Arrival!

Dawn was just breaking;

"Who was it? Who the hell was it!"

Aunt Mary's furious shrieks came from the basement.

Then,

she stomped up the ramp,

and saw Dis in his priest's robes.

"Father, some damned bastard did something to Mr. Mossan down in the basement..."

"I performed a ritual for him."

"Oh, I see. Praise your mercy. May Mr. Mossan rest in peace."

Aunt Mary immediately prayed.

Then,

she turned and returned to the workroom, quietly touching up Mr. Mossan's "makeup."

It had happened before: bodies brought into the house had been left in a "mess." Her father-in-law had performed rituals for the deceased several times, ruining their makeup.

But,

since her father-in-law had done it,

Aunt Mary didn't dare lose her temper with him. Not in the slightest.

Before leaving the basement last night, Kallen had put Mr. Mossan's body back on the Stretcher Cart, wiped his own blood off the floor, and straightened Mr. Mossan's clothes. But the makeup on his face... Kallen simply had no way of restoring that;

so he could only wash up again, then return to his room and sleep.

When he woke,

his younger cousin Lunt, who shared his room, was already gone.

Kallen sat up in bed and patted his forehead.

This body really was handsome. Even from a man's perspective, it was good-looking;

it was just a little too frail.

In his previous life, Kallen had often stayed up late and smoked, but he had kept up his running and workouts, so he'd been reasonably fit.

"Looks like I'll have to put exercise on the agenda."

Kallen washed up and went down to the second floor, where he saw milk and bread on the dining table.

He poured a glass of milk and dipped the bread into it. After making do with two slices, he drained the milk, crumbs and all, straightened his collar and cuffs, and went down to the first floor.

The gramophone on the first floor was playing the piano piece "Departed Friend," one of the most frequently played selections at Memorial Service venues in Rojia City and several neighboring cities.

Kallen stopped beside the gramophone. The first floor had already been arranged, giving it a solemn, dignified air;

Ron and Paul were setting the coffin on the small raised platform, while Mina and Chris were busy lighting candles;

his cousin Lunt was holding a mop, cleaning up any footprints that might be on the floor.

Aunt Mary sat in a corner drinking water, looking rather tired. Kallen knew why: work she had finished last night had turned into a morning rush job. She must have been exhausted.

Aunt Winnie held a booklet, checking the supplies.

Everything laid out on the first floor, apart from the "fresh flowers," was a seasoned performer.

They might all be reused, but replacing anything that went missing would still cost a fair bit.

Grandfather stood beside the small platform, watching Ron and Paul position the coffin.

Kallen had been downstairs for a while already, but Grandfather hadn't made a point of looking his way.

Everyone in the family was working. Only Kallen had slept in without anyone waking him. That was probably one of "Kallen's" special privileges.

"Please, come in. Thank you for the effort. I'm sorry we made you come over so early."

"It's fine, it's fine. All part of the job. Heh."

Uncle Mason ushered in a balding, middle-aged man whose clothes were cheap but whose bearing was quite imposing;

Kallen searched his memories and learned that the man's name was "Malmö," a deputy director at an office of the district government.

In those "memories," Aunt Mary thought very little of the man. She considered him too greedy, shameless about lining his pockets, and far too fond of throwing his rank around. Yet in his office, apart from one director, everyone else was a "deputy director";

everyone else had secured their nominal posts through connections. He alone had to run errands and do the work, so in practice, he was merely a clerk.

Mr. Malmö noticed Kallen and reached out to pat his head;

Kallen stepped back, avoiding his hand.

"Heh. Last time I came, I heard you were ill. Looks like you've recovered now?"

"Yes. Thank you for your concern," Kallen replied.

"Mm, good."

Malmö wasted no more time. He stepped onto the platform, took out the old-fashioned Wofuzi camera he had brought, and photographed Jeff inside the coffin before stepping down again;

Grandfather, dressed in his priest's robes, stood before the coffin and bowed his head in prayer;

Click!

Malmö took another photograph;

finally,

Malmö backed up to the sitting room entrance, chose a spot with better light, and raised his camera to capture the whole room;

Kallen saw that Aunt Mary had risen from her chair. Everyone, including his cousins, had solemnly bowed their heads in mourning.

"Get ready. Everyone in position..."

Kallen straightened up and lowered his head too.

Click!

"Done."

Malmö lowered his camera.

Uncle Mason handed Malmö a black notebook. Malmö nodded and accepted it.

