13 Mink Street

The Immers family hearse took the notion of ”equality of all beings” to its grim extreme: in this car, there was no difference whether one was living or dead; there was only discomfort, plain and simple.

Ron was pressed into a corner of the cabin, his burly frame contorted into an awkward position that showed the man was used to it. His feet were splayed out for balance, bracing himself in place. For someone so large, the posture looked unseemly, almost ridiculous, yet it was the only way for Ron to remain stable. Soon enough, he surrendered to sleep, snoring as he tried to catch up on some rest.

In contrast, Karon struggled throughout the entire ride. His palms braced firmly against the floor just so that he could remain upright. The city roads proved tolerable, but once they reached the outskirts, the ruts and jolts made everything far worse.

Jeff and Mr. Mossan lay together in the back, and the rough shaking soon left the two bodies pressed together in an intimate manner, their limbs entangled in a pose uncomfortably close to an embrace like what lovers might share as they became lost in their own whispers.

The sight made Karon uneasy. More than once, he tried to separate them, but the cramped space contained little extra room. No sooner would he pry them apart than another brutal lurch would pitch them back into each other’s arms.

This would never have happened, he thought. If either family had come along. At least within a coffin the dead would be spared some of the indignity, and their shuddering would have been kept to a minimum. Yet Jeff had been a loner, and had only barely qualified for even basic benefits. Mr. Mossan had technically not been on the welfare rolls, yet he had still belonged there.

It wasn’t Karon’s place to protest his family’s attitude toward their work. He might have cooked lunch earlier, yet the truth was that he was still little more than an extra mouth at the table.

At last, Uncle Mason turned the steering wheel, and the hearse rolled to a stop in a yard of what looked more like a workshop than a funeral home. A battered sign at the gate read: Hughes Crematorium.

“Ron, wake up!” Uncle Mason barked, rapping on the glass.

“Huh? Oh, we’re already here.” Ron blinked as he awakened, and swiped the drool from his chin while stretching.

Karon jumped out to help load the gurneys. With Ron, both Jeff and Mr. Mossan were unloaded from the car as Uncle Mason kept the gurneys steady.

A middle-aged woman in gray work clothes approached them, a pen and notepad in hand.

“A handsome young man,” she remarked as her eyes locked onto Karon.

“Hello, Mrs. Hughes,” Ron greeted her warmly.

So this was Mrs. Hughes, the woman Paul mentioned had a soft spot for Ron. Yet despite Ron’s open friendliness, he was hardly even acknowledged. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on Karon.

She was not unattractive. Even in work clothes, it was clear she had a full figure, and her complexion was startlingly pale. When she reached out to pinch his cheek, Karon felt a wave of awkwardness. He eased away from her hand. While he had grown resigned to his new face, being handled and teased like a small boy was unsettling in a different way.

Yet Mrs. Hughes caught his wrist. Her fingers drew slow, spiraling lines across his palm. There was no mistaking her intent. In her eyes, Karon recognized the familiar appetite that older men sometimes showed when looking at pretty girls.

“This is Karon, my brother’s son,” Mason offered while lighting a cigarette for Mrs. Hughes.

“Oh? Your nephew?” She sounded surprised. “I haven’t seen him before.”

“Matter of circumstance. One of our workers has some family issues, and I got banged up a bit myself.”

“You’re injured?”

“Took a fall.”

“At whose wife’s windowsill did it happen this time?” she teased.

“That’s enough now. You’re not too busy today, are you?”

“I’ve got one burning now, and then you’re up.”

“Just one furnace running?”

“I’d light more if you brought me enough to make it worth my while. You think I can afford to waste fuel?”

“Fine, fine. Let’s get our ‘guests’ inside.”

“I’ll head in first and get set up. See you in a minute, handsome.” Mrs. Hughes winked at Karon before sashaying away.

Ron was able to manage Mr. Mossan’s gurney on his own, while Mason lent Karon a hand with Jeff.

“Mrs. Hughes is a lively person,” Mason confided to Karon in a low voice.

“Mhmm,” Karon replied.

“Her husband died young, so she runs this place now. She never remarried, but she’s never short of company.”

“Uncle, you don’t need to tell me all this.”

”I should at least warn you. I was your age once too, you know.” Mason rapped the steel gurney with his knuckles. “At your age, a boy can get excited enough to poke through even that.”

Karon said nothing.

”You’re not a child anymore; it’s time you found yourself a decent girlfriend,” Mason continued.

”Yes, Uncle. I know.”

