Chapter 1660: Direct Confrontation

"I was a failure. I barely noticed whether the sun was shining or not, because I had no time.

"My parents couldn't support me, and my education level was low. I was alone in the city, searching for a future.

"I applied for many jobs but couldn't get hired. Perhaps no one liked someone who wasn't good at talking, didn't enjoy socializing, or didn't demonstrate enough competence.

"For three whole days, I only ate two pieces of bread. Hunger kept me awake at night. Fortunately, I had paid a month's rent in advance, so I could continue living in that dark basement, spared from the unusually cold winter winds outside.

"Finally, I found a job: working the night shift at a hospital, specifically guarding the morgue.

"The hospital nights were colder than I had imagined. The wall lamps in the corridors weren't lit, so it was dim everywhere. I could only see my feet by the faint light filtering out from the rooms.

"The smell there was awful. Every now and then, deceased individuals were brought in body bags, and we would work together to move them into the morgue.

"It wasn't a good job, but at least it allowed me to afford bread. The free time at night could also be used for studying, as hardly anyone wanted to come to the morgue unless a body needed to be delivered or taken away for cremation. Of course, I didn't have enough money to buy books, and currently saw no hope of saving any.

"I had to thank my predecessor; if he hadn't suddenly resigned, I probably wouldn't have even gotten this job.

"I dreamed of being able to switch to the day shift. Currently, I always went to bed when the sun came up and woke up after night fell. This made my body a bit weak, and my head would occasionally throb.

"One day, the movers brought in a new body.

"I heard from others that it was my former colleague who had suddenly resigned.

"I was a bit curious about him. After everyone had left, I pulled out the drawer and quietly unzipped the body bag.

"He was an old man, his face bluish-white and covered in wrinkles, looking quite frightening in the very dim light.

"He had sparse hair, mostly white, and all his clothes had been removed, leaving him with not a stitch of fabric.

"I saw a strange, bluish-black mark on his chest. I couldn't describe its exact shape; the light was simply too dim.

"I reached out and touched the mark. There was nothing special about it.

"Looking at my former colleague, I wondered if I would end up like him if I continued on this path until I was old...

"I told him that tomorrow I would accompany him to the crematorium and personally take his ashes to the nearest free cemetery, so that those in charge wouldn't find it too troublesome and simply discard them in a river or wasteland.

"This would sacrifice a morning's sleep, but it was alright; Sunday was coming soon, and I could catch up.

"After saying that, I sealed the body bag and put it back into the drawer.

"The light in the room seemed to grow even dimmer...

"After that day, every time I slept, I would dream of a vast fog.

"I had a premonition that something would happen soon, that sooner or later, something that I couldn't even call human would come for me. But no one was willing to believe me; they thought that working in such an environment had made me mentally unstable and that I needed to see a doctor..."

A male customer sitting at the bar looked at the narrator, who had suddenly paused.

"And then?"

The male customer was in his thirties, wearing a brown tweed jacket and light yellow trousers. His hair was slicked back, and a simple, dark bowler hat rested beside him.

He looked ordinary, like most people in the tavern, with black hair and light blue eyes – neither handsome nor ugly, lacking any distinctive features.

In his eyes, the narrator was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, tall and slender, with the same black short hair and light blue eyes, yet his features were striking, instantly catching the eye.

The young man looked at the empty glass in front of him and sighed.

"And then?

"Then I resigned, returned to the countryside, and came here to spin tales for you."

As he spoke, a mischievous smile appeared on his face.

The male customer was momentarily stunned.

"Were those stories you just told made up?"

"Haha." Laughter erupted around the bar.

When the laughter subsided slightly, a thin middle-aged man looked at the somewhat embarrassed customer and said,

"Outsider, you actually believed Lumian's story? He tells a different one every day! Yesterday he was a poor wretch whose engagement was broken off by his fiancée, and today he's become a morgue keeper!"

"Exactly! He talks nonsense, saying he spent thirty years east of the Sarenzo River and thirty years right of it!" another tavern regular added.

They were all farmers from the large village of Cordu, wearing short jackets of black, gray, or brown.

The black-haired young man, named Lumian, slowly stood up, leaning his hands on the bar, and said with a smile,

"You know, these aren't stories I make up. They're all written by my sister. She loves writing stories, and she's even a columnist for some 'Fiction Weekly'."

After speaking, he turned sideways, spread his hands to the visiting customer, and smiled brightly.

"Looks like she writes really well.

"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding."

The ordinary-looking man in the brown tweed jacket wasn't angry. He stood up as well and replied with a smile,

"A very interesting story.

"What should I call you?"

"Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself before asking for someone else's name?" Lumian chuckled.

The visiting customer nodded.

"My name is Ryan Cos.

"These two are my companions, Valentine and Leah."

The last part referred to a man and a woman sitting nearby.

The man, in his late twenties, had powdered yellow hair, and his not-so-large eyes were a shade darker than lake blue. He wore a white waistcoat, a blue fine-wool coat, and black trousers, clearly having dressed meticulously before coming out.

His expression was quite aloof, and he didn't pay much attention to the surrounding farmers and herdsmen.

The woman appeared younger than the two men. Her long, light gray hair was styled into an intricate bun, covered by a white veil serving as a hat.

Her eyes, the same color as her hair, looked at Lumian with unconcealed amusement, seemingly finding the recent events simply entertaining.

Under the glow of the tavern's gas wall lamps, the woman named Leah revealed a delicate nose and beautifully curved lips. In a rural village like Cordu, she was undoubtedly a beauty.

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere bodycon dress, paired with a beige short jacket and a pair of Marseilles boots. Small silver bells were tied to her veil and boots, jingling as she walked into the tavern, making her exceptionally conspicuous and drawing the fixed gaze of many men.

In their eyes, such fashionable attire was only seen in large cities like the provincial capital, Bigorre, or the imperial capital, Trier.

Lumian nodded to the three visitors.

"My name is Lumian Lee. You can just call me Lumian."

"Lee?" Leah blurted out.

"What's wrong? Is there a problem with my surname?" Lumian asked curiously.

Ryan Cos explained for Leah,

"Your surname inspires fear. I almost couldn't control my voice just now."

Seeing the bewildered expressions of the surrounding farmers and herdsmen, he further explained,

"Anyone who has dealt with sailors or sea merchants knows a saying that circulates across the Five Seas:

"'Better to encounter pirate generals or even kings than to cross paths with someone named Frank Lee.'

"That person's surname is also Lee."

"Is he very frightening?" Lumian asked.

Ryan shook his head.

"I don't know, but given such a legend, he must be formidable."

He dropped the subject and said to Lumian,

"Thanks for the story. It deserves a drink. What would you like?"

"'A glass of 'Green Fairy'," Lumian said without hesitation, sitting back down.

Ryan Cos frowned slightly.

"'Green Fairy'... absinthe?

"I think I should warn you, absinthe is harmful to the human body. This drink can cause mental derangement and hallucinations."

"I didn't realize the trend from Trier had already reached here," Leah added with a smile from beside him.

Lumian said, "Oh.

"So people in Trier also like to drink 'Green Fairy'...

"For us, life is already hard enough. There's no need to worry about a little more harm; this drink can give our minds greater relaxation."

"Alright," Ryan said, sitting back down and looking at the bartender. "A 'Green Fairy' for him, and a 'Spicy Heart' for me."

'Spicy Heart' was a famous fruit brandy.

"Why not get me a 'Green Fairy' too? I'm the one who told you the truth, and I can tell you all about this kid!" the thin middle-aged man, who had first exposed Lumian's daily storytelling, shouted discontentedly. "Outsider, I can tell you still doubt the truth of that story!"

"Pierre, you'd do anything for a free drink!" Lumian retorted loudly.

Before Ryan could decide, Lumian added,

"Why can't I tell it myself? That way I could get another 'Green Fairy'!"

"Because they don't know whether to believe what you say," the middle-aged man named Pierre said with a triumphant smile. "Your sister's favorite story to tell children is 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.' A person who always lies is bound to lose credibility."

"Alright," Lumian shrugged, watching the bartender push a pale green drink towards him.

Ryan looked at him and asked,

"Is that okay?"

"No problem, as long as your wallet can cover the cost of these drinks," Lumian said nonchalantly.

"Then another 'Green Fairy'," Ryan nodded.

Pierre immediately broke into a wide smile.

"Generous outsider, this kid is the biggest prankster in the village. You should definitely stay away from him.

"Five years ago, his sister Aurore brought him back to the village, and he hasn't left since. Think about it, before that, he was only thirteen. How could he have worked as a morgue keeper at a hospital? The closest hospital to us is in Dalias, down the mountain, a whole afternoon's walk away."

"'Brought back to the village?'" Leah asked keenly.

She tilted her head slightly, causing a jingle.

Pierre nodded.

"And then, he took Aurore's surname, 'Lee.' Even his name, 'Lumian,' was given to him by Aurore."

"I've even forgotten what I was originally called," Lumian said cheerfully, taking a sip of absinthe.

He seemed to feel no inferiority or shame about his past being revealed in such a manner.