Inside was a tip;

that was how Welfare Forms worked. The city government's funding allotment and the charitable organizations' contributions weren't actually small, but everyone took a cut before the money reached its destination.

Of course, today's "tip" would be somewhat larger than usual, since Mr. Malmö had gotten up so early.

With the three photographs needed for the records and report taken, Mr. Malmö didn't linger. He left with his camera and notebook, and Uncle Mason walked him all the way to the door.

Even if they wanted to curry favor by driving him straight back to his office, they couldn't-unless Mr. Malmö was willing to ride in a hearse. The Immerlis Family really didn't own a private car.

Afterward,

Paul and Ron worked together to lift Jeff's body out of the coffin, place him on the Stretcher Cart, and wheel him back to the basement;

then they wheeled "Mr. Mossan" out and transferred him into the coffin.

Aunt Mary stepped forward to adjust his posture, making Mr. Mossan look as "comfortable" and "composed" as possible.

The rest of the decorations and furnishings remained unchanged.

This was a "quick turnaround";

although Mr. Mossan's children were stingy in other respects, some of their relatives lived in other cities, so they had booked "a full day" for Mr. Mossan's Memorial Service rather than "half a day."

Of course, given the option, never mind half a day-they would have gladly booked "by the hour."

So today, "Jeff" had essentially hitched a ride on Mr. Mossan's booking.

With his procedure completed, Jeff naturally had to give up his place and return to lying in the basement.

Mr. Mossan had now "lain down" in his allotted spot,

while Paul and Ron put up signs at the sitting room entrance and the courtyard gate by the road, indicating that Mr. Mossan's Memorial Service was being held there today.

Since there was nothing for him to do on the first floor anyway, Kallen went to the courtyard flower bed and picked a good handful of patchouli leaves.

Then he went up to the second floor and entered the kitchen.

He would be preparing today's lunch;

Memorial Service venues often provided Light Meal for visiting friends and relatives, but naturally, that only happened if the family requested and paid for the service;

the Immerlis Family would then eat along with them, treating it as a staff meal.

But today, Mr. Mossan's children hadn't ordered even the cheapest sweetened lemon water, let alone a Light Meal, so the Immerlis Family had to prepare their own lunch.

Kallen felt quite at home in the kitchen. In his previous life, he had often cooked for himself and enjoyed the process. He couldn't claim to be a chef, but by home-cooking standards, he was probably excellent.

After washing the patchouli leaves, Kallen put a few in a cup and poured in hot water.

Then he began choosing ingredients. The family actually had plenty in stock, but he wasn't planning an elaborate feast.

There was a refrigerator in the kitchen. It looked new and probably hadn't been bought long ago, but to Kallen, it was positively "ancient."

As he was about to prepare the ingredients, sounds drifted up from the first floor. Friends and relatives had probably begun arriving for Mr. Mossan's Memorial Service.

Mina and Chris came upstairs. The two Little Girls stood outside the kitchen, watching curiously as Kallen kneaded dough.

Normally, when the family had business, they were responsible for serving refreshments downstairs. Today, they weren't needed.

"Kallen, when did you learn to cook?" Mina asked.

"Yeah, yeah! What's that stick for?" Chris asked, craning her head.

"Just wait until it's ready."

Kallen smiled. The rolling pin in his hand was a piece he had removed from the Small Writing Desk with the wobbly leg in his bedroom. There was actually a more suitable long, round rod in the basement, but Kallen didn't dare use it—not even after washing it.

He poured in oil, heated it, and placed the wrapped spring rolls in the pan to fry before lifting them out to drain.

The spring rolls were filled with chives and a little diced meat;

next, Kallen fried eggplant fritters, adding a patchouli leaf to the middle of each one for a crisper bite that also cut through the greasiness.

Since there were plenty of people in the family, and Ron and Paul would also be eating lunch there, Kallen fried two large platters each of spring rolls and eggplant fritters.

After that,

Kallen began stir-frying the seasonings. He felt he would have to find time to visit the market. The house had plenty of ingredients, but its supply of spices was somewhat lacking;

he tipped the marinated chicken pieces into the pan, covered it, and began braising them.

Yes, Kallen was also going to make "yellow-braised chicken."

He picked up his cup and took a sip of the now-warm patchouli tea,

then exhaled.

Kallen loved this feeling.