Karon understood what Mason was suggesting. He was not trying to insult Mrs. Hughes so much as to warn Karon, cautioning the young man not to lose his head over the older woman.

As they moved inside, an oily, cloying smell struck him at once. It was thick in the air; not quite sweet, and certainly not aromatic. It was more like a bedroom which had become stuffy during a long monsoon. Everything inside spoke of age and much use. It was a place battered soft by years of service, revealing all the evidence of how long the crematorium had endured.

“Some time ago, this crematorium nearly went under,” Mason said. “It almost got bought out by a much larger competitor.”

“And then?” Karon asked.

“That bigger place got exposed. To cut costs, they would only fire up their furnaces at night, so the ashes that they handed to families during the day were actually leftovers from the previous night.”

Karon’s eyes went wide. They could do that?

“So that means...”

“Exactly. Families took their loved ones in to be cremated, then went home with a stranger’s ashes. The most ridiculous part? It went on like that for years.”

”That’s awful.”

“After the truth came out, the owner of that crematorium was beaten to death with a stone one night,” Mason said. “No one ever found out who did it; there were simply too many people with motive.”

Karon nodded. “Sounds like he deserved it.”

Putting himself in that situation, Karon could imagine bringing a loved one to the crematorium while still drowning in grief, only to return home with the ashes of some unknown stranger. Worse still, that urn would likely be enshrined and mourned over for years.

With that perspective, he knew he would also feel the urge to kill.

”After that outfit went bankrupt, Mrs. Hughes’s place here managed to survive, but things are now getting hard again. Huge funeral chains are popping up in other cities, and they have connections to everything: hospitals, burial societies, transportation, and cremations. One of them has even opened a branch here in Roja City. Winnie got a call, not long ago, with an offer to buy us out.”

”Grandpa won’t agree,” Karon stated.

”Of course he won’t—and neither will I. You know what those companies do? They process bodies in batches, hold group ceremonies, and even burn or bury everyone together. They act like they’re moving sacks of potatoes. Someone should string those capitalists up from the lampposts. All they care about is profit. They know nothing about caring for the dead or showing respect.”

This caused the earlier image of Jeff and Mr. Mossan in the cramped hearse, pressed together until their faces were nearly touching. Uncle, where do you find the nerve to talk about respect?

”Our family business is hanging on, even with those companies trying to choke off our suppliers. Your grandfather is the reason we’re still here. But Mrs. Hughes... her place is struggling,” Mason finished, his voice dropping low.

Pushing Mr. Mossan ahead of them, Ron suddenly called back, ”That’s why I support the Accord Party. They’re the only ones who’ll punch those capitalists in the mouth.” He swung his fist as though a show of proof.

The Accord Party had been in the papers recently. They were a leftist group that had been making steady gains in Roja City. As soon as the name was mentioned, Uncle Mason cut in sharply, ”Are you out of your mind? Put those lunatics in charge and our lives will end up miserable!”

Ron just shrugged while continuing on, pushing the gurney down the corridor.

Karon observed his uncle. The man’s neck was flushed red with anger. Karon understood him well enough; Mason embodied the weakness of the true meaning of the petty bourgeoisie.

After passing down a short, dim corridor, they brought the gurneys into the cremation room. Three furnaces sat against the far wall, though only one was fired up. Behind a glass pane, Karon saw a man sitting alone. His hair was wild and his beard grown out, his eyes wide and empty as he stared out.

The furnace clicked off with a mechanical sigh, and a spry, white-haired attendant opened the door and called to the man, “Sir, please come and collect your wife.”

The elderly worker immediately noticed Mason. A smile spread across his face as he lifted a hand in greeting, “Hey, Mason.”

“Old Darcy!” Uncle Mason stepped forward and offered Old Darcy a cigarette.

“How many today?” Old Darcy asked as he lit up.

Mason held up two fingers.

“Oh. God have mercy on you,” Old Darcy chuckled with barely concealed schadenfreude. He knew exactly what cremations meant for the Immers family.

Strictly speaking, they did not suffer a loss. They still made money. But burials brought them much more profit, and losing potential profit was, in its own way, a loss.

“Sir, please come and collect your wife,” Old Darcy urged again, blowing out a smoke ring.

The wild-haired man lifted his head in a daze and slowly stood. However, when he saw the cremation furnace through the glass window, he leaned back against the wall, as though resisting what was before him. Naturally, no one could easily accept that the person who had once slept beside them had been reduced to a pile of ashes.

Karon heard his uncle lower his voice, “What’s wrong?”

