Darling

"Yes. My husband specifically went out yesterday to visit a friend, but unfortunately that friend wasn't home. I take it that was you?" "Yes, madam. You may call me Karen." "Please, come in." Linda opened the courtyard gate and invited Karen inside. Karen handed the boxed macarons to Linda. He had chosen them deliberately at the pastry shop; they were the most upscale selection in the store at five hundred lubi a box. The clerk had tossed in some small cakes as a complimentary gift, which Karen gave to his cab driver—not caring whether it really was the driver's birthday or not, simply because Karen disliked overly sweet things. Spending five hundred lubi on a box of pastries was indeed a bit extravagant, but since he was visiting a well-to-do household, the accompanying gift couldn't look too shabby. He could hardly show up on their doorstep carrying a big bag of fifty-lubi sponge cakes. After all, they had paid him a twenty-thousand-lubi consulting fee. "You are far too polite. There was really no need to bring a gift." "It is only right." "Mr. Karen, did you meet my husband while fishing? Are you two fishing buddies?" *Your husband and I met while we were cremating you.* "Yes. Your husband taught me a great deal about fishing." "I see." Linda ushered Karen into the living room. "Would you prefer coffee or tea?" "Coffee." Pausing for a second, Karen added, "With extra sugar, please." "Certainly. Please wait a moment." Before long, Linda returned carrying a cup of coffee and a plate of pastries. Karen took a sip of the coffee. The bitter taste made his brow furrow slightly. He genuinely wanted to ask if she had actually added any sugar. Due to his dietary habits, Karen had never possessed any special fondness for coffee. Back in his past life, when he had been young and striving in his career, he had relied on coffee for a caffeine boost. Later, when circumstances improved and he had the means to upgrade his lifestyle, he had sampled plenty of finer coffees, yet he never grew accustomed to them. It was the same with tea. Once you were used to brewing it in massive mugs, you no longer had the patience or temperament to pursue delicacy and refinement. "Should I prepare something for your two pets to eat?" Linda asked. "You're too kind, but that won't be necessary." "My husband is taking an afternoon nap at the moment. I'll head upstairs and wake him so the two of you can talk. My apologies for keeping you waiting." "Of course, madam." Linda went upstairs. Karen stood up and took a stroll around the living room. Above the fireplace hung a large oil painting depicting Linda and Piaget. In addition, he noticed several framed photos on a small side table showing the couple on their travels. Judging by the backdrops, they had visited many countries. "They really look alike—a well-matched couple." Furthermore, the Adams family was truly wealthy. Though both were detached villas, this house had to be worth twice as much as the Inmeles residence. After all, this neighborhood belonged to the truly affluent quarter of Rojia City. "Linda? Linda?" A shout came from outside, the voice somewhat familiar. Karen stepped out of the living room and spotted Mrs. Seymour standing outside the courtyard gate. "Oh, good heavens." The moment Mrs. Seymour saw Karen, her face flushed crimson and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Her emotions had spiraled completely out of control yesterday, driving her to make countless impulsive decisions. She hadn't dwelled much on purchasing the expensive funeral package for her husband or riding a hearse to go shopping at luxury boutiques. Although she lived frugally, her family was actually quite well-off, and with her husband gone, she was the sole heir to his estate. She had plenty of money. What kept her tossing and turning in utter mortification after returning to bed last night was the fact that she had actually demanded that young man sleep with her. *Good heavens, had I lost my mind?!* She had spent the entire latter half of the night tormented by shameful self-reproach, finally drifting off only as dawn began to break. And then, in her dreams, she had actually done it with that handsome young man. Upon waking, she had first slapped herself twice, and then burst into laughter. Yet who could have imagined that she would run into that very young man again at her neighbor's house right now? "Good afternoon, Mrs. Seymour," Karen took the initiative to greet her. "Mr. Karen, I never expected to see you here... Oh, I forgot, you mentioned last night that you and Mr. Adams were friends." "Yes, I came to visit him today." "I originally came over to consult Linda about handling my husband's belongings. I'd like to donate his clothes and shoes to charity." "You are very kind-hearted." "Since you have company, I'll head back home for now." When a household had guests, the hostess naturally had to attend to them. