Kallen stood up and looked at Rot, who had braced both hands on his crutches and pressed his chest against him to help him keep his balance.
He took a deep breath,
and felt his head spin,
unable for a moment to tell whether it was from too little oxygen or too much.
But his heart suddenly eased all the same. The great stone weighing on it seemed to have been lifted away.
Yet he could not put that feeling into words, not because it was complicated, but because another family's tragedy lay right before him. Basic decency kept him from saying anything inappropriate.
If he had not been there, if this had been a phone call, he could easily have said:
"Hey, Rot, I heard a whole family died on your street. You scared me-I thought something had happened to your family."
In the face of death,
most emotions were stained gray;
often, it was not about respecting a particular deceased person, but respecting life itself;
after all, most people looking at someone lying at a memorial service had imagined what it would be like to lie there themselves.
Of course, that inward relief was understandable, and there was no need to feel guilty about it. Human suffering and grief were difficult to share completely, especially when strangers were involved.
"Kallen, Kallen?" Uncle Mason called again. "Are you all right? Hold this stretcher steady."
Kallen turned around, walked over, and steadied the Stretcher Cart.
Uncle Mason gave another instruction. "Afu, come help me carry the one inside. Kallen, if you can't push it, wait here for us."
Kallen tried pushing the Stretcher Cart alone. It would have been manageable on level ground, but the road here was full of potholes, and the wheels kept getting stuck.
Then Sarah's mother came over, took the other side, and helped Kallen push the Stretcher Cart.
Cripple Rot followed alongside them. "Mr. Kallen, did you know? Everyone on this street calls me Cripple Rot. The man lying up there was called One-Armed Siso."
"Actually, his father and mine used to work together. When we were little, our fathers often drank together, and the two of us played together too."
"Later, we went to work at the same factory. On the day of the accident, we were both pinned under the machinery. I lost a leg, and he lost an arm."
"He once comforted me like this: hey, Rot, I'm so jealous of you. At least you still have two whole hands to make slippers out of tire rubber. I can't use these two feet to knit gloves."
"His family actually had it harder than mine. In summer, I could still earn a few hundred Lu Coins a month making slippers to help with the household expenses, and my wife earned wages at the Textile Factory.
A lot of the time, he could only pick leftover meat out of garbage heaps and sell it to the Fried Meat Shop. But he always brought the freshest, most intact pieces home, and shared some with us too.
Whenever he brought me meat, he would say:
Hey, even leftover meat still tastes good when you chew it. Just like the two of us-we're missing an arm or a leg, but aren't we still people?"
"His wife always had heart trouble and couldn't do strenuous work, so she and his mother folded paper boxes for people at home. A hundred boxes earned them two Lu Coins. They often spent the entire day folding."
"After we came back from the march that day, we were all so excited. He told me, Rot, did you see? Mr. Sixson is still standing with us. He's still the pride of our Eastern District."
"He was already planning how to spend the two hundred Lu Coins he could collect every month. He said he wanted to save it so his wife could have her heart checked at the hospital. He said her heart trouble seemed to be getting worse. But his wife said they should save the money for their child's schooling, because tuition and books would cost more once she started middle school."
"Just last night, after you left, Mr. Kallen, I went over to visit him. I even took out that beautiful business card you gave me and showed it to him."
"He was surprised. He said he'd seen the hearse parked on the street. When he passed it, he'd wondered what kind of family someone had to come from to ride to their own memorial service in such a luxurious, comfortable vehicle after they died."
"I told him you'd had dinner at my house. He said that once his darling started middle school, she'd probably get to know classmates from well-off families too. When she brought them home, what should he prepare so he could entertain them properly?"
They had pushed the Stretcher Cart to the back of the hearse. Kallen opened the rear compartment and pulled down a ramp so they could roll the Stretcher Cart straight up. The old hearse had not had that feature.
Kallen climbed in first and pulled, while Sarah's mother and Rot reached out together to push from below.
At last, the Stretcher Cart carrying "One-Armed Siso" was pushed into the hearse.
Kallen climbed down and looked into the distance, searching for his uncle and Afu.
At that moment, Mr. Rot, who had been talking the whole time, suddenly thrust his face in front of Kallen's. His expression twisted, his eyes turned completely red, and he roared almost hysterically:
"Mr. Kallen, a father who was still thinking last night about how to entertain his daughter's well-off classmates when they visited someday-would he really just poison himself? Do you think that's possible?"
