Advent!

Dawn was just breaking. "Who did this? Who on earth was it?!" Aunt Mary's furious screech rang out from the basement. A moment later, she stomped angrily up the ramp and caught sight of Diss in his priest's cassock. "Father, someone messed with Mr. Mossan down in the basement! Some damn—" "I performed a rite for him." "Oh. I see. Praise your mercy. May Mr. Mossan rest in peace." Aunt Mary immediately offered a prayer. With that, she turned back toward her workshop to quietly touch up Mr. Mossan's makeup again. It wasn't as though this had never happened before. Occasionally, bodies brought into the house were disturbed, and her father-in-law had performed rites over them several times, ruining their makeup in the process. Still, since it had been done by her father-in-law, Aunt Mary wouldn't dare lose her temper with him—not in the slightest. Last night, before leaving the basement, Karen had moved Mr. Mossan's body back onto the gurney, wiped away his own blood from the floor, and straightened the man's clothes. But when it came to the makeup on his face... Karen had lacked the skill to restore it. In the end, all he could do was wash up and head back to his room to sleep. When he woke up, his cousin Lunt, who shared the room with him, was already gone. Karen sat up in bed and tapped his forehead. This body truly was good-looking. Even from a man's perspective, it was undeniably handsome. The only problem was that it was a bit too frail. In his previous life, although Karen had often stayed up late and smoked, he had kept up with running and working out, maintaining a fairly solid physical condition. *Looks like I'll need to put exercise on the schedule.* After washing up, Karen headed down to the second floor and spotted milk and bread on the dining table. He poured a glass of milk, dipped a piece of bread into it, made do with eating two slices, and then downed the rest of the milk along with the soggy crumbs. After straightening his collar and cuffs, he went down to the first floor. The gramophone on the first floor was playing the piano piece *Departed Friends*, one of the most frequently played melodies at memorial services across Rojia City and the surrounding towns. Karen stopped beside the gramophone. The first floor had already been arranged, presenting an atmosphere of solemn dignity. Ron and Paul were placing the casket onto a low platform, while Mina and Chris were busy lighting candles. Cousin Lunt held a mop, carefully wiping away any footprints that might be on the floor. Aunt Mary sat in the corner drinking water, looking rather exhausted. Karen knew full well why she was so tired. Having work she had finished last night turn into a rushed morning touch-up would wear anyone out. Aunt Winnie held a ledger, taking inventory of the equipment. Aside from the fresh flowers, every furnishing in the room was a familiar veteran of the trade. Although everything was reusable, replacing any lost or damaged items would still be a hefty expense. Grandfather stood by the low platform, watching Ron and Paul set the casket in place. Karen had been downstairs for a while now, yet Grandfather never once glanced his way. Everyone else in the family was working, while Karen had been allowed to sleep in without anyone waking him. He supposed this was a special privilege granted to "Karen." "Right this way, sir. Thank you for your trouble. I'm terribly sorry for having you come by so early." "Not at all, not at all! It's my duty, haha." Uncle Mason ushered in a balding, middle-aged man who was dressed in cheap clothes but carried an air of great importance. Searching his memory, Karen recognized him as Malmo, a deputy director from a district government office. In Karen's memories, Aunt Mary looked down on this man immensely, thinking him greedy, crude in his dealings, and overly fond of throwing his weight around. Comically, in the office where he worked, aside from a single director, everyone else held the title of "deputy director." The others were all well-connected figureheads who held titles without working, leaving Malmo as the only one running errands and handling the grunt work. In truth, he was nothing more than a clerk. Mr. Malmo noticed Karen and reached out, intending to pat him on the head. Karen stepped back, slipping out of reach. "Haha. The last time I visited, I heard you were ill. Looks like you've recovered now?" "Yes. Thank you for your concern, sir," Karen replied. "Good, good." Without wasting any more time, Malmo stepped onto the dais, raised his vintage Wolfz camera, and took a picture of Jeff lying in the casket before stepping back down. Grandfather, clad in his priest's cassock, took his place before the casket, bowed his head, and began to pray. *Click!* Malmo took another shot. Finally, Malmo stepped back to the parlor entrance, chose a spot with better lighting, raised the camera to frame the entire room, and held it steady. Karen saw Aunt Mary rise from her chair. Everyone, including the younger cousins, solemnly bowed their heads in mourning. "Ready, everyone in position..." Karen straightened his posture and lowered his head as well. *Click!