The hearse drove back to Mink Street and pulled up along the curb outside the house.
The engine was cut.
Karen ran his hand along the steering wheel once more, feeling a strange fondness for it.
After all, the family had paid a small fortune for this car, and the build quality truly left nothing to be desired.
Mina pushed open the courtyard gate, and Aunt Mary came out to meet them. "Have you two eaten?"
"Mom, we ate at Sarah's house."
"Without even calling home," Aunt Mary grumbled.
"Sarah's family doesn't have a phone."
At that moment, Aunt Mary noticed the jar Karen was holding. "What's in the jar?"
"Pickled cucumbers. Quite crisp and refreshing."
"Is that so? I'll try some tomorrow."
Karen headed up to the third floor and went straight to the washroom for a bath.
Even in winter, he insisted on bathing every day—a habit carried over from his past life. Fortunately, he still had the conditions to do so in this one.
Every evening, Aunt Mary would lay out clean pajamas on the counter in the washroom, and she would set out the clothes for the following day on Karen's bed. That small detail always gave him a warm feeling.
After enjoying a comfortable hot bath, he changed into his pajamas. He had thought about going down to the second floor for a glass of ice water, but hesitated and walked into his bedroom first.
Lunt was sitting on his spring mattress playing with a deck of cards.
Karen sat down at his desk.
As if suddenly remembering, he turned back toward Lunt on the bed.
"Almost forgot. Lunt, be a good brother and bring me a glass of ice water."
"Sure thing, Karen."
Lunt climbed down from the bed, slipped on his slippers, and went out to fetch the water.
Karen stretched, reaching out for the *General History of Ruilan Religions* that Mina had checked out of the library for him, only to find several other books piled in that spot on the desk—all on religious subjects as well.
"Here's your water, Karen."
"Thanks. By the way, Lunt, who put these books here?"
"Oh, I got them from Grandpa's study."
"You got them from Grandpa's study?"
*You had the nerve to sneak into Grandpa's study and steal books?*
"Grandpa told me to bring them over."
"Oh. All right then."
That made more sense.
Lunt climbed back under his blanket, rested his head on the pillow, and looked over at Karen. "Aren't you going to sleep, Karen?"
"I'll read for a bit longer."
"Are you still not planning to go back to school?" Lunt asked curiously.
The old Karen might truly have been unsuited for school, but with how Karen was now, Lunt felt it wouldn't be a problem at all. In fact, he was rather looking forward to seeing Karen's desk stuffed with love letters after resuming classes—then at this time of night, he could happily help his cousin unseal them!
"We'll see. Get some sleep."
Earlier, Karen had been anxious to return to school, hoping to pass the exams and get out of here to break free from Diss and breathe fresh, free air.
Now, as an officially recognized "evil god," Karen realized the free air outside was not meant for him after all.
Switching on the desk lamp, he pulled out one of the new books. It had a brown cover and was titled *Light of Order*. Karen noticed there was no publisher listed, yet the craftsmanship was quite fine.
*So, an internal publication of the Church of Order?*
He opened the book and scanned the outline. Indeed, it was an introduction to the Church of Order.
It was somewhat like applying for a job at a company, where they handed you introductory materials detailing the company's founding, growth, expansion, opportunities, and, above all, a radiant, glorious blueprint for the future.
Generally, the more unreliable the company, the more dazzling its grand blueprint.
Religious publications, however, differed from multi-level marketing schemes; their vision of the future was largely fixed, essentially consisting of prayers the faithful recited on a daily basis.
Furthermore, after centuries of heritage, even if an MLM scheme managed to run for a thousand years or an entire epoch, it... well, it might still be an MLM scheme, but it would certainly have acquired an aristocratic veneer.
More than half the book detailed the history of the Church of Order.
It began with mythological stories, and once the narrative transitioned out of myth, it adopted a historical framework of real names and dates.
For instance, in such-and-such year, so-and-so did this and that for the Church of Order in a certain kingdom, blazing a trail, and so forth—much like the chronicles of an imperial dynasty.
As for the myths, Karen paid particular attention to the part describing the awakening of the God of Order.
In this book's account, the God of Order had sealed and exiled himself for an entire epoch. What followed was a dense, convoluted exposition whose general gist boiled down to something like an enlightened monk achieving nirvana.
The only difference was that the God of Order's meditation lasted much longer; and where a monk ended their seclusion, the God of Order "awakened."
