everything."

"All right."

Mrs. Hughes forced a smile. "It will mean extra work for Mary. I have only one request: on the day of the funeral, I hope Old Darcy can be whole... just looking whole will be enough."

"All right."

"Thank you. There's one other thing I hope you'll consider."

"Go ahead."

"I want to sell the Crematorium Society. Honestly, I was already exhausted. All these years, the longtime employees around me have kept me going, especially Old Darcy. Now that he's gone, I can't keep running it on my own.

"I hope you'll consider buying the Hughes Crematorium. The price is entirely negotiable. Whatever price you offer, I won't refuse."

She had absolute faith in his grandfather's integrity.

Besides, although Old Darcy had died inside the Crematorium Society, what kind of place was the Crematorium Society... would somewhere that burned dead people every day care about becoming a "house of death"?

"I'll speak to Mason."

"All right. Thank you again, and... your grandson too."

Mrs. Hughes first bowed to Dis,

then spread her arms and hugged Kallen.

At once, Kallen felt surrounded by fullness, as though he were sinking into a mound of cream, yet it did not feel cloying at all.

It was like an old farmer lying atop the grain in his barn, filled with profound satisfaction.

Mrs. Hughes got back into her car, started the engine, and drove away.

Kallen followed Dis into the ground-floor living room, where Aunt Winnie was sitting on the sofa with the account books.

"Father, you're back."

"Mm."

"Where's Uncle? Hasn't he come back yet?" Kallen asked.

Earlier, at the entrance, he hadn't seen the family's hearse.

"Mason and the others came back around dusk, bringing two 'guests' and one family member."

In the Immerlis Family, "guests" specifically meant corpses. The deceased's relatives who paid the bills were called the guests' family members.

In other words,

his uncle had successfully landed both jobs.

One was the man sitting in the booth with half his head sliced off; the other had been gravely injured and eventually died.

"Then where is Uncle now?"

"He went shopping with the guest's wife." As Aunt Winnie spoke, she pointed at her own head, indicating the wife of the deceased whose head had been severed.

Kallen remembered Aunt Mary saying that afternoon that, when notified, the woman had insisted her husband was away on business in Vien and couldn't possibly have died in a dance hall on Hill Street!

Apparently, the wife had accepted the truth.

No,

she hadn't just accepted it. She had also suffered a severe psychological shock.

Her husband had died during the day,

and that night, she had taken a hearse on a shopping spree.

It sounded a little crazy... but Kallen could understand.

Still, Kallen asked curiously,

"How did Aunt Mary agree to that?"

Letting his uncle spend the evening shopping with a woman who had just lost her husband?

"Because Mrs. Seymour ordered Package B!"

Aunt Mary's voice came from the stairs, and she emerged from the basement, looking positively radiant.

Kallen had seen the family's "menu." Package A was intended for the truly wealthy, and they might not get a single order for it in an entire year. The coffins used in that package were the Golden Coffin and the Light Breeze Coffin he had seen earlier.

Package B, meanwhile, was among the most expensive options in the family's regular business.

It was the sort of funeral an ordinary customer spent a fortune on;

that also meant the profit would be substantial.

"Package B, Kallen! Never mind having your uncle accompany her shopping-I wouldn't mind lending him to her for two nights."

Kallen tilted his head to signal Aunt Mary.

Aunt Mary looked over and only then noticed Grandpa sitting on the sofa. She immediately covered her mouth in fright.

Dis merely shook his head slightly and said, "Old Darcy died."

"Who's Old Darcy?" Aunt Mary looked puzzled, then said, "Oh, the old cremator at Hughes Crematorium. Poor Old Darcy. May God receive his soul."

After speaking, Aunt Mary made a prayer gesture, clearly trying to make up for her earlier outrageous remark.

Dis went straight upstairs.

Kallen said, "Mrs. Hughes wants us to handle Old Darcy's funeral."

Rather than looking excited about another job, Aunt Mary rolled her eyes. "I hate doing business with people I know. There's no room for profit, and sometimes we even have to take a loss."

Kallen couldn't help laughing inwardly. Now that's true friendship.

After a moment's hesitation, seeing that Grandpa hadn't directly told Aunt Mary about Mrs. Hughes's plan to sell the Crematorium Society, Kallen likewise decided not to tell her that Old Darcy was now in pieces.

"Oh, right, Kallen. A gentleman came to visit you this afternoon while you were out with Grandpa. He left after learning you weren't home, but he left you a letter, saying you could go to his house for coffee whenever you had time."

Kallen took the letter. It was signed "Piaget," the psychologist who had brought his wife to Hughes Crematorium to be cremated last time.

The letter was simple. In essence, it expressed regret at having missed him that day and invited Kallen to visit his home. It included a telephone number and an address:

45 Rhine Street.

If Mink Street counted as the second ring, Rhine Street was in the first ring, right in the city center. City Hall was on that street too.

"All right, Aunt Mary. I understand. I'd like to go upstairs and take a bath first."

"Mm. Get some rest early."

Just then, the sound of a vehicle came from outside. Uncle Mason had returned with Mrs. Seymour.

Mrs. Seymour was about thirty and dressed very plainly.

Uncle Mason followed behind her, laden with bags of all sizes. They had bought plenty of shoes, clothes, and handbags.

"Mason, why didn't you take Mrs. Seymour home?" Aunt Mary asked.

