Chapter 9: This Chapter is Wonderful (3/4)

Chapter 9 This chapter is wonderful (3/4)

Dark,

it was truly so damn dark.

Old Darcy looked up, slightly bewildered. "Did you never help out with the family business before?"

"I... no."

This particular part of memory was truly missing from the mind of the previous "Karen."

"No wonder then. Your family sells coffins and clothes, which is pretty much the same thing."

"Is that so."

Karen offered a somewhat awkward smile.

Heh, so it turned out his own family was just as shady.

Old Darcy began to pack the ashes, choosing what went at the very bottom, what went to the sides, and what went in the middle based on the size and shape of the bones...

Distinctly layered, perfectly orderly;

it made Karen feel as though he were watching the presentation of a dish... before it was served.

Finally,

with virtually nothing left behind,

Old Darcy placed almost all of the ashes into the urn;

the skull, hard and stubborn against the flames, was placed last by Old Darcy, right at the top in the center;

then,

with a sharp click,

Old Darcy snapped the urn shut.

"Take it to him."

"Alright, thank you."

"Heh."

Karen bent down,

and lifted the urn into his arms.

It was hard to imagine that not long ago, this might have been a living, breathing human being—well, even before entering the incinerator, she had been a whole person.

Now,

she was right here in the box in his hands.

Karen walked out, and as he stepped in front of the man, the man instinctively reached out his hands, yet shrank back in a sudden fit of timidity.

"She... she..."

"I have brought your wife out. Please do not mind, and now, I place her hand into yours."

Hearing these words,

the man's expression suddenly softened a great deal,

and his tone of voice grew slightly more stable:

"No... you are a gentleman."

He finally reached out, took his wife's urn, and cradled it against his chest.

"My Linda... is she truly gone?"

Karen replied, "From a physical standpoint, yes, she is gone."

"Then..." The man looked up, a glimmer of hope rising in his eyes.

"But in the world of the spirit, she lives on still, living within your mind.

If you think of her, she is there."

"Yes, yes." The man nodded incessantly. "As long as I think of her, she is there. She is still by my side. No, she is even closer to me now. My Linda."

A smile appeared on the man's face, not a distorted or grim one, but a warm, gentle, sunlit smile.

"Linda followed the Berry faith. According to the doctrine, her body had to be cremated. You know, bringing her to the crematorium felt more like a form of torture to me.

Thank you. After Linda passed, the friends around me all urged me to move on and accept her departure. You are the first one to tell me she is still here. Thank you, I am truly grateful to you."

"You are welcome."

Cradling the urn, the man turned and departed.

Karen silently leaned against the corridor wall, slowly drawing out a cigarette;

just then, uncle Mason walked over, asking with a hint of anger:

"When did you learn to smoke, and who taught you?"

Karen replied, "Aunt Mary."

Karen was not lying; the very first cigarette he had smoked since waking up in this world had been given to him by Aunt Mary.

"Uh... alright then."

Uncle Mason instantly changed his tone to change the subject:

"Karen, I know you are kind-hearted, but you cannot help everyone. If you get used to being kind, you will find there are simply too many people in this world who need help."

"Uncle, I just..." Karen wanted to explain, but did not know how to explain his motives as a fellow professional, so he could only nod and say, "Yes, Uncle, I know I cannot help too many people."

"No, it is not a matter of whether you can help or not. It is that when you find more and more people need your help and you are powerless to do anything, you will feel pain."

Karen caught himself for a moment, then nodded. "You are right."

Mason was very satisfied with Karen's attitude. He shrugged and said, "Besides, a lot of times, being a good person does not bring a good reward."

No sooner had the words left his mouth,

than the man who had previously departed cradling the urn came jogging back. He stood before Karen and bowed to him once more.

This sudden bow caught Karen somewhat off guard, and by instinct, he returned the bow.

"I am so sