Grandfather's hand came down on Karen's shoulder.
Karen's body shivered with it.
"Let us... go home, then."
"Oh... alright."
Karen knew with absolute clarity and certainty what he had just experienced. He didn't think this was merely him "overthinking" under the circumstances; it had been a genuine brush with death.
He reached out,
pushed open the courtyard gate,
and took a step forward.
Then his legs went weak beneath the knees, and his entire body pitched forward in a stumble.
Fortunately, his other hand had been gripping the golden retriever's leash the whole time. The dog was yanked forward with him, and in the end, Karen tumbled right onto the golden retriever.
"Whimper..."
The golden retriever let out a mournful whine.
Karen immediately braced his hands against the ground and pushed himself up, unable to stop himself from looking back at his grandfather standing there.
Grandfather was looking at him, devoid of expression.
Karen gathered up the leash of the thick-skinned, unharmed golden retriever once more and continued toward the house.
In the living room, Aunt Mary was sitting with several middle-aged men and women, discussing matters. They were likely the children of that old man from the sanatorium, come to arrange the funeral services.
Aunt Mary called out to Karen, but he didn't answer. As he climbed the stairs, he let go of the leash.
He went all the way up to the third floor, pushed open the door to his room, stepped inside, locked it behind him, and leaned his back against the wood. Slowly, his entire body slid down until he was slumped on the floor.
"Huff... huff... huff..."
Karen began gasping for breath, unable to control it.
Tears, snot, and cold sweat streamed uncontrollably down his face.
He clenched both hands into tight fists.
Keeping his voice pressed down to the faintest whisper, a continuous stream of curses tumbled from his mouth.
At this very moment,
only thoughtless, instinctive swearing could offer him even the slightest release.
Before long, however,
Mina's voice came from outside the door:
"Brother, lunch is in the kitchen. Shall I warm some up for you to eat?"
Karen took a deep breath, wiped away his tears with the palm of his hand, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
"No," he said. "I'm not hungry."
"Alright, brother."
Mina left.
Karen leaned against the door, his head tilted back.
*Mr. Hoffen saw who I truly was, and just now at the gate, Grandfather clearly... clearly wanted to kill me!*
*He wanted to kill me!*
What he had previously thought was an "identity issue" hardly worth worrying about had now brought him a glaring crisis. No—it had practically marched him straight onto the gallows.
Just then, his cousin Lunt's voice sounded outside the door:
"Brother, Grandfather wants you to go down and have lunch with him."
Karen gritted his teeth, waving his fists in frustration.
*Damn it, damn it, damn it!*
Right now, the person he feared facing most of all was his grandfather—was Diss!
Yet,
what was even more cursed was that Karen realized he didn't dare refuse.
After a fleeting moment of hollow staring,
"Heh..."
Karen suddenly let out a laugh.
He covered his face with both hands, unable to suppress the laughter, his shoulders shaking with it.
He was acutely aware of the shift in his mindset right now.
He was swinging from one extreme straight to the other,
otherwise known as:
throwing caution to the wind.
When people suffered massive psychological shocks, they were prone to developing similar moods. For instance, a frugal homemaker might suddenly go on a wild spending spree, or someone who usually carried themselves with strict self-respect might suddenly engage in reckless debauchery.
Once their emotions stabilized, they would probably regret it.
Yet that didn't stop them from indulging in that temporary release.
Human beings, after all, were creatures of flesh, blood, and soul. Even machines had to be stopped for inspection and maintenance once they were overloaded.
Karen slowly stood up.
He looked at his reflection in the bedroom mirror.
Karen felt no regret or shame over his earlier display of weakness. If an ordinary person were suddenly thrust face-to-face with a life-or-death crisis without warning, who could truly remain calm?
Still,
he was sick of it.
***
It was now three in the afternoon, long past lunchtime.
Karen walked over to the dining table and sat down.
Diss looked up, glanced at Karen, and noticed that his expression was remarkably natural. With his damp hair combed back, he looked quite spirited.