* "All done." Malmo lowered the camera. Uncle Mason handed him a black notebook, which Malmo accepted with a nod. Inside it was a tip. That was how welfare cases worked. On paper, the allocated funds from the municipal government and charitable organizations weren't meager, but once it filtered down, everyone took a slice. Naturally, today's tip was somewhat larger than usual because Mr. Malmo had been asked to come so early in the morning. With the three required report photos taken for the archives, Mr. Malmo wasted no time, leaving immediately with his camera and notebook. Uncle Mason saw him all the way to the door. Even if Uncle Mason had wanted to curry favor by driving him back to the office, he couldn't have—unless Mr. Malmo was willing to be chauffeured in a hearse. The Inmeles family didn't own a private car. Shortly after, Paul and Ron worked together to lift Jeff's body out of the casket, transfer it onto a gurney, and wheel it back down to the basement. Immediately afterward, the two wheeled Mr. Mossan out and loaded him into the casket. Aunt Mary stepped forward to adjust his posture, doing her best to make Mr. Mossan appear more comfortable and dignified. The rest of the decorations and furnishings remained untouched, exactly as before. This was a back-to-back arrangement. Although Mr. Mossan's children were stingy in other respects, some relatives lived out of town, so they had booked Mr. Mossan's memorial service for a full day instead of a half-day. Of course, had the option been available, they would have happily booked by the hour rather than the half-day. Thus, Jeff had effectively hitched a ride on Mr. Mossan's service today. Now that the paperwork process was finished, Jeff naturally had to yield the floor and return to the basement to lie in wait. With Mr. Mossan settled into his place, Paul and Ron went out to set up signs at the parlor entrance and by the roadside gate, indicating that today was the memorial service for Mr. Mossan. Seeing that there was nothing for him to do on the first floor, Karen walked over to the garden bed in the yard and plucked a handful of agastache leaves. Then he headed up to the second floor and entered the kitchen. Today's lunch was his responsibility. Often, the venue provided light refreshments for mourning friends and family—assuming, of course, that the family requested and paid for the service. When that happened, the Inmeles family would eat along with them as a work meal. Today, however, Mr. Mossan's children hadn't ordered any food, nor even the cheapest sweetened lemonade. As a result, the Inmeles family had to prepare their own lunch. Stepping into the kitchen, Karen felt right at home. In his previous life, he had often cooked for himself and thoroughly enjoyed the process. While he wouldn't claim to be a master chef, he was certainly exceptional by home-cooking standards. After washing the agastache leaves, Karen dropped a few into a cup and poured boiling water over them. Next, he began selecting ingredients. The household's food supply was actually fairly plentiful, though he didn't plan on making an extravagant feast. There was a refrigerator in the kitchen that looked quite new, likely purchased not long ago, but in Karen's eyes, it seemed remarkably antiquated. Just as he was about to prep the ingredients, sounds came from the first floor. The mourners for Mr. Mossan had begun to arrive. Mina and Chris came up to the second floor. The two young girls stood curiously outside the kitchen, watching Karen knead dough. Normally, when the family had business, the two of them were responsible for serving tea and water downstairs, but today their services weren't required. "Karen, when did you learn how to cook?" Mina asked. "Yeah, yeah, and what's that wooden stick for?" Chris poked her head in to ask. "Just wait and see," Karen said with a smile. The rolling pin in his hand had been dismantled from the wobbly little desk in his bedroom. In truth, there were far more suitable cylindrical rods in the basement, but Karen wouldn't dare use them—not even after washing them. Pouring oil into a pan, he heated it up, slipped the wrapped spring rolls into the hot oil to fry, and then scooped them out to drain. The spring rolls were stuffed with garlic chives and small cubes of pork. After that, Karen started frying eggplant patties. Between the layers of each patty, he tucked an agastache leaf, making them crispier and cutting through the grease. Because of the large household—and since Ron and Paul would also be eating lunch here—Karen fried up two large platters each of spring rolls and eggplant patties. Next, Karen started sautéing spices. He felt he would need to find time to visit the market soon; while the house had plenty of ingredients, it was sorely lacking in aromatic spices. He dumped marinated chunks of chicken into the pot, covered it with a lid, and let it braise. Yes, Karen intended to make yellow braised chicken. He picked up the cup and took a sip of the lukewarm agastache tea. *Phew.