In his previous life, his hometown had a popular, simple dish called "tea-soaked rice," made with patchouli tea and served with pickled mustard stems or other pickles. Plain as it was, once you got used to it, it became addictive, though it wasn't kind to the stomach.

Oh, right, he also needed to make some pickles. Although there were "jars" in the basement, Kallen still decided to buy new ones at the market.

Once the chicken was nearly cooked, Kallen added the chopped potatoes, sliced shiitake mushrooms, green peppers, and the rest, then turned up the heat to reduce the sauce.

In another pot, Kallen made a simple tomato and egg soup.

By the time the soup was done, the yellow-braised chicken was ready to serve too.

"Mina, Chris, come carry the dishes."

"Okay, Kallen."

"Mm, it smells so good!"

Mina and Chris came in to carry the plates;

once everything was arranged on the dining table, Chris went downstairs to tell the family lunch was ready. Then she rushed back up impatiently, grabbed a spring roll, and popped it into her mouth.

It wasn't a breach of table manners. When the family had business, everyone came up to eat whenever their hands were free. There was no need to wait for everyone to gather, and those who finished early could go down and take over looking after the guests.

"It's delicious, Kallen," Chris said, nodding as she chewed.

"Chris, use a fork," Mina reminded her.

"It's fine. Just use your hands." Kallen also picked up a spring roll with his fingers and dipped it into the bowl of fruit vinegar;

the family's fruit vinegar tasted much like white vinegar. Kallen wasn't very satisfied with it. He still preferred Zhenjiang fragrant vinegar.

Mina ladled a bowl of soup for Kallen. He normally liked adding vinegar to tomato and egg soup too, but he was still somewhat put off by the taste of the fruit vinegar.

A mouthful of soup slid down his throat,

and Kallen drew a deep breath.

For a moment, he was so moved he almost wanted to cry.

It wasn't hunger. After such an enormous upheaval, food from "home" could bring comfort to the soul.

No amount of "chicken soup for the soul" could compare to real soup you could swallow.

Mina and Chris ate with relish, dipping their spring rolls and eggplant fritters into the yellow-braised chicken's sauce. But Kallen stopped Mina from serving any chicken onto his plate;

he hadn't cooked rice, and yellow-braised chicken without rice had no soul.

"Kallen, will you teach me to cook sometime?" Mina asked.

"Me too, me too," Chris added eagerly.

"Mm, of course."

Just then, Aunt Mary came upstairs. She looked at the food on the table in surprise. "Kallen, did you make this?"

"Yes, Aunt Mary. Have a taste."

"All right."

Aunt Mary speared a spring roll with her fork and took a bite:

"Mm, delicious. When did you learn to cook?"

"I read about it in books."

"Really? That's wonderful. We could add another service: Light Meal carefully prepared for our guests by the chef we've hired."

"Sure," Kallen replied politely. Today was only a small test of his skills. He knew how to make plenty of other dishes. Having achieved a modest degree of financial freedom in his previous life, he had often traveled around the country, not to take photos at famous spots, but specifically to seek out local food;

he particularly liked Sichuan cuisine and was good at making it.

Aunt Mary sat down and continued eating, not forgetting to sneer as she did:

"Not many people came to pay their respects, and even fewer brought condolence money. Some actually brought nothing but a bunch of flowers. Tsk, tsk. You can tell they just picked them from Mrs. Mark's garden next door."

The level of economic development was the underlying reason customs arose. After all, weddings and funerals both required help from friends and relatives, so condolence money had its own rationale.

According to "Kallen's" memories, people here could give gifts instead of money at weddings, though newlyweds sometimes made lists of the gifts they wanted for their friends and relatives. In practice, it wasn't much different.

Besides, people still preferred receiving cash to gifts.

"Will they cover their costs?" Kallen asked Aunt Mary.

"That's why they booked the afternoon too. Their relatives from other cities will arrive then. Some of them will probably give generous condolence money, right?" Aunt Mary took a sip of soup and continued, "But it doesn't matter. A little less income means we get an easier day."

Everyone came upstairs for lunch in turn, and all of them praised Kallen's cooking.

Of all the food, the spring rolls were the most popular. Ron and Paul even made a special trip upstairs that afternoon to polish off the remaining ones, which had already gone cold.

When Grandpa came upstairs for lunch, Kallen stood beside him.

"Not bad."

"I can make other dishes too," Kallen said. "But I'll need some more spices."

"Ask your aunt for money."

"All right, Grandpa."