Now that the shopping was done, shouldn't he have taken her home first? Why bring her back to their house so late?

The preparation of the body and the funeral arrangements would take place several days later, not tomorrow. After all, people like Mr. Mossan's children, who were eager to dispose of their father, were exceedingly rare.

Most funerals allowed ample time to send out funeral notices and let friends and relatives prepare to attend. The body also needed to be embalmed first.

Mrs. Seymour answered before he could. "Mason told me your family also offers psychological counseling. I need that service now."

Standing behind Mrs. Seymour, Uncle Mason raised his eyebrows at Kallen, then mouthed something to Aunt Mary.

Aunt Mary understood immediately and said,

"Yes, yes, we do. We'll arrange it for you right away."

Psychological counseling required a private, comfortable space.

But Kallen had no office of his own. Aunt Mary didn't dare go upstairs now and ask Dis to vacate his office, and sending Mrs. Seymour to the basement was even more out of the question.

In the end,

Aunt Mary offered up the bedroom she shared with Uncle Mason so Kallen could counsel Mrs. Seymour there.

"Please, come in."

"All right."

Mrs. Seymour walked inside and began looking around the furnishings. It was a cozy bedroom. Then she sat on the edge of the bed.

Kallen pulled over a chair and sat facing Mrs. Seymour.

He knew she was currently in an agitated state, not only because her husband had died, but even more because of his betrayal.

"Mrs. Seymour, could you first tell me about you and Mr. Seymour?"

Kallen quickly slipped into work mode, and for a moment, he felt dazed.

It was as though he had become his former self from his previous life again.

Once that brief moment of distraction passed,

when Kallen focused on Mrs. Seymour again, he discovered she had taken off her coat and was removing the clothes underneath.

"Mrs. Seymour, what are you..."

"Young man, you're very handsome."

"Thank you, but you..."

"Have sex with me. Now. Right now. Immediately."

"Mrs. Seymour, this is a psychological counseling session."

"I know. Once you've had sex with me, I'll pay your counseling fee."

"I'm sorry."

"I'll pay you double!"

Wearing only her underwear now, Mrs. Seymour stepped forward and began tugging at Kallen, trying to take off his clothes.

"Now. Right now. Immediately. Right here on this bed. Have sex with me. I'll satisfy you. Any position you like is fine. If you've never done it before, I can teach you."

Kallen didn't struggle fiercely.

Instead, he spread his hands,

allowing Mrs. Seymour to remove his coat.

Just then,

Kallen asked very calmly,

"Anything I want?"

"Of course. Yes."

"Then let's go to the basement. I want to do it in front of Mr. Seymour."

The next moment,

as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over her, Mrs. Seymour stopped moving.

Kallen softened his tone

and asked,

"Is it worth it?"

Mrs. Seymour slowly crouched down, wrapped her arms around herself, and began to cry.

"Why? Why? For him, I gave up my career, gave up my family, and stayed home being his perfect wife and mother. What right did he have to treat me like this? What right did he have? How could he do this to me?"

Kallen picked up Mrs. Seymour's clothes and draped them over her. Then he sat on the floor and said nothing, simply watching her cry.

Once she cried it out, she would feel better.

Mrs. Seymour reached out, hugged Kallen's arm, and pressed her face against his shoulder, sobbing and asking over and over, "Why? Why?"

And Kallen knew she didn't actually need an answer.

"How much did you charge?" Aunt Mary asked quietly beside the dining table outside the room.

"Two thousand Lu Coins," Uncle Mason replied.

"Are you crazy? That much?"

"The last one paid twenty thousand Lu Coins," Uncle Mason corrected her. "I asked around. This kind of service is expensive."

"Do you think Kallen can handle this job?"

Uncle Mason considered for a moment, then replied,

"He... probably can. Anyway, ever since my nephew woke up from that serious illness, he's really felt like a different person."

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like I should be calling him Uncle."

Click.

The door opened.

Kallen stood in the doorway, and Mrs. Seymour walked out.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I was just doing my job."

Mrs. Seymour then bowed to Aunt Mary and Uncle Mason.

"I'll leave my husband's funeral arrangements in your hands."

"Of course, of course."

"You're too kind."

"I'm truly sorry for disturbing you today. I'll head home now."

"It's too late to find a taxi easily. Let me drive you," Uncle Mason said.

"Then, sorry for the trouble. I live at 46 Rhine Street."

"All right, no problem. It's not very far," Uncle Mason said.

Upon hearing that address, Kallen, who had been smiling politely as he saw the client off, asked,

"Mrs. Seymour, may I ask whether you know Mr. Piaget?"

The address Piaget had left him was 45 Rhine Street. Unless something unusual was going on, he should be Mrs. Seymour's neighbor.

"Mr. Piaget? Yes, of course I know him. He's my neighbor, and he's very close to both me and my husband. Mr. Piaget often goes fishing with my husband.

His wife, Linda, is lovely too. She's a wonderful cook and often invites us over for dinner."

"Oh, I see." Kallen noticed a smile at the corners of Mrs. Seymour's mouth when she mentioned Piaget's wife.

The smile was a little strange. And logically, she should have added, "Unfortunately, his wife passed away last week." That would have made sense.

Then,

Mrs. Seymour added,

"Linda brought me an apple pie this morning. It tasted absolutely wonderful. I even saved half in the refrigerator for my husband. Sadly, he'll never get to eat it."