Before him sat a plate of noodles mixed with tomato sauce, with a plate of meat pies in the center of the table.
Karen picked up his fork, twirled some noodles, and put them into his mouth.
Sour, sweet, soft, and mushy... Yeah, terrible.
He speared a pie and took a bite. The cloying sweetness nearly sent Karen straight to the grave.
With a sense of helplessness, Karen set down his fork and sighed.
Diss ate unhurriedly, asking as he chewed, "What is it?"
Noticing that neither Aunt Mary nor Aunt Winnie was on the second floor, Karen answered bluntly, "It tastes bad."
Mina, who was bringing over water nearby, was clearly taken aback by such direct dialogue. Everyone in the household, including her parents, always behaved with utter awe and reverence before Grandfather.
Criticizing food and displaying such petulance, for instance, was simply not permitted.
Diss took a bite of a pie and asked, "What would you like to eat?"
Karen shook his head. "I'll make lunch tomorrow."
Diss dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin and said slowly, "Very well."
Immediately after, however, Diss pointed to the food in front of Karen. "Do not waste it."
"Alright."
Karen resumed eating.
Diss picked up a glass of water beside him and took a sip, his gaze lingering on Karen the entire time.
Karen, on the other hand, was visibly frowning as he ate. He made no effort to conceal his feelings, sighing as he chewed.
"Food demands a basic level of respect," Diss reminded him.
Karen took a glass of water from Mina and used it to wash down the cloyingly sweet pie in his mouth. "Making ingredients taste terrible is the real disrespect."
Diss nodded thoughtfully.
"Then I shall look forward to tomorrow's lunch."
Just then, Aunt Mary walked up from downstairs. Karen noticed that her face was a shifting canvas of anger, though the moment she appeared before Grandfather, she quickly reined it in.
"Have the guests left?" Diss asked.
"Yes, they chose the cheapest package," Aunt Mary said.
"Mm." Diss showed no particular reaction.
The cheapest package merely meant renting the first floor of the Inmeles residence as a place of mourning. It required no extra decorations or arrangements—essentially just laying the body in state so relatives and friends could come by for a brief look during designated hours in the morning or afternoon.
They didn't even need to provide drinks or refreshments.
"What's even more ridiculous is that they want to cremate Mr. Mossan. They don't even want to pay for a cemetery plot. To pinch pennies, the siblings even claimed Mr. Mossan was a follower of the Berry religion.
"Yet when I was preparing Mr. Mossan's body, I clearly saw an angel tattoo on his back."
A few denominations held doctrines dictating that the deceased must be cremated, making the end of the physical body both a conclusion and a new beginning. Most sects and most ordinary people, however, were still reluctant to choose cremation.
Naturally, a crucial point was that cremation was far cheaper than a proper, whole burial.
Aunt Mary's fury stemmed from the fact that Mr. Mossan's children had deliberately concocted such an unreliable excuse just to save money... and in doing so, had sheared off the lion's share of her planned profits.
The coffin, the burial plot, the priest—those were where the real money lay.
"Mm," Mr. Diss acknowledged, replying placidly. "Do as the clients wish."
"Yes, Father."
"By the way, since Mr. Mossan's family didn't request catering, that works out nicely. Karen will prepare tomorrow's lunch."
"Yes, Father." Aunt Mary glanced instinctively at Karen.
"I am somewhat tired today and will return to my room to rest. Tomorrow morning will be busy, so you all should turn in early as well."
"Yes, Father."
"Yes, Grandfather."
Diss rose from the table and headed up to the third floor.
"Mina, take Lunt and come help me arrange the drapes downstairs. Oh, call Chris to join us as well."
"Yes, Mother."
Aunt Mary turned to Karen again and asked, "My chef nephew, do you need me to purchase any ingredients in advance for you?"
"No need, Aunt Mary. There's plenty in the kitchen, more than enough."
"Then I'll be looking forward to tomorrow's lunch."