"If you cook from now on, we can raise your allowance a little. Of course, you don't have to do it every day," Dis said.

"I like cooking."

Well, I need a bigger allowance too.

Throughout this exchange between grandfather and grandson, Puer lay on the little sofa beside them. Staring at the table full of food, the cat sank into deep thought.

"Meow..." (An otherworldly demon that invents its own language?)

"Meow..." (An otherworldly demon that can cook?)

"Meow... meow..." (Have I gone mad, or has the otherworldly demon?)

At nearly three in the afternoon, the last group of mourners from out of town finally arrived.

They were four elderly men in suits, with... military medals pinned to their chests.

Kallen noticed that the envelopes of condolence money the four men handed over were noticeably thicker.

The four elderly men gathered around Mr. Mossan to pay their respects. One of them, an elderly man named Dingle, asked Aunt Mary about the funeral arrangements to follow. Aunt Mary politely replied that everything had been arranged.

They could mock his children's stinginess behind their backs, but there was no need to expose them to their faces.

Mr. Mossan's children hurried forward, supporting the elderly men as they talked and left together.

Standing at the living room doorway filling a bucket with water, Kallen heard Mr. Mossan's children explain that, because of the weather, they would not be organizing a burial at the cemetery. They said Mr. Mossan's last wish had been to keep everything simple and avoid troubling anyone.

Mr. Dingle had clearly noticed something, but he did not press the issue. As he and the other elderly men walked out through the courtyard gate, Kallen saw him sigh toward the living room, then wipe the corners of his eyes.

The memorial service was over.

Under Aunt Winnie's direction and supervision, everyone began cleaning up the living room.

Paul's neighbor came over to find him, saying that his mother had gone to the clinic that afternoon because she was feeling unwell.

Paul, who had just received a raise, asked his neighbor about his mother's condition. After all, his pay had only just gone up. If it was nothing serious, he would feel awkward leaving work early now.

Besides, the day's work was not finished. Although they did not need to transport a coffin to the cemetery for burial, they still had to take two bodies to the Hughes Crematorium in the suburbs for cremation.

"Go to the clinic and see your mother. Give her my regards," Aunt Mary said.

"Thank you, ma'am. Thank you."

After thanking her, Paul immediately turned and ran toward the clinic with his neighbor.

Once Paul had left, Uncle Mason looked troubled. He reached back to rub his backside and complained:

"It still hurts back here."

Aunt Mary glared at her husband and snapped, "All you ever do is slack off!"

Normally, Uncle Mason rarely handled bodies and disliked physical labor. Slacking off was nothing unusual for him.

Right now, though, Kallen believed Uncle Mason really was in no condition to work. He must have been injured yesterday. He had said he had fallen, but Kallen thought he had been beaten.

"Uncle, I'll go with you," Kallen said.

It was not that Kallen was hardworking. He simply understood that some things did not need to be concealed; an unspoken understanding was enough.

But for now, one crucial way to ensure his safety was to become part of this family.

"Family" was Grandpa's weak spot.

To a certain extent, Kallen was exploiting that weakness too. With survival as his goal, he did not consider himself scheming or insincere.

Aunt Mary had not wanted Kallen to work. What had happened in the workroom that day had left her very concerned about her nephew's recent health, but they really were short of male help.

And according to custom, women and underage children were not supposed to visit a crematorium society unless they were immediate family. The local customary age of adulthood was fifteen.

Uncle Mason, however, was delighted. He affectionately patted Kallen's shoulder. "Our Kallen really has grown up. Ron, come on. Let's get the 'guests' loaded first."

Together, Kallen and Ron first wheeled out Jeff, who had spent the day lying alone in the basement, then worked together to lift him into the modified Nut Shell hearse.

Afterward, they wheeled Mr. Mossan out and loaded him into the hearse too.

Worried that Kallen was not strong enough, Ron supported each "guest" by the shoulders, leaving Kallen to lift only the legs.

Once the "guests" were aboard, Uncle Mason waved goodbye to Aunt Mary, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine.

The vehicle headed west, turned a corner, and continued west into Mink Street's Townhouse district.

At that point, Kallen noticed Uncle Mason deliberately slowing down.

Kallen turned to look at the Townhouse opposite them.

At a second-floor window,

he saw a woman sitting beside a small table behind the curtains. A book and a glass of water rested on the table.