This "awakening" closely mirrored the Awakening Technique that an Inquisitor of the Church of Order had to master.
Karen recalled Purr telling him that according to the church's mythology, the God of Light had awakened the God of Order, yet there was no mention of that in this book.
Purr had lived for a very long time; as Diss put it, Purr had already been connected to the Inmerlais family before Diss was even born.
Therefore, Karen trusted Purr's account more. After all, written texts could be altered, and what motive would a cat have to doctor history for a high school dropout?
As for why the God of Light's role had been erased in this book?
The reason was easy enough to understand: the Church of Light had fallen.
In the early days, the Church of Order had likely brought the God of Light into their mythos to ride the coattails of his popularity.
Once the Church of Light perished, they promptly severed ties and scrubbed their dark history.
After all, what religion wanted its ancestral true god to have played second fiddle to another?
If the other party were still powerful and influential, one might hold one's nose and claim the kinship. But when the grass on their grave was waist-high, of course their own God of Order had to be eternally supreme and glorious.
Furthermore, counting the claim that the God of Order had "self-isolated and exiled himself" for an epoch, his age—or seniority—surpassed that of the God of Light by an entire rank.
Originally, the God of Light had "awakened" the God of Order, much like a senior elevating a junior or a big brother waking his kid brother.
Now, the narrative made it seem as though the God of Light's fervent prayers had moved the God of Order, prompting the God of Order's descent.
It resembled the way idol fan clubs canonized their idols.
Karen skipped the rest of the mythological narratives, as well as the chronicles in between.
The final volume described the present operational structure of the Church of Order.
However, it merely listed which countries had which parishes, how many administrative offices and statues existed, without describing the underlying mechanisms in detail.
Yet one theory caught Karen's attention. At first glance, it seemed normal, but upon closer thought, it struck him as staggering.
"The gods entered into a covenant. Bound by that covenant, the gods took half a step back of their own accord, allowing the God of Order to oversee the order of the heavens."
"The Church of Order, as the existence that preserves order, shall treat all equally beneath the radiance of the Light of Order."
Karen didn't believe for a second that these "gods" had truly signed a covenant with the God of Order—unless the author had been the very table or pen used to sign it in the divine realm.
Thus, this was an allegory for reality—representing the many orthodox churches in the real world.
Taking "half a step back" likely meant ceding a portion of authority to the Church of Order so that it could maintain a certain order.
Yet why would all those other orthodox churches be so reasonable and considerate of the greater good?
Had that concession truly been made voluntarily on the basis of amicable consultation?
And treating all equally beneath the radiance of the "Light of Order" carried a rather fascinating undertone.
Connecting the statements together, the image of a street gangster brandishing a machete popped into Karen's head:
*These are my rules. Got a problem with that?*
*Don't be afraid—I prefer convincing people with virtue!*
Karen took a sip of water.
So, in this world—at least for now—the Church of Order possessed tremendous power and clout.
After skimming through the book, Karen felt a wave of fatigue. He had no intention of looking through the remaining books for now.
He climbed into bed,
turned off the lamp,
and went to sleep.
***
The next morning, Karen woke up at seven-thirty.
After washing up, he headed down to the second floor.
Breakfast consisted of milk, bread, grilled sausage, and a few slices of pickled cucumber.
How was one supposed to eat this with bread?
Aunt Mary had probably assumed he was obsessed with it; why else would he have brought back an entire jar from someone's home?
Holding a piece of bread dipped in milk with his right hand, his left hand routinely flipped open today's edition of the *Rojia Daily* on the dining table.
The front page announced to all citizens that mayoral voting would officially begin in five days.
The second page featured an exclusive interview with the representatives of the workers' parade from a few days ago.
It was presented in a question-and-answer format.
The responses given by the workers radiated passivity and pessimism. One worker suffering from pneumoconiosis had even stated during the interview:
"Sixen has betrayed us! He has betrayed the East District!"
Hm? In emotional tone, this was completely opposite to what Roth had told him last night.
In Roth's eyes, old Mayor Sixen was the pride of the East District.
Still, Karen wasn't surprised by the paper's bias. Ever since the election campaigns began, the *Rojia Daily* had taken a clear stand against the old mayor, acting as if they were certain he wouldn't win reelection, showing no concern over whether backing the wrong side might lead to repercussions later.
Taking a bite of his milk-soaked bread, Karen suddenly noticed that one of the interviewees in the long article was named Roth.
*Reporter: Do you believe the city government handled the workers' demonstration properly and reasonably?*
*Roth: No. The municipal government is merely brushing us off. When they need us workers, they use sweet talk to make us slave away for them. But once we lose our usefulness—like me, losing a leg and becoming disabled—they sweep us out like garbage, leaving us to fend for ourselves in the gutter surrounded by swarms of flies.*
*Reporter: What are your expectations and outlook for the future?*
*Roth: I have no expectations left. Truly, I feel the sky over all of Rojia City has turned black. My family and I have grown numb and hopeless about the future. All I wanted was a way to support my family, yet I cannot even have that.*
*Sixen has betrayed our East District. Just like those cold-blooded factory owners, he kicked us aside the moment he finished using us!*
*Mr. Reporter, I feel like I can't go on living anymore. Truly, my family and I can hardly survive. This winter is so terribly cold.*
...
At the bottom of the article was a photograph. It showed the back of a man leaning on crutches, one pant leg visibly empty.
In the background was Roth's home—a low-roofed shack fronted by mud puddles.
Seeing this, Karen frowned.
He reached for a slice of pickled cucumber and took a bite, venting his frustration with the sharp sour kick:
"This newspaper is truly... shameless."
He didn't believe for a second that these were Roth's actual words. Roth had no reason or justification to lie to him last night; his family ran a funeral parlor, not the mayor's office.
"The papers lately aren't fit to read," Uncle Mason said as he walked over. "Ever since the mayoral race started, I've completely broken the habit of reading the paper at breakfast."
As he spoke, Uncle Mason used his hands to trace a circle in the air.
"After all, who wants an ink-stamped ass sitting in front of them while they eat?"
"Then we can subscribe to a different paper in the future," Karen suggested.
"Oh, but that's just swapping an ass with a red stamp for one with a black stamp. Subscribe to more papers, and all you get is more asses. And yet every single one insists on freedom of the press—though to them, 'freedom' just means the freedom to shove their owners' asses right into the readers' faces."
"You're quite right, Uncle," Karen said, setting down the paper. "Very profound."
"Haha! Hey, are these cucumbers good?" Uncle Mason picked one up and took a bite. "Mmm... I..."
Uncle Mason promptly downed a huge gulp of milk.
"Good heavens, that's the devil's food." He grabbed a piece of bread and took two quick bites to wash away the flavor, though he soon added, "It'd probably be good with meat, though. Cuts through the grease. Or with noodles."
Karen felt a small sense of gratification. After being "fed" by Karen for a while, Uncle Mason had finally grasped the concept of cutting through grease.
Previously, the Inmerlais family's eating habits adhered strictly to the Ruilan middle-class standard, which could be summarized in two rules:
*I'll sweeten you to death!*
and:
*I'll grease you to death!*
"By the way, what's today's date again?" Uncle Mason asked.
"The sixteenth," Karen replied.
"Wonderful. If they don't bring the body today, we can pocket the deposit without lifting a finger."
Just then, the telephone rang on the first floor. Aunt Winnie answered it.
Uncle Mason, still chewing on bread, sprayed crumbs as he muttered:
"I hope to God nobody's died."
Moments later, Aunt Winnie's voice carried up from downstairs: "Mason! Mason!"
A hurried shout like that usually meant they had to take the car out. Uncle Mason immediately stood up and pulled on his coat.
Karen stood up as well and followed Uncle Mason down the stairs.
"Winnie, it couldn't be...?" Uncle Mason asked as he descended.
There was no need to ask, really. If it were any other business, according to their contract, the Inmerlais family wouldn't accept other clients through tomorrow.
Even for the eighteenth, the day after tomorrow, Uncle Mason had only scheduled a welfare case and refused regular clients; after all, one had to leave an extra day of buffer for people. In business, you couldn't be too rigid or greedy.
"Yes, that job came in. It's the family that paid the deposit."
"Sigh." Uncle Mason shrugged. "All right then, let's get to work."
Since they took the deposit and the job had arrived, they had to do it.
"Afu, Ron!"
Uncle Mason called for his two hired hands.
Because Alfred's name was too much of a mouthful, Uncle Mason had simplified it. That was common around here; sometimes friends with long names were reduced to a couple of initials.