Old Darcy took a drag from his cigarette. Shaking his head with mild contempt, he quietly replied, “No tip. Also didn’t buy one of our urns. Hah.”

If a customer tipped, or even bought the crematorium’s merchandise, they would naturally receive special treatment. For example, if they were frightened or uncomfortable, the cremator, Old Darcy, would help by collecting the ashes and placing them neatly into an urn before handing it over.

There were also some people who insisted on being the one to gather their loved one’s remains. When that happened, Darcy would carefully crush the bones so they could be properly stored.

The grieving man did not seem to be short on money, nor willfully stingy. He simply did not know. His eyes held nothing but confusion. Seeing the man’s behavior, Old Darcy sneered, “A psychology professor, and yet he doesn’t even know about this?”

Hmm? The man’s title caught Karon’s attention. What a coincidence. Someone from the same field.

He stepped forward and spoke softly to the man, “You should go collect your wife now.”

“I... I...” The man’s hands trembled. It was clear he was locked in an intense internal conflict.

In truth, when two people had shared a close and loving relationship, the body or ashes of the deceased rarely felt frightening. Instead, they frequently just felt... ordinary.

However, there were some people whose minds worked differently.

In Karon’s previous life, he had once treated a patient who had deeply loved his wife. During their child’s delivery, he had chosen to accompany her in the delivery room. It was a gesture of devotion. Yet after that, he developed a severe psychological trauma, which led to him ultimately divorcing his wife. Things had devolved to the point where even the sight of women and children had left the man trembling in fear.

“Are you scared of your own wife?” Old Darcy pressed impatiently. “Hurry up! There are people waiting.”

“I... I’m not...” The man’s face twisted with struggle and guilt. Old Darcy’s words had struck deep.

The mind consisted of both physiology and psychology, and psychological barriers were often easier to overcome than physiological ones.

“I’m not... not afraid of her... it’s just... I...”

Karon sighed and patted the man’s shoulder. Fine. For someone from the same field.

He turned to Mason. “Uncle, we need to get back home. I’ll help him collect the ashes.”

Old Darcy felt a flicker of displeasure. “Your nephew is very kind,” he said flatly. There was no hint of praise.

Mason shrugged. “Old Darcy, I’m in a hurry. If I’m late, Mary will nag me again.”

“Alright, alright.” Old Darcy relented. “Bring one of the bodies in. I’ll handle the ashes.”

Ron wheeled Mr. Mossan inside. Karon hesitated, but then helped to lift Mr. Mossan onto the furnace’s platform.

Last night, Mr. Mossan had manifested, making his stubborn refusal to be cremated clear. But Karon could do nothing. Even though the previous Karon had left behind six thousand rupi, which was at least enough to buy a coffin at cost, what about the burial plot? More importantly, what right did Karon have to offer special treatment to an ordinary customer? Not to mention, Tiz was still alive. Even if the old man died, Mason remained. It was not Karon’s place to make decisions for the family, nor to squander their funds.

Soon, Karon moved over beside Old Darcy and watched as the old man raked an iron hook through the remains.

“First time?” Old Darcy asked.

“Yes.”

“Never seen this before?”

“No.”

“A real young master,” Old Darcy said with a smirk. An Immers man, seeing ashes for the first time.

Karon pointed at the pile. “Shouldn’t this be ashes?”

He deliberately emphasized the word. In his mind, ashes should be white, like flour. What he was seeing were fragments of bone. There was indeed ash, but the bones dominated, largely intact.

“That’s how it is,” Old Darcy replied.

“Oh. I see.” So the movies had lied to him.

When Old Darcy flicked his finished cigarette to the floor, Karon pulled out the pack he had received from Paul and offered another. Old Darcy accepted, his expression softening slightly, though he still reminded Karon, “That’s not how you play the good guy.”

Karon smiled faintly. “He once came to our school and gave a public lecture. I suppose that makes him a teacher.”

Old Darcy bit down on the filter. “I see.”

He pulled on gloves, picked up a small hammer, and then squatted down to methodically crush the larger bones.

“Do people usually take all the ashes?” Karon asked.

Old Darcy snorted. “Most just take some.”

Karon nodded. “I see.”

“Hey, I’m working here,” Old Darcy grumbled, his shoulders shaking as he worked. “Out of respect for your uncle. And your grandfather.”

Once he finished breaking down the larger pieces, Old Darcy gestured to a shelf lined with urns. “Get one.”