"I..."
"He's dead. One-Armed Siso is dead. His mother hanged herself. His wife jumped off a building with their daughter. I went to see it. You couldn't look at it, you just couldn't. I couldn't bear to look.
Mr. Kallen, their Little Mira was the whole family's darling.
Whatever happened, they would have fought with everything they had to protect Little Mira. Especially his wife. Her heart trouble only started after she gave birth to Little Mira.
His wife treasured their daughter more than her own life.
Even if she wanted to die,
how could she possibly take her daughter with her!"
Kallen did not know how to answer Rot.
Rot clutched Kallen's clothes. Sarah's mother pulled at her husband from behind, but Rot would not let go.
"And another thing... why are you the one coming to collect Siso, Mr. Kallen?
My God,
could he afford funeral expenses?
His family would have had to scrape together even the cremation fee.
How could they possibly afford a memorial service!
Look,
he's lying in this comfortable big vehicle now.
Yesterday, when he was still alive, he wouldn't even have dared to dream of that!!!"
Thud!
Both of Rot's crutches fell to the ground, and he collapsed into a puddle, splashing dirty water everywhere. Though he had always kept himself clean despite his disability, he kept slapping the puddle with both hands:
"Can someone tell me what the hell happened! Can someone tell me what the hell happened!
Why did those reporters get here so quickly!
Why did Siso's suicide note curse Mr. Sixson!
My God,
this was One-Armed Siso, a man who couldn't even understand his daughter's elementary school questions, who had to bring her over and ask Sarah for help with her homework!"
At that moment, a group of reporters who had finished taking pictures came out;
they held umbrellas to protect their cameras and carefully stepped across the bricks in the puddles. As they passed Rot, who was frantically slapping the water, their faces filled with alarm and contempt, and they gave him a wide berth.
They left Rot sitting there alone, still screaming wildly.
Then his uncle, with a policeman's help, pushed out the body of Siso's mother.
Farther back, Afu came over pushing another Stretcher Cart alone. Two people lay beneath the White Shroud on it.
All the bodies were loaded into the hearse, and the Stretcher Cart wheels were folded away. Siso and his mother lay in the recessed space in the middle, while his wife and daughter lay on the seats along either side that passengers normally occupied.
After signing the paperwork with the policeman, Mason got into the driver's seat.
"Young master, it's time to get in," Afu reminded Kallen.
Kallen climbed in. With the bodies occupying the seats, he and Afu could only sit down below. He also held out an arm to keep a body from sliding off when the vehicle jolted.
At last,
the noise outside began to fade as the hearse left Mine Street.
"Afu, get me a cigarette," Uncle Mason called from the driver's seat.
Afu went over, took out Uncle Mason's cigarettes, put one between Mason's lips, and lit it for him.
As Afu was about to put the cigarettes away, Mason jerked his chin toward the back.
Afu understood. He also remembered the day he and Miss Molly had smoked with the great being at the second-floor window of No. 128 on Mink Street, then laughed out loud together.
Alfred brought a cigarette to Kallen's lips.
Kallen took it, but declined his offer to light it.
"Uncle..."
Before Kallen could finish, Uncle Mason shouted from the driver's seat:
"Suicide, suicide, suicide-fuck suicide!"
Paying a deposit to the Funeral Society in advance, booking a date, then having the whole family kill themselves and wait to be collected-that was not impossible. In fact, they had handled similar business before. Some elderly couples really did arrange their own funerals beforehand because they wanted to die together.
But a deposit of a hundred thousand Lu Coins,
the Immoreles Funeral Company-
could a family living on Mine Street afford that?
Whoever paid the deposit had known people would die, that they would die today, and that it would be the entire family!
This was not a case of waiting for a whole generation to pass away before holding a joint funeral!
So how the hell could this be called suicide!
Other people might not know.
Outsiders might not know.
But how could the Immerlis Family, who had received the deposit in advance, not know?
Had their family taken these past few days off just to wait for this "suicide"?
Mason was no fool. Of course he had figured it out long ago.
But after venting his emotions,
Mason spoke again:
"Kallen, a lot of reporters came today. I believe even more will come to the memorial service tomorrow. That police sergeant just told me his chief is watching this case too, and so are a lot of people in the city government."