When Uncle Mason called out to Alfred, the "Ah" was politely drawn out a bit, with an extra retroflex curl, but it still sounded like... Afu.
Alfred appeared at the doorway, still wearing his gray overalls.
"Where's Ron?" Uncle Mason asked.
"He said last night he was going to the tavern for drinks, so he might be running a bit late today. He hasn't arrived yet," Alfred said.
"Damn it," Uncle Mason cursed, then turned to Aunt Winnie. "When Ron gets here, tell him to find his own way over. Oh, right, what's the address?"
"No. 117 Mine Street, East District."
"What?" Karen immediately looked at Aunt Winnie.
"The road to Mine Street is awful. I think they're still doing roadwork there," Uncle Mason remarked.
Just then, Aunt Mary came up from the basement and said, "Doesn't Mina's classmate Sarah live on Mine Street? Karen drove her home yesterday."
"Is that so? Then Karen, you drive," Uncle Mason patted Karen's shoulder, then asked curiously, "Does Mina's classmate live on Mine Street too? What number?"
What number?
In a shantytown where you had to skip across bricks like dancing whenever it rained, where would anyone find a house number...?
Karen could only reply:
"I don't know."
"Fine, we'll ask around when we get there." Uncle Mason turned to Alfred. "Afu, have you had breakfast?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, then let's go. Karen, drive."
"Oh, all right."
Karen started the hearse and drove out of Mink Street.
*It can't be. Surely it's not them. It's just a coincidence that it's on Mine Street.*
As he drove, the morning report from the *Rojia Daily* surfaced in Karen's mind:
*I feel like I can't go on living anymore. Truly, my family and I can hardly survive. This winter is so terribly cold.*
Then, the words of the man in black who had paid the deposit at the previous funeral came back to him:
*"They are a very close-knit family."*
Immediately after, Roth's voice seemed to ring in his ears:
*"Yes, yes, Mr. Karen is quite right. Everything will get better."*
*Sigh.*
*What on earth am I thinking?*
*How could it possibly be their family?*
*We'll be on Mine Street soon anyway. I can ask Sarah's mother about her braised noodle recipe—especially how she makes that sauce. I have to learn it; it tasted wonderful.*
"Karen, watch out!"
Uncle Mason yelled.
Karen snapped back to his senses and jerked the steering wheel, just narrowly avoiding a lamppost.
"Didn't you get enough sleep? Or are you feeling unwell again?" Uncle Mason wasn't even worried about Karen damaging the family's newly bought hearse.
"I... maybe."
"I'd better drive. You give directions."
"All right, Uncle."
The interior of the hearse was spacious, with a driver's seat akin to that of a small minibus, allowing people to switch seats without getting out of the vehicle.
Uncle Mason restarted the hearse, while Karen sat in the back.
*Why am I feeling so afraid?*
*What am I letting my imagination run wild for?*
*Their family is surely doing just fine. I still have to tell the old grandmother that her pickled cucumbers were delicious.*
Alfred sat opposite him, watching Karen's silent figure.
He wanted to step forward and ask, but hesitated. The Great Being was troubled, yet he did not seem to need comfort.
Finally, the hearse turned onto Mine Street.
"There are so many people. Is today a flea market day?" Uncle Mason remarked from the driver's seat. "Oh? There are two police cars over there."
Karen looked out the window. Amid the crowd, there were indeed several police officers.
"The hearse is here! The hearse is here!" someone in the crowd shouted.
"Poor family. May they rest in peace," a woman's prayer reached Karen's ears.
"So tragic. That little girl was still wearing her schoolbag when she fell to her death. They say her mother lied and told her they were going to school early."
"We're here, Karen," Uncle Mason called out. "Unload the gurneys."
Karen stood up. Because of the recessed floor design in the back of the hearse, he lost his footing; if Alfred hadn't caught him in time, Karen might have fallen right over.
Alfred smiled and said, "Young Master, this isn't a good place to lie down."
...
*"Mm-hmm! You could even lie down and take a nap."*
*"Haha, you can't lie down in this car."*
...
Karen got out of the car. Alfred, in his overalls, hoisted a gurney onto each shoulder.
Seeing this, Uncle Mason froze for a moment.
"I almost want to fire Ron."
Just then, a lean police sergeant walked over and said, "Hurry in and clear the bodies. There are far too many onlookers."
Uncle Mason asked in surprise, "Are the formalities all done?"