Aunt Mary led Mina and the others downstairs. Although Paul and Ron would arrive tomorrow morning to set up the memorial parlor, she needed to organize some of the basic supplies tonight.
Having finished his food, Karen began clearing the plates.
At that moment, the door to his aunt and uncle's room on the second floor was pushed open from the inside.
"Karen, Karen."
"Uncle Mason?" Karen called back, looking toward the voice.
"Is there any food left?" Uncle Mason asked.
"There are a few pies left."
"Good, good, give them to me, give them to me."
Karen carried the plate of pies to the doorway. Uncle Mason, dressed in pajamas, took the plate and immediately grabbed a pie, biting off a huge mouthful. The way he wolfed it down made it obvious he was famished.
"Uncle, what happened to you...?"
Uncle Mason replied with some embarrassment, "Took a spill while walking. My backside still hurts like hell; I don't even know if I bruised a bone. I'm going to lie down for a bit, but it won't interfere with the family work tomorrow."
"Then you really were too careless, Uncle."
"Ah, if a family wants good luck, someone has to be the unlucky one who bears it all. As long as you kids stay healthy, I'm happy to take it."
Even though Karen knew Uncle Mason was talking out of his rear,
he still offered a "polite" and "touched" smile.
Plate in hand, Uncle Mason limped back into the bedroom, not forgetting to instruct Karen, "Close the door."
"Alright, Uncle."
Karen shut the door. Piecing it together with Uncle Mason's reaction this morning, Karen guessed that his uncle had probably been beaten by his own father.
Well,
that was normal, wasn't it?
Even if his uncle already had kids of his own, getting thrashed by his own father wasn't entirely incomprehensible. After all, Diss had nearly done away with his own biological grandson today.
Out of habit, Karen reached out his right hand to push up glasses in front of his right eye—a reflex carried over from his previous life—only to grasp empty air.
"Karen" had great eyesight and didn't need glasses.
Karen mocked himself quietly, "Grandson..."
Then he spat out with heavier emphasis,
"Grandson, my ass."
***
Karen didn't go downstairs to help. After clearing the dishes, he washed up and went to bed.
In a daze, he fell asleep again and again, only to wake repeatedly, each slumber lasting no more than half an hour.
Dragging on like this until late at night, whatever sleepiness Karen had left completely eroded away.
He glanced at his cousin Lunt sleeping on the cot opposite him.
Ever since Karen had awakened and recovered, his cousin, who had previously shared a room with their grandfather, had immediately moved back in with him. One could easily imagine how much pressure sleeping in the same room as Grandfather must have brought him.
Karen sat up from the bed, switched on the small desk lamp, and following his memory, opened a drawer to retrieve a book.
The book was titled *Money: A Meaningless Thing*, an autobiography by a financial tycoon from Ruilan, the nation Karen now resided in.
Karen flipped through the pages, revealing crisp hundred-lubi banknotes tucked inside.
This was money saved by the previous "Karen." His allowance had apparently been quite generous. Karen pulled them all out and counted them: six thousand lubi.
At present, an ordinary worker earned a monthly wage of a little over two thousand lubi, while workers in profitable factories could pull in twenty-five hundred.
Paul and Ron, the household hands, made three thousand lubi a month, and Paul had even received a raise today to four thousand—after all, hauling the dead naturally commanded higher pay.
Therefore, these six thousand lubi amounted to roughly three months' wages for an ordinary worker. In truth, an ordinary worker with household living expenses would be hard-pressed to save that much in half a year.
When he had first woken up, Karen retrieved memories showing that "Karen" had actually been scheming to run away from home all along. He had always disliked this family.
Yet while these six thousand lubi were indeed no small sum, even if he left with this money, what could he possibly do?
"'Karen,' oh 'Karen,' why did you have to drop out of school? You could have at least left me a high school diploma."
On second thought, the guy had at least left him the face of a young Leonardo DiCaprio—and not the one running around with a water gun.