The woman leaned back slightly, her upper body hidden behind the partially drawn curtains. Her long legs, however, and the red high heel dangling and swaying gently from her toes, conveyed an unusual allure and seductiveness.

But after seeing that high heel,

Kallen suddenly felt a little dizzy, and an inexplicable gloom settled over his mood.

Because of the disturbing images that dream had left behind, he probably would not be fond of high heels for quite some time, especially... red ones.

He turned to look at Uncle Mason in the driver's seat ahead of him. His uncle was also looking toward that Townhouse, with an indescribable light in his eyes.

But in "Kallen's" memories, although Uncle Mason was unreliable in business, liked slacking off, and disliked physical labor, there was nothing wrong with his conduct in his personal life. His relationship with Aunt Mary was excellent too.

So Kallen did not think Uncle Mason was having an affair here. Besides, choosing someone who lived so close to home would be far too stupid.

At that moment, Kallen asked tentatively:

"Your first love?"

"Mm... nonsense! Nothing of the sort!"

Mason immediately stepped on the accelerator,

taking one last look at the woman wearing an apron and watering flowers among the flower beds.

After they left Mink Street, Uncle Mason could not help turning to glance at Kallen. Looking a little sheepish, he said:

"There really isn't anything going on."

"I believe you, Uncle."

"Actually, I only found out recently that she and her husband had moved here. I've seen her across the yard, but we only smiled at each other. We didn't even speak. Kallen, you know I care deeply about my family."

At that point,

Uncle Mason sighed and continued:

"I made a terrible mess of the family I once had. But after making such a mess of that family, how could I do anything to betray your aunt?

"Still, the day before yesterday, she ran into some trouble at home and asked me for help. I helped deal with it, and that was the end of our involvement. She and her husband are looking for a new house and getting ready to move."

Uncle Mason unconsciously shifted his backside while glancing out of the corner of his eye at the two "guests" lying in the back.

Kallen noticed that little detail.

So,

Uncle Mason getting beaten by Grandpa had something to do with... Jeff, lying back there?

It could only be Jeff. Mr. Mossan had been picked up from a nursing home, whereas Jeff was a welfare form case who had frozen to death on the street.

Then there was the dream he had had in front of Jeff, and the way Aunt Mary had immediately called Uncle Mason home after Grandpa went down to the basement...

Kallen rubbed the space between his eyebrows.

Jeff...

Had he really frozen to death?

"Kallen..."

"Don't worry, Uncle. I won't tell Aunt Mary."

Kallen knew his uncle wanted that promise. He had deliberately withheld it earlier, waiting to hear more gossip.

"Phew... heh."

Upstairs, in the bedroom.

One leg rose, and the sole of a high heel hooked the curtain and pulled it closed.

Then the legs in red high heels walked toward the door.

Just as "she" was about to open it,

static sounded from the radio beside her.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

A bout of coughing came from inside it.

"Where... are you going!"

The radio host's voice sounded rather weak, as though he were ill, or perhaps... injured.

Immediately afterward,

the voice came from the radio again:

"Oh, you're saying you sensed him?

"He's already dead. Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused me by scaring him to death? The Order Church's Inquisitor for this district has already come looking for me."

"You're asking what's so special about an Inquisitor of the Order Church?"

"Anyone else would be nothing, of course, but not him. He isn't an ordinary Inquisitor... no, I don't even understand why he's only a local Inquisitor now.

"He inflicted my injuries. I'm not entirely confident I could defeat him."

"Consider these injuries repayment for the favor I owed you from back then. So please behave yourself from now on. Also, something may happen in Rojia City soon. I've sensed several unusual presences appearing on the outskirts."

"Him, him, him? Why are you still fixated on him! He was just a stupid thief you scared to death. He's on his way to be cremated. What more do you want!"

"What?"

"You're saying you don't mean that stupid thief?"

"You... you mean the fellow who entered our consciousnesses last time?"

"Then... then... then you absolutely mustn't approach him! He's definitely no ordinary being!

"In fact, I think he's a priest of some religious order, using a church Sacred Artifact to conduct a spiritual exploration, and he happened to sweep over us."

"Only afterward did I realize just how powerful he was. At first, I thought another stupid thief had broken into this house and you had pulled him in. But later, you told me he had appeared without a sound.

"No, he descended!"

"You're asking why he would do that?"

"Peering into us was merely an interest of his, not his true purpose!"

"Especially that holy song he chanted... it made me tremble from the depths of my soul!"