Kallen pressed his lips together;
traffic had backed up ahead,
and Uncle Mason hammered the horn, urging them on:
Honk, honk, honk, honk!!!!!
Then,
he said dejectedly:
"So what can we do? Report it? Tell someone we received a deposit of a hundred thousand Lu Coins beforehand? Say all of this was planned?"
Are we going to uphold justice?
Are we going to expose the darkness?
Are we going to secure justice for the four guests in this vehicle?
Kallen,
this is a game for the big shots.
Since they dared to give us a deposit openly, and such a large one, they aren't afraid we'll talk. They know they can shut our mouths.
They can use Lu Coins.
Of course,
they can also do it the way they did to this family in the hearse. Their mouths can't speak anymore either."
Afu watched Mason's emotions swing back and forth. He felt that, rather than reassuring his nephew and encouraging him to accept society's dark side, Mr. Mason was comforting himself, soothing the upright heart within him.
He was not talking Kallen through it. He was talking himself through it.
"I understand, Uncle."
Kallen's head hurt a little. Perhaps the initial "misunderstanding" had drained too much of his energy. Sitting in the hearse now, he actually felt carsick.
Uncle Mason stopped raising his voice and concentrated on driving. The impatient bursts of his horn from time to time betrayed his agitation.
Perhaps,
if he could turn back time, he would not have accepted this job.
He earned money to improve his quality of life, and improved his quality of life to feel happier. Now he was unhappy.
Kallen looked at the girl lying on the seat beside his hand. She was younger than Sarah; after all, she was only in elementary school.
"The neighbors saw it. Her mother took her up to the roof," Alfred pointed out.
Kallen looked at Afu;
Afu seemed to want to ease the atmosphere with a smile, but a smile would have been far too inappropriate just then. He could only keep his expression grave as he continued:
"Perhaps you could ask your grandfather when we get home, young master. Mr. Dis, I mean."
Those words
were overheard by Mason as he drove:
"There's no use telling Father. He's an upright man, but he's only a priest. Telling him would only trouble him."
Kallen, however, understood what Afu was implying;
the deaths had been ruled suicides not merely because a note had been left, but because many neighbors had personally seen the wife leave home with her daughter and head toward the apartment block.
No one had forced them. The wife herself had taken her daughter to jump off the building.
So,
there might be something wrong here.
The facts showed
that, at least from the Immerlis Family's perspective, it was clear this family could not have committed suicide. Everything had been planned in advance.
But the problem was that no one seemed to have coerced the wife and daughter into dying the way they had. It had been "voluntary."
So there was something wrong here, a contradiction;
and a certain kind of being possessed the ability to create contradictions beyond the bounds of normal human reasoning. That was...
"An otherworldly demon."
Kallen said it quietly to Afu.
Afu nodded and sat back down.
The hearse returned to Mink Street close to noon.
As they neared home,
Uncle Mason suddenly shouted from the driver's seat:
"Damn it, what's going on!"
As it turned out,
a crowd had gathered in the road outside 13 Mingke Street, right in front of the Immerlis Family's house. Each person held a bouquet of white roses, and they were staging a sit-in.
When the hearse approached, the people sitting on the ground immediately rose, lifted their roses high, and put on grief-stricken expressions.
The bouquets of white roses rose in perfect unison, with practiced ease, as though they had rehearsed it.
Meanwhile, a number of reporters carrying cameras got out of the cars nearby. As the bodies began to be unloaded from the hearse, they started snapping pictures nonstop.
"Make way! Make way!"
"Make way! Make way!"
Uncle Mason shouted at the top of his lungs, but it did little good.
The "White Roses" crowded around each advancing Stretcher Cart, weeping and mourning. Every body wheeled inside was covered with white roses.
With Ron's help, all the Stretcher Carts and bodies were wheeled inside.
The reporters wanted to follow them in,
but Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary came out to stop them.
"The bodies need to be prepared. The memorial service isn't until tomorrow. Thank you, and please don't interfere with our work."
At that moment, Humil, the editor-in-chief of the Rojia Daily, sat in a car by the roadside and instructed the person beside him:
"Don't let those idiots rush inside to photograph the bodies. Do they want pictures of the bloody mess left after a fatal fall? Damn it, putting that in the paper won't stir up public anger at all. People will only feel disgusted and sick.