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Karen, could you drop by my house afterward?" Karen showed not the slightest hint of reluctance. Refusing would be immensely cruel and impolite to any lady—no, to any woman. At the same time, he understood that Mrs. Seymour, now clear-headed, would not do anything inappropriate again. What was more, she was currently a major client of his family. "Of course. I would be delighted to pay you a visit." Mrs. Seymour smiled. "My husband owned a watch that I think would suit your bearing wonderfully. I'd like to give it to you—I noticed you don't wear one on your wrist." In truth, Mrs. Hughes had already gifted him one. However, due to his habits from his previous life, Karen didn't care for wristwatches, nor did he venture outdoors very often. "Then I shall come admire the watch in a little while." "Splendid." Mrs. Seymour departed with a smile. Karen walked back into the living room, just in time to see a sleepy-eyed Piaget descending the stairs with disheveled hair. "Oh, Karen, having you here is an immense honor!" Piaget came down the stairs, threw his arms wide, and gave Karen a hearty hug. Then, glancing at the coffee on the dining table, he said sheepishly, "I am truly sorry. You arrived as a guest and had to make coffee yourself." "Your wife made it for me," Karen said. "My wife? Who?" Piaget's face filled with confusion. "Good grief, Linda is gone. Have you forgotten, Karen? You were the one who placed her urn in my hands." *Those words ought to be mine to say to you!* "So, you think I unlocked your courtyard gate myself and walked into your home?" "Well, how else?" Piaget chuckled. "I don't usually lock the gate, because the security around here is exceptional. The chief of police lives right across the street. You are my friend. Even though we've only met once, I already consider you a true friend. So what could be more natural than a friend opening the door, stepping inside, and brewing himself a cup of coffee? It only shows that you consider me a true friend as well, without standing on ceremony, doesn't it?" "Piaget." "Yes?" "I must remind you: it was indeed Linda who answered the gate for me just now, and Linda who brewed this coffee. After that, she went upstairs to wake you from your afternoon nap." "Have you gone mad?" Piaget peered intently into Karen's eyes and asked with genuine concern, "Has something happened to you lately that shocked your nerves?" "Yes. Your situation." "Let's sit down and talk." Piaget sat down, reached for a pastry, and took a bite. Karen sat down as well, casting a glance at Purr. The cat was crouching on the sofa, while the golden retriever was outside in the front courtyard happily chasing butterflies, having the time of its life. Karen swore he would never bring that foolish dog along again. Karen spoke: "Your wife has already passed away." "I know that." "Yet Mrs. Seymour next door said that yesterday morning, she received an apple pie delivered by your wife in person." "How could that be possible?!" "It is true. What's more, I saw Linda with my own eyes just now." "You've all gone mad. Linda is gone. I held her ashes in my own hands and laid her to rest." Piaget took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Karen, who accepted. Piaget then produced a lighter and lit cigarettes for both of them. After smoke drifted through the air for a moment, Piaget suddenly ran a hand through his hair with some force and laughed. "To tell the truth, I feel like I've gone a bit mad myself. Lately, I keep getting the impression that Linda never left, that she's remained by my side taking care of me all along. But I figured it was simply because I was so accustomed to her presence, and... I quite enjoyed that feeling." "Would you mind if I took a look upstairs?" Karen asked. "Not at all. Come, I'll show you around." Piaget led Karen up the stairs. In truth, genuine wealth wasn't reflected solely in the purchase price of a house; often, it showed in the interior decor. Karen observed the intricate wood carvings beneath the staircase railing, then glanced at the adornments along the walls and ceilings. He suspected the renovation costs might have surpassed the price of the villa itself. "The second floor contains my bedroom, my study, and