Karon scanned them. Even the cheapest one cost one thousand rupi, which was half a month’s wages for an ordinary worker. There were pricier ones, including one exquisite urn that was marked for fifty thousand rupi, though it was coated in dust. Just a display piece. Cremation was usually chosen because it was cheaper than burial. That urn would never be sold.

Karon returned with the cheapest urn. “I’ll have my uncle pay you.”

Old Darcy waved it off. “No need.”

“But it’s a thousand rupi.”

“Cost is fifty. Wholesale’s cheaper.”

Karon cursed inwardly, Absolutely black-hearted.

“You never helped your family’s business before?” Old Darcy asked.

“No.”

“That explains it. You sell coffins and burial clothes the same way.”

“I see.”

So my family is just as ruthless.

Old Darcy carefully arranged the remains, layering them with precision. Karon was reminded of plating a dish. At last, nearly everything was placed inside. The skull, which was the hardest to burn, was placed on the very top. With a snap, the urn was sealed.

“Take it to him,” Old Darcy said.

“Thank you.”

Karon lifted the urn. It was hard to believe that not long ago, this had been a living person. Now, this was everything.

As he approached, the man reached out, only to hesitate. “She... she...”

“I’ve brought your wife to you. Please don’t mind. I’m going to place her hand in yours now.”

The man visibly relaxed. “You’re... you’re a gentleman.” He accepted the urn and held it tightly. “My Linda... is she really gone?”

“From a physical standpoint, yes.”

“Then...” Hope flickered in his eyes.

“But she still lives in the spiritual world,” Karon continued. “She lives within you. If you think of her, she is still there.”

“Yes. Yes.” The man nodded fervently. “If I think of her, she’s still there. She’s closer than ever, my Linda.”

He smiled, warm and gentle. “Linda followed the Berai Church. Their doctrine requires cremation. Bringing her here was torture for me. Thank you. Everyone’s told me to move on. You’re the first to tell me she’s still here.”

“You’re welcome.”

When the man left, Karon leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. Mason walked over. “Where did you learn to smoke?”

“Aunt Mary.” It was no lie. After awakening in this world, the first cigarette Karon had ever smoked had been the one Aunt Mary had given him.

“...Alright.” Mason changed the subject. “You’re kind, Karon, but you can’t help everyone. If you get used to being kind, you’ll find that there are simply too many people in this world who need help.”

“Uncle, I just...” Karon wanted to explain, but he could not quite articulate the connection about sharing the same profession. In the end, he simply nodded. “Yes, Uncle. I know I can’t help many people.”

“No. It’s not about whether you can or can’t,” Mason retorted. “It’s about what happens when you realize that there are more and more people who need your help, yet you’re powerless to do anything. That’s when it starts to hurt.”

Karon froze for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right.”

Mason seemed satisfied with the response. He shrugged. “Besides, most of the time, being a good person doesn’t bring about good returns.”

The words had barely left his mouth when the man who had just left with the urn jogged back. He stopped in front of Karon and bowed low yet again. The sudden gesture caught Karon off guard, and he reflexively bowed back.

“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry,” the man said. “I forgot. I never paid for the urn.”

He pulled out an old-fashioned wallet, clearly worn with age. Yet the state of the wallet itself was meaningless, as the only thing that mattered about it was its thickness.

It was fat, swollen, even. It was so filled that it could barely close.

The hundred-rupi notes bore the portrait of Emperor Lotlan of Ruilan’s history, and at this moment, Lotlan looked so tightly packed he seemed ready to burst free of the wallet.

Clearly, the man did not lack money. He hadn’t been short of funds to pay the cremation fees, a tip, or the urn. He simply hadn’t thought that far. He had lived his entire lifetime without needing to spend for convenience.

“I already paid the cremation fee,” the man explained. “May I ask how much the urn costs? I’m very sorry, I nearly forgot and just walked off holding Linda’s hand.”

“F-fi–” Karon coughed. “One thousand rupi.”

He had almost said fifty, which was the wholesale price, but then had remembered how Old Darcy had carefully collected and processed the remains. The thousand rupi should be paid for the urn. Karon had no intention of pocketing the difference.

In his previous life, he had never lacked for spending money. In this life, he was still not desperate. The original Karon had even left a savings of six thousand rupi.

“Alright.” The man took all of the cash out of his wallet, folded the empty wallet and put it away before placing the thick stack of bills into Karon’s hands.

The thickness.

The weight.

Mason’s eyes went bug-eyed beside Karon.

Even Karon, who had not been moved by small sums, felt his eyes glaze over. The stack contained at least twenty thousand rupi, if not more.

Karon swallowed and said, “This... this is too much.”