"Call all those reporters back for now. Just photograph the protesters.
"Wait until the bodies have been prepared and look normal, then take pictures at the memorial service. That way, they'll look peaceful, and readers will feel anger when they see those photographs in the paper. Understand?"
They entered the living room.
Uncle Mason was so furious that he threw his hat straight onto the floor.
"They're insane, insane! Those idiots outside with their white roses actually got here before our hearse!"
Aunt Winnie said, "A secretary from mayoral candidate Ford's office called to ask when we'd have the bodies ready. He wants to pay his respects. I told him tomorrow.
"Also, the newspapers have booked visits to the memorial service. They said they'd send reporters to attend.
"Representatives from the unions in every district, offices of some city government officials, and even assistants to celebrities and prominent figures in Rojia City have called to ask when they can pay their respects to the deceased."
Aunt Mary said, "Mason, I think there's something wrong with this job."
"Get out! Get out! Get out!"
Already on the verge of losing control, Uncle Mason screamed,
then crouched on the floor
and began to cry.
Miss Molly leaned close to Afu and asked quietly,
"What's wrong with Mr. Mason?"
Afu answered softly, "He's a good man."
Kallen silently climbed the stairs,
going from the first floor to the second, then from the second to the third.
"The house is lively today," Puer remarked as she followed Kallen along the banister.
Kallen said nothing.
"Kallen, if something's troubling you, you can always talk to Dis."
As she spoke,
Puer deliberately lowered her head to look at the two otherworldly demons below, who were looking up the stairs.
"Dear Kallen, for the sake of that squirrel-shaped mandarin fish, let me remind you: don't listen too much to those two otherworldly demons. You should listen to your grandfather. Dis's advice is always the soundest and safest.
"He can always, always give you the most sensible, levelheaded advice."
Kallen stopped and looked at Puer.
Puer swished her tail
and said,
"In short, you mustn't act rashly. There's a proverb: the impulsive will eventually be devoured by the Evil God."
Then Puer tilted her head
and said,
"What am I even saying? Meow."
Kallen reached the door to Dis's study. After a moment's hesitation, he knocked.
"Knock... knock... knock..."
"Come in."
Kallen entered Dis's study. Dis was writing with a fountain pen and asked without looking up,
"It's lively outside. Did you bring back that job?"
"Yes, Grandpa. A family of four, all dead. They left a suicide note and, by a remarkable coincidence, died on the last day allowed by our agreed schedule."
"Oh."
"They lived on Mine Street and were very poor. You couldn't raise a hundred thousand Lu Coins for the deposit even if you sold everything they owned ten times over."
"Oh."
"I don't think it was suicide."
"Yes. Obviously, someone arranged their deaths and booked our funeral services in advance."
"So..."
"You can call the police and tell them. You know that Chief Duke, don't you? Oh, he might not be responsible for the Eastern District. Then you can call the City Police Department and give them that lead. Their number is in the directory beside the telephone on the first floor."
"A group of protesters carrying white roses has gathered outside, along with a crowd of reporters. Tonight, or at tomorrow's memorial service, a great many officials and prominent people will be coming to pay their respects."
"Oh. It seems they're quite powerful, and this probably involves a political struggle."
"Yes, so calling the police... probably won't help. They practically told us outright beforehand that they were going to kill people and that we should make time to collect the bodies. They were that confident. Even if we knew, it wouldn't affect them at all."
"Oh. Then don't call the police. It won't help anyway."
"..." Kallen was speechless.
Dis continued writing what looked like a report.
And that was indeed what it was. Dis was writing his second investigation report on the divine descent incident in Bellwin.
Kallen took a deep breath, slowly turned around, and prepared to leave.
He really didn't know what he could do.
More selfishly, he didn't know what it would be appropriate for him to do.
He was only a... a high school dropout.
All right, he also had two otherworldly demons who firmly believed he was the Evil God incarnate. Both were highly capable. Miss Molly had swallowed Mrs. Hughes whole right before his eyes, and Alfred was probably somewhat stronger than Miss Molly.
Perhaps he could command-or coax-those two otherworldly demons into doing something for him.
But he was also a little afraid.
Just as Puer had said: don't act rashly.
The other side was powerful in the secular world, and the consequences of abusing otherworldly demon abilities might be even more frightening.
But,
just as Puer had also said: Dis was always calm.
Yes.