my wife's studio. She's an artist and once held a solo exhibition in Rojia City. This way, this is my study." Karen walked in and looked around. Although understated and restrained, anyone with eyes could tell that this study's price tag far exceeded Diss's. After looking around, Karen stepped back out. "This is my wife's studio." Inside, many paintings were covered with dust sheets. "May I view some of your wife's artwork?" "Of course. Feel free." Karen lifted the drape off one canvas. The painting was divided into two distinct compositions. Below lay a wasteland of withered bones and ruin, where a naked man lay faceup upon the ground. Above, lush green grass spread out, where a group of men and women danced around a bonfire, their faces brimming with blissful smiles. Upon seeing the painting, Karen instinctively drew a breath. "The Berry religion?" "Yes. Karen, you're quite knowledgeable about religion as well?" Piaget asked with a smile. "My wife loved painting religious subjects most, and it was her greatest strength. Within the Berry religion, this painting is called *God's Curtain*. The true god worshipped by the Berry faith was eternally banished into darkness and solitude, buying the freedom and romance of his followers in paradise." Karen nodded, then uncovered the second painting. This one was also split into two compositions, arranged horizontally. On the left, a man sang in paradise; on the right, an identical man shrieked amidst a mountain of skulls in hell. Between them flowed a horizontal black river, soaking into the ground beneath the feet of both identical figures. "The Church of the God of the Abyss," Karen remarked. "Yes. The God of the Abyss split his body in two, half descending into paradise and half into hell, ultimately carving out the Abyss between paradise and hell. Very few people in Ruilan know of this sect." Two. That was two already. Karen reached toward the drape covering the third painting in sequence. Yet just before his fingers brushed the fabric, he paused. Was this a coincidence? It could no longer be explained away as coincidence. He had a premonition that this third painting might correspond to the next victim—which meant... the next piece of art. While Karen hesitated, Piaget obligingly pulled the cloth away for him. Beneath it was a woman. Her body appeared to be plummeting into a gaping, bloody maw. As she fell, her form began to break apart. Looking closely, one could make out minute details: the dislocation of every joint in her body, rendered with exquisite, razor-thin lines. "What is this?" Karen asked. "Which church does it belong to?" "The Church of Order," Piaget said. "Quite a rarity to find one you don't recognize, haha." "The Church of Order?" "Yes. The Church of Order is widespread. They revere the God of Order and advocate that all things in the world must operate according to order; they are the guardians of order. And this figure is the daughter of the God of Order. Her name is Ankara. Legend has it that after the God of Order established the rules of order, the very first to transgress was his daughter, Ankara. To uphold the laws of order, the God of Order showed no favoritism. He punished his daughter by casting her into the maw of a ferocious beast, annihilating her body and soul alike. Her death ignited the Light of Order. It signifies that order and law stand above human nature, above sentiment." "So that's how it is." Karen suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. His mind had already conjured the image of the murderer facing the next victim, taking up a cleaver, and hacking through ribs, while the rhythmic thuds of chopping echoed in his ears. *Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!* Bone splinters and minced flesh began to scatter in his imagination. A wave of nausea rushed over him. "Are you feeling unwell?" Piaget asked with concern, reaching out to support Karen's arm. Karen shoved him away. "Don't touch me." Karen drew ragged, heavy breaths. After a long while, he said apologetically, "I'm sorry. My heart has always had some issues. It occasionally spasms like that." "That is not something to take lightly. Linda suffered from heart disease as well, and her passing was related to heart complications. Karen, take my advice: you should go to a proper hospital for an examination and serious treatment. Or you could simply travel to Wien; their major hospitals have the highest standards." "I know. Thank you." Karen stepped out of the studio. Worried about him, Piaget walked alongside. Passing the bedroom, Piaget offered, "Would you like