He didn't seem to have much right to complain about "Karen."
Now,
he had inherited this choice:
"Run away from home?"
"Or stay here?"
These two options flashed incessantly through Karen's mind. Yet recalling the events of the day, Karen couldn't help but wonder: would running away truly be that simple?
This was really not as straightforward as a kid pocketing some cash and boarding a train out of town.
Instead, it was entangled with an occult mystery—one that surpassed his established worldview.
And what was more,
that mystery resided right inside his own home!
"Woof... woof..."
From the courtyard below came two barks.
They had probably sounded earlier as well, but Karen hadn't paid attention.
Tucking the money back between the pages of the book, he placed it back into the drawer. Karen stood up, pushed open the bedroom door, and happened to see Purr crouched on the hallway windowsill.
The family's black cat was gazing down at the "exiled" golden retriever in the courtyard with an eerily humanlike posture,
as if gloating: *I'm inside the house, and you're out in the yard.*
Karen glanced at the lone golden retriever in the courtyard. The nighttime temperature was quite low. He figured the dog probably wouldn't freeze to death, but for a pet long accustomed to staying by its master's side, solitude was truly what was most unbearable.
Aunt Mary and the others had probably overlooked the golden retriever, or perhaps they couldn't be bothered to let it stay indoors overnight, figuring it was better to leave it outside so it could relieve itself in the yard by morning without needing someone to walk it.
Karen walked down from the third floor to the first-floor living room. Opening the door, the golden retriever immediately trotted over with pattering paws, rubbing its face incessantly against Karen's pajama pants.
Bending down, Karen patted the dog's head, intending to take it up to the second-floor kitchen to find something to eat.
Yet just as he reached the foot of the stairs,
Karen heard the muffled weeping and sobbing of an unfamiliar man drifting up from below.
In the quiet of the night, the sound was extraordinarily clear.
Karen took two steps back and glanced at the ramp leading down to the basement. Tentatively taking two steps downward, the sound grew even clearer—vivid enough that one could picture an old man huddled in a corner, sobbing from grievance.
Yet Karen immediately backed away, venturing no further.
"Only bit players who die within three minutes of a horror movie would indulge their ridiculous curiosity and wander into a basement alone right now."
Karen didn't scream, nor did he call for anyone. Instead, he went upstairs to the kitchen.
He poured a glass of milk, placed the glass into a large bowl, and poured hot water around it to warm it up.
He also picked up two slices of bread, biting down on one while tossing the other before the golden retriever.
The dog lowered its head, sniffed the bread, and pushed it away in disgust, refusing to eat.
It seemed it had already been fed.
Karen picked up the bread from the floor, threw it into the trash bin, and carried the warm milk up to the third floor.
Reaching his bedroom door, Karen hesitated. Rather than pushing it open to go inside, he turned around and walked up to his grandfather's bedroom door.
He raised a hand and knocked.
*Rap, rap... rap, rap...*
There was no response from inside.
Just as Karen prepared to knock again,
he noticed that the door to his grandfather's private study right beside it had opened. Clad in a black dressing gown, Grandfather stood in the study doorway.
"What is it?"
"I brought Grandfather a glass of warm milk."
Karen offered the glass of warm milk to Diss.
Diss reached out, accepted it, and took a sip right before Karen.
"Good night, Grandfather."
"Good night."
Diss closed the study door.
Karen noticed that the light inside the study had flickered slightly, which meant Grandfather hadn't turned on the lamp; rather... he was using candles.
After standing outside the study door for about three minutes,
Karen turned around. Instead of returning to his room, he headed straight down the stairs, descending once more from the third floor to the first.
When he stood once again at the top of the ramp leading down into the basement,
that weeping sound drifted up once more.
"Heh, heh, heh..."
Karen couldn't help but chuckle.
Then, interlacing his fingers and rolling onto his toes, he went through the warm-up routine from gym class.
"Alright, let's go have a look at you."
Chapter 6