Grandpa was very calm. Since calling the police wouldn't help, he simply wouldn't call them.
Uncle Mason had crouched on the floor and cried in anguish. As an ordinary man, he knew he couldn't stand against those people outside. He had a home, a family, and a business, so all he could do was break down, then crouch on the floor and cry.
Kallen was no different. What right did he have to drag his entire family into a vortex of danger?
Just for... that pitiful little... sense of justice?
The dead weren't the Rott family, were they?
They weren't people he knew or had spent time with. He'd never shared a meal or a cigarette with them, never patted their little girl on the head. So they didn't really have much to do with him, did they?
Hadn't he himself felt relieved when he saw that Mr. Rot was still alive?
So,
what am I agonizing over?
This world, this society, is just like this. What do you think you can change?
I'd be better off thinking about something delicious to cook for the family tonight, something that might give my distraught uncle an appetite. That would be the right choice for my family.
Kallen opened the door.
He heard Dis's fountain pen still scratching away behind him.
Kallen hesitated,
then turned back and called once more,
"Grandpa."
"Hmm? Is there something else?" Dis continued writing.
"We know that family's deaths were arranged, but a neighbor saw the wife take her daughter up to the rooftop of her own accord and jump. As far as I know, that woman would never hurt her daughter, no matter what. She wouldn't see her husband die and then take her daughter with her to end it all."
The fountain pen
stopped.
Dis
raised his head, looked at Kallen, and asked,
"So, what are you suggesting?"
Kallen answered, "I think there's a contradiction here. Otherworldly demon power may have been involved."
Dis capped his fountain pen, returned it to the pen holder, closed the more-than-half-finished report, and stood up.
He said,
"If an otherworldly demon is involved, then we have to intervene."
"Uh..."
Kallen struggled to adjust to the sudden change in Dis's attitude.
Dis opened a desk drawer and took out a black briefcase.
"You seem to know quite a bit about what happened. So, if an otherworldly demon killed them, where do you think we should start investigating? I mean either the otherworldly demon or the person who ordered it to kill."
In truth, Kallen had no idea how to investigate. He wasn't a police officer. Even in his previous life, he had only served as a police consultant.
But since Dis had asked,
Kallen gave him a general direction, because the answer was obvious.
"I think this incident is a trigger. A group of people outside is waiting to exploit it, and ultimately it will feed into the mayoral election, becoming a powerful weapon of public opinion against the old mayor.
"So the biggest beneficiary would be the person most likely to become the new mayor if the old mayor steps down... his name is Ford."
"Good. Let's go to Ford's house and ask whether he did it."
"Uh..." Kallen froze.
Carrying the black briefcase, Dis walked around the desk and came up to Kallen. Seeing him stand motionless, he asked,
"What's wrong?"
"Go to... Ford's house?"
"Yes. Didn't you say he stands to gain the most? Wouldn't asking him directly be the easiest way?"
"Grandpa, he's a Mayoral Election candidate. People in Rojia City's government, the media, and probably plenty of prominent figures and financial groups support him."
"Yes. And? What's the problem?"
"We're just going straight to his house?"
"We'll ask him first. If it wasn't him, we'll have him name other suspects. Isn't that the easiest and quickest option?"
"That's true, but he's very powerful. And if he can order otherworldly demons to kill, that means he probably also has..."
Kallen broke off,
because he saw Dis smile.
"Heh."
Dis reached out, patted Kallen's shoulder, and asked,
"Have you read the books I had Lunt bring you?"
"I've read one."
"Which one?"
"Light of Order."
"Yes. Did you see a certain passage in it?
"This one:
"'The Order God Church, as the guardian of order, must treat all equally beneath the Light of Order.'"
Kallen nodded. "I did."
"Then it seems you haven't understood that passage yet."
"I..."
"'Treat all equally beneath the Light of Order.'
"What it means is,
"no matter who they are, no one is entitled to special treatment from our Order God Church.
"This isn't the equality at birth written into the Ruilan Constitution.
"Rather,
"it is a truth the Order God Church established with its fists."
As he spoke,
Dis reached out and lightly patted Kallen's cheek.
Smiling, he said,
"So why would you naively imagine that your grandfather would be afraid of some mayor, the media, or financial groups?"
Dis opened the study door himself
and continued,
"After all, who the hell do they think they are?"
Before you continue