to lie down here and rest for a bit?" "No, thank you." Though he declined with words, Karen still glanced into the bedroom. And with those few glances, he spotted something. "What is that?" Karen asked. "What?" "Under the bed. The pink thing." Piaget walked over, bent down, and reached under the bed, pulling out a pink garment. He felt around further and dragged out shoes and stockings. "Th-this... these are Linda's clothes. Why would they be under the bed?" Piaget stared in disbelief. "How could this... how could this be...?" "Piaget, the one who brewed me coffee just now... was it actually you?" "M-me? I brewed you coffee?" Piaget pointed at himself. "You dressed up as your wife," Karen said. "I... I dressed up as my wife?" Piaget's chest heaved. Just as Karen thought some medical episode was about to occur, Piaget sank dejectedly against the edge of the bed and sat down. "Karen, I think something must be wrong with my mind. I have no memory of doing that. But... this clothing still carries residual warmth. I think... I must have developed a split personality. Within my consciousness, I created a Linda. When I fall asleep, Linda wakes up. When I wake up, Linda goes to sleep." "Your makeup skills are remarkable," Karen remarked with sighing admiration. He truly hadn't noticed earlier that Linda had been Piaget in disguise. Of course, that was also because the husband and wife shared such striking facial resemblances, making the disguise remarkably easy. "I studied ballet," Piaget said with a bitter smile. "For university performances, we had to do our own makeup." "Ah." Karen nodded. "My apologies for frightening you." "Not at all. Nothing of the sort." Piaget tilted his head back, staring up at the chandelier on the bedroom ceiling. He reached up and touched his own chest. "In truth, I was the one who willingly invited Linda into my heart. And it was you, Karen, who helped me make up my mind to try splitting off a second personality. Thank you, Karen." *You don't blame me?* "Y-you're welcome." *As long as you don't blame me. I was feeling quite a bit of guilt.* Piaget ran a hand through his already tousled hair. "Forgive me, Karen. I'd like to be alone for a while. There's a wine cellar in the basement; you're welcome to go down and have a drink." "No need. I'll come see you another day. Forgive me for intruding." "No, not at all. It was wonderful seeing you. Truly." "Likewise." Perhaps because both were students of psychology, bringing things into the open and accepting them proved straightforward, devoid of convoluted theatrics. "Meow..." At some point, Purr had also come up to the second floor, sitting right at Karen's feet and peering curiously into the bedroom. Karen took one last look at Piaget, scooped up Purr, and walked down the stairs. When he reached the courtyard, the golden retriever trotted happily after him. He pushed open the courtyard gate, stepped through, and pulled it shut behind him. Looking up toward the second floor, he saw the window corresponding to the studio. "A second personality he deliberately split off himself, huh." With a sigh, Karen walked over to Mrs. Seymour's house next door. Before he could ring the bell, Mrs. Seymour, who had evidently been waiting in the entryway, stepped outside and asked warmly, "Are Mr. Adams and Linda doing well?" "He is doing well." *** Upstairs, in the bedroom. Piaget kept his eyes closed as tears traced faint tracks down the corners of his eyes. *Linda.* *My Linda.* *I don't want to lose you, nor will I lose you. No matter what, I will keep you by my side.* *For you, I am willing to deceive myself.* Right then, the drawer of the vanity opposite the bed slowly slid open. From within, a folded stack of flesh-toned clothing gradually rose. It spilled out of the drawer, pooled onto the floor, and crept toward Piaget's side. Then it began to stand upright. It was impossibly thin, bearing distinct crease lines across its surface, like... a sheet of paper, a sheet of flesh-colored paper. Yet at this moment, it gradually unfolded into a human form, though the figure was so gossamer and flat that it possessed not a shred of three-dimensional depth. She reached out, gently pressing a hand to Piaget's forehead. Then she pressed herself against him. More precisely, she was merging into him. Like milk poured into coffee, she blended in with exquisite gentleness, shifting into another shade. Piaget's features gradually transformed into... Linda's. After a long while, Linda—Piaget—opened her eyes. Wrapping her arms around herself, she murmured, "Darling, I will never leave you either."