“It’s not,” the man earnestly protested. “This is your fee for the psychological consultation. What you gave me is worth this. No, you gave Linda back to me; this amount isn’t enough to even thank you properly, I just didn’t have time to withdraw more from the bank today. If I’d known, I would have taken out more...”

“No, no. this is enough,” Karon quickly replied, trying to calm the man.

“I... I didn’t bring a business card, but my name is Piaget. Piaget Adams. Do you have a card? I’d like to stay in touch and talk more in the future.”

“I don’t—”

“We do, we do!” Mason immediately cut in, offering his own card. Printed on it were the words: Immers Funeral Home.

Piaget accepted the card with a smile. “I’ll visit this address in the future. Thank you again.”

He gave Karon yet another low bow.

Holding the thick stack of cash, Karon bowed back.

Then, Piaget took his wife’s “hand” again and left.

Karon counted out one thousand rupi and set it aside to give to Old Darcy. The rest was handed over to Mason. The man smiled and pushed the cast back. “Keep it.”

“Don’t we need to hand it in?” Karon asked. It was a lot of money, but when compared to his life, money meant nothing. If the income was turned over to the family...

Hey, Tiz. Did you see that? I don’t just know how to cook. I can make money too. So please don’t kill me.

“Like he said, it’s your fee.” Mason then casually added, “Oh, a consultation fee. That means it’s yours. Keep it safe, or tomorrow I can take you to the bank and help you open an account.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“No need to thank me.” Mason draped an arm over Karon’s shoulder. “I heard what you said to that Piaget fellow. I didn’t understand much of it, but I could tell you really helped him.

“I never knew you were good at talking to people.”

The previous Karon had been autistic. Talking people through their emotions had never been possible.

“I read about it in books,” Karon explained. “I managed to pick up a few things.”

“I see.” Mason grew thoughtful. “In that case, I’ll discuss this with your aunt when we get home. We could expand our business, offer psychological counseling or therapy. You know, families who lose loved ones suffer terrible pain, and they need someone to guide them.”

Karon understood immediately. In his previous world, high-end funeral homes always had counselors on staff.

“Can you do it?” Mason asked. “I mean, only if you’re willing.”

“Yes,” Karon replied without hesitation. “I can.”

“That’s great.,” Mason pressed a hand to his chest. “Every time I see grieving families, my heart aches.”

“Uncle, you’re really kind...”

“Because I know that people in that state lose their rationality and spend more freely than usual, yet I don’t have enough ways to earn that money. Thinking about it always makes my heart ache.”

“...”

“Are you really giving Old Darcy one thousand rupi?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll give it to him.”

On the other side of the glass wall, Old Darcy sliced Mr. Mossan’s abdomen open with an iron hook before pushing the body into the furnace.

Mason leaned over to speak with the old man. Old Darcy initially looked surprised, but then laughed, and even turned to tip his hat to Karon outside the glass.

Ron wandered out, lighting up a cigarette.

“Ron.”

“Yes, Young Master Karon?”

Karon handed him five hundred rupi.

“This money...?”

“It’s from the gentleman from earlier. Everyone who saw gets a share.”

“Really? Thank you, Young Master!”

Ron happily pocketed the cash. He had no wife and lived month to month. Five hundred rupi was enough for two good nights at a pub.

“By the way,” Karon asked. “Was Jeff’s body collected after we got a call from the authorities?”

“No,” Ron replied casually. “That morning, we were supposed to pick up Mr. Mossan from Bloomwater Sanatorium. On the way, near Mink Street... 125 or 130, somewhere around there, we found Jeff frozen beside a rubbish bin.

“We had to bring Jeff back first, and then go pick up Mr. Mossan. The welfare paperwork was handled later on by Mr. Mason.”

So it really was true. Karon immediately recalled what his uncle had said while driving past that row of townhouses, right in front of 128: The other day, her family ran into trouble and she asked me for help, so I did

So his uncle had helped his first love’s family dispose of a body.

Wait... Realization struck Karon. He had seen things from both Mr. Mossan’s and Jeff’s bodies.

Mr. Mossan’s obsession with not being cremated had already been confirmed by Aunt Mary. The church that he had followed had caused the man to truly resist the idea of cremation.

If what Karon had seen from Mr. Mossan had been real...

Then what he had seen from Jeff, that “woman” who was only a pair of legs and a face, must also be real.

Karon’s mind replayed what he had caught a glimpse of through the second floor when passing by that house.

Those legs.

Those red high heels.

The home of his uncle’s first love was housing a monster.