* Karen loved that sensation. In his previous life, his hometown had a popular, simple comfort dish called tea-soaked rice made with agastache tea, paired with pickled mustard greens or other preserves. Simple as it was, once you grew accustomed to it, it became addictive, even if it wasn't particularly gentle on the stomach. *Oh, right, I should make some pickles too.* Although there were earthenware jars down in the basement, Karen decided he would buy new ones from the market instead. Once the chicken was nearly done, Karen tossed in diced potatoes, sliced shiitake mushrooms, and green bell peppers, turning up the heat to reduce the sauce. In another pot, he whipped up a simple tomato and egg soup. By the time the soup was ready, the braised chicken was done as well. "Mina, Chris, come carry the dishes." "Okay, Karen!" "Mmm, it smells so good!" Mina and Chris came in to carry the platters. Once the food was set on the dining table, Chris ran downstairs to let the family know lunch was ready, then bolted back up, eagerly grabbed a spring roll, and shoved it into her mouth. It wasn't a breach of table manners; when business was underway, people ate whenever they had a free moment rather than waiting for everyone to gather. Finishing early meant they could go back down to relieve the others. "It's delicious, Karen!" Chris said, nodding as she chewed. "Chris, use a fork," Mina reminded her. "It's fine, hands are fine." Karen picked up a spring roll with his fingers and dipped it into a bowl of fruit vinegar. The household's fruit vinegar tasted much like plain white vinegar, which didn't quite satisfy Karen. He still preferred Zhenjiang aromatic vinegar. Mina ladled a bowl of soup for Karen. By habit, he liked adding a dash of vinegar to tomato egg soup, but he found himself resisting the flavor of the fruit vinegar. Taking a sip of the hot soup, Karen drew a deep breath. For a moment, he felt an urge to cry. It wasn't out of gluttony, but because after undergoing such a colossal upheaval, food from his "homeland" offered genuine spiritual comfort. No amount of platitudes could match the warmth of actual soup sliding down his throat. Mina and Chris ate with relish, dipping their spring rolls and eggplant patties into the braised chicken gravy. Karen, however, waved Mina off when she tried to spoon some braised chicken onto his plate. He hadn't cooked any rice, and braised chicken without rice had no soul. "Karen, will you teach me how to cook sometime?" Mina asked. "Me too, me too!" Chris chimed in eagerly. "Sure, of course." Just then, Aunt Mary walked up. Seeing the food on the table, she exclaimed in surprise, "Karen, you made this?" "Yes, Aunt Mary. Give it a try." "Alright." Aunt Mary speared a spring roll with a fork and took a bite. "Mmm, that's delicious! When did you learn to cook?" "I read it in books." "Really? That's wonderful! We could add a new service in the future—light meals prepared for guests by our private chef." "Sure," Karen replied politely. Today was just a test of the waters. He knew how to cook countless dishes. Having achieved modest financial freedom in his previous life, he had often traveled across the country, not for sightseeing photo ops, but specifically to seek out regional delicacies. He was especially fond of, and skilled at, Sichuan cuisine. Aunt Mary sat down and continued eating, not missing the opportunity to scoff: "Hardly anyone came to pay respects, and even fewer gave condolence money. Someone actually just brought a single bouquet—tut-tut, you could tell at a glance it was plucked straight from Mrs. Mark's garden next door." The level of material development was the underlying driver of social customs. After all, both weddings and funerals required help from friends and family, which gave condolence money its practical purpose. From Karen's memories, people here could give gifts instead of cash at weddings, though newlyweds sometimes provided a registry to their guests, which came to much the same thing. Besides, people still vastly preferred receiving cash over gifts. "Will they break even?" Karen asked Aunt Mary. "That's why they booked the afternoon session. The out-of-town relatives are coming this afternoon, so maybe some of them will give generous envelopes?" Aunt Mary took a sip of soup and continued, "Not that it matters. If there's less income, at least we get to relax." The others came up one after another for lunch, all singing unanimous praise for Karen's cooking. In terms of popularity, the spring rolls took first place. Later that afternoon, Ron and Paul made a special trip back upstairs to clear out the remaining cold ones. When Grandfather came up to eat, Karen stood nearby. "Not bad." "I can make other dishes too," Karen said. "I'll just need some additional spices." "Ask your aunt for money." "Yes, Grandfather." "If you take up cooking in the future, your allowance can be increased. Of course, you don't have to cook every day," Diss said. "I enjoy cooking." Well, an increased allowance was certainly welcome too. During this exchange between grandfather and grandson, Purr lay crouched on the small sofa nearby, staring at the table of food. The cat had sunk into deep contemplation. *Meow...