Judging by the crowd, Uncle Mason's experience told him this was by no means a normal death. Who ever heard of an elderly person dying of old age or sickness clogging half a street with onlookers—unless they were filthy rich?
"The suicide notes are all here. It was a suicide. One took poison, one hung herself, and the mother jumped off the roof of the tenement building with her daughter."
"So many!" Uncle Mason gasped.
"Hurry it up. The sooner this is taken care of, the better."
"Come on, follow me," Mason called back to Afu and Karen.
Last night's rain had lasted into the early morning, so the puddles were still full of water. Everyone had to walk on the bricks to get inside.
The familiar path.
The familiar bricks.
The familiar surroundings.
Ahead, the conversation between his uncle and the East District sergeant continued to reach Karen's ears:
"The man participated in the parade a few days ago. His demands probably weren't met, so in despair, he left a suicide note and poisoned himself. The note was filled with curses against the mayor for breaking his word.
"Sigh, nothing could be done. He was disabled, after all. You know, these days, even an able-bodied man struggles to find a job to feed his family, let alone a cripple."
"Yes, you're right."
"His elderly mother probably couldn't handle the shock after finding her son had committed suicide, so she hung herself in the room. We cut her down. She left a note too, just one sentence: *My son needs me to look after him.*"
"Sigh."
"The man and the old mother died inside the house, so the neighbors didn't know at first. When they saw the woman leaving at dawn with her daughter wearing a schoolbag, they even asked where they were going.
"The woman answered that her husband had called a taxi today to send their daughter to school, and the girl was thrilled that she didn't have to walk all that way to take the tram.
"The neighbors wondered about it at the time—where would that family get the money for a taxi? A whole day's earnings for their entire family probably wouldn't cover a single taxi fare."
"And then the woman took her daughter..."
"Yeah, went to the roof of the tenement building and jumped, going to find her husband, to find her father.
"The fall was pretty gruesome. I heard your funeral parlor can restore people to how they looked in life. Can you handle that?"
"No problem at all. Here's our business card," Uncle Mason handed one over by habit.
"Impressive. Well, this is the place. The father's body has already been brought outside; the old mother's body is inside. Collect these two first, and then I'll take you to collect the mother and daughter.
"Hm? Inmerlais Funeral Parlor, address on Mink Street... Interesting.
"When people living here die, they're hauled straight to the crematorium and turned to ash. Who holds a memorial service?"
"Well, we..." Uncle Mason didn't know how to explain.
Behind them, Karen opened his mouth. He had heard those exact same words last night.
"Young Master?" Afu asked in a low voice. "Are you really all right?"
The sergeant suddenly roared in anger:
"Hey! Push those reporters back! Push them back!
"Damn it, who let them photograph the suicide notes? Snatch them back!
"Hurry up and take the bodies away, move it! These reporters are like sharks smelling blood. I don't want any trouble."
"Understood."
Uncle Mason walked up to the male corpse covered in a white sheet on the ground and waved Karen and Afu over.
Karen stared at the body before him, his mind completely blank.
*"Thank you, ma'am." "Heh, ma'am, did you hear that? He called you ma'am."* Took poison.
*"Make sure you eat your fill! Don't be polite."* Hung herself.
*"It seems to suit your taste. Take some home for your family to try." "Mm! I massage Papa's legs every day."* Jumped from the roof.
In Karen's mind, the image of that family waving goodbye in his rearview mirror as he drove away last night surfaced clearly.
*How could this be?*
*How could this happen?*
*Poor as they were, they lived with such effort and optimism.*
*How could a family like that seek death!*
*It can't be.*
*It's impossible.*
Uncle Mason called out, "Afu, come here and lift with me. Karen, steady the gurney."
Uncle Mason and Afu lifted the body together. As they set it onto the gurney, the wheels rolled slightly. Karen, still in a daze, instinctively reached out to brace it, but his foot slipped in a puddle. Losing his balance, he fell backward.
Fortunately, someone in the crowd caught him against their chest, keeping Karen from tumbling completely into the muddy puddle.
Because the gurney had rolled, the body that had just been placed on it shifted, causing the white sheet covering it to slip off—revealing the corpse's empty sleeve.
Karen stared at that empty sleeve. *Wait... missing an arm? Shouldn't it be a leg?*
Just then, the person whose chest was bracing Karen spoke:
"Mr. Karen, please get up quickly. My crutch is about to give out."
Chapter 37