* (*An aberrant demon that creates its own language?*) *Meow...* (*An aberrant demon that knows how to cook?*) *Meow... meow...* (*Have I gone mad, or has the aberrant demon gone mad?*) At nearly three in the afternoon, the final group of out-of-town mourners finally arrived. They were four elderly men in suits, with military medals pinned to their chests. Karen noticed that the envelopes of condolence money they handed over were visibly thicker. The four old men gathered around Mr. Mossan to pay their respects. One of them, named Dingle, asked Aunt Mary about the funeral arrangements that would follow. Aunt Mary politely replied that everything was arranged. Mocking the children's stinginess behind their backs was one thing, but there was no need to cause a scene to their faces. Mr. Mossan's children hurried forward, supporting the elderly men and chatting with them as they escorted them out. Standing by the parlor door filling a bucket with water, Karen overheard the children explaining that due to the weather, there wouldn't be an interment service at the cemetery. They claimed Mr. Mossan's final wish had been for a simple, quiet affair so as not to trouble anyone. Mr. Dingle had clearly seen through the excuse, but he chose not to press the matter. As he walked out the gate with the other old men, Karen saw him glance back toward the parlor, sigh, and dab at the corners of his eyes. The memorial service came to an end. Under Aunt Winnie's direction and supervision, everyone began tidying up the parlor. Paul's neighbor came by looking for him, saying Paul's mother had gone to the clinic that afternoon for a medical checkup due to poor health. Paul, who had just received a raise, asked the neighbor about his mother's condition. Having just been given higher pay, he felt embarrassed to clock out early unless it was something serious. After all, today's work wasn't finished. Even though they didn't have to transport the casket to a cemetery for burial, they still had to haul two corpses to the Hughes Crematorium on the outskirts of town. "Go to the clinic and check on your mother. Give her my regards," Aunt Mary said. "Thank you, ma'am! Thank you so much!" After thanking her, Paul turned and hurried off toward the clinic with his neighbor. Once Paul was gone, Uncle Mason grimaced, rubbed his backside, and complained, "I'm still hurting here." Aunt Mary glared at her husband and snapped, "All you ever do is slack off!" Under ordinary circumstances, Uncle Mason rarely touched corpses and hated physical labor, so slacking off was routine for him. At this moment, however, Karen believed Uncle Mason was genuinely indisposed. He must have been injured yesterday. He claimed he had taken a fall, but Karen suspected he had been beaten. "Uncle, I'll go with you," Karen said. It wasn't that Karen was eager for hard work; he simply knew that while some things didn't need to be brought into the open and could remain unspoken, the key to ensuring his survival right now was integrating into this family. "Family" was Grandfather's soft spot. To a certain extent, Karen was leaning into that weakness. With self-preservation as his goal, he didn't consider himself sinister or hypocritical. Aunt Mary was initially reluctant to let Karen work; his state in the workshop the other day had left her deeply worried about his health. But right now, they genuinely lacked male hands. Furthermore, by local custom, aside from immediate kin, women and minors were deemed unfit to visit crematoriums, and the local age of adulthood was fifteen. Uncle Mason was overjoyed and patted Karen warmly on the shoulder. "Our Karen really has grown up! Ron, come on, let's load the 'guests' first." Karen and Ron wheeled out Jeff, who had lain alone in the basement all day, and worked together to hoist him into the modified Nutshell hearse. Next, they wheeled out Mr. Mossan and loaded him onto the hearse as well. During the lifting, Ron, worried that Karen lacked the strength, took the "guests" by the shoulders, leaving Karen to hold only the legs. Once the "guests" were aboard, Uncle Mason waved goodbye to his wife, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine. The car headed west, made a turn, continued westward, and entered the rowhouse district of Mink Street. Just then, Karen noticed Uncle Mason deliberately slowing the vehicle down. Karen turned to look toward the rowhouses across the street. Up at a second-floor window, he saw a woman seated behind the curtain beside a small tea table, upon which sat a book and a glass of water. The woman leaned back slightly, her upper body hidden behind the half-drawn curtain. Yet her long legs, and the red high heel lightly pointed and swaying gently at the toe, projected a strange allure and seduction. Upon catching sight of that high heel, however, Karen felt a sudden wave of dizziness, and an inexplicable gloom settled over his heart. Because of the dreadful imagery left behind by that dream, he likely wouldn't be fond of high heels for a very long time—especially red ones. He glanced at Uncle Mason in the driver's seat, who was also gazing toward that rowhouse. There was an indefinable look in his uncle's eyes. Yet in Karen's memories, while Uncle Mason was unreliable in business, lazy, and averse to physical labor, his personal conduct was beyond reproach, and his relationship with Aunt Mary was exceptionally good. Therefore, Karen didn't believe Uncle Mason was having an affair—and choosing an affair partner living so close to home would have been sheer stupidity. Tentatively, Karen asked, "First love?" "Uh... nonsense! Nothing of the sort!" Mason immediately stepped on the gas, stealing one last glance at the woman wearing an apron as she watered flowers in the garden. Once they drove out of Mink Street, Uncle Mason couldn't resist glancing back at Karen, looking somewhat sheepish. "There really is nothing between us." "I believe you, Uncle." "Actually, I only found out recently that she and her husband moved here. We ran into each other across the yard once, but we just smiled and didn't speak. Karen, you know I'm a man who cherishes family." At that point, Uncle Mason sighed and continued: "I ruined my previous family. But since I already made such a mess back then, how could I ever do something to hurt your aunt now? "Still, her household ran into some trouble the day before yesterday. She asked me for help, so I helped sort it out, and that was the end of it. She and her husband are already looking for a new place and getting ready to move." Mason subconsciously shifted his buttocks, his eyes flicking toward the two "guests" lying in the back. Karen caught the detail. *So Grandfather beating Uncle Mason had something to do with... Jeff lying in the back?* It could only be Jeff. Mr. Mossan had been picked up from a nursing home, whereas Jeff was a welfare case who had frozen to death on the street. Connecting this to the dream he had experienced before Jeff, and how Aunt Mary had immediately phoned Uncle Mason to come home the moment Grandfather went down to the basement... Karen rubbed the bridge of his nose. *Did Jeff really freeze to death?* "Karen..." "Don't worry, Uncle. I won't tell Aunt Mary." Karen knew his uncle wanted that assurance. He had deliberately withheld it earlier, hoping to hear more gossip. "Phew... haha." *** Second floor, bedroom. A leg lifted, the sole of the high heel catching the curtain to pull it shut. Then, the legs in the red high heels walked toward the door. Just as "she" reached out to open it, static crackled from the nearby radio. "Cough, cough, cough..." A fit of coughing came through the speaker. "Where... do you think you're going!" The host's voice from the radio sounded feeble, as though sick—or injured. A moment later, the radio spoke again: "Oh, you say you sensed him? "He's already dead! Don't you know how much trouble you brought me by scaring him to death? The Church of Order's Inquisitor for this district has already come looking for me!" "What do you mean, 'what's an Inquisitor from the Church of Order worth'? "Other Inquisitors might be nothing, but not him! He is no ordinary Inquisitor... No, I can't even fathom why a man like him is merely a local Inquisitor right now. "My injury was inflicted by him. I had no certainty of defeating him. "Consider my wound this time as repayment for the favor I owed you back then. So from now on, please behave yourself! Besides, trouble might be brewing in Rojia City soon. I've already sensed several unusual presences appearing on the outskirts of this city." "Him, him, him? Why are you still obsessing over him! He was just a foolish thief whom you scared to death! He's on his way to be cremated right now, so what more do you want!" "What?" "You're saying you don't mean that foolish thief?" "It's... it's the one who entered both our minds last time?" "Then—then all the more reason not to make contact with him! He is absolutely no ordinary entity! "I would even wager he is some high priest of a divine cult conducting a psychic probe with the help of a sacred church relic, who happened to sweep across the two of us." "Only afterward did I realize how terrifyingly powerful he was. At first, I assumed another bumbling thief had entered the house and been pulled into your domain, but you told me later that he appeared without making a sound. "No—it was an advent!" "You ask why he did it?" "Prying was merely his amusement, not his true intent!" "Especially that sacred hymn he chanted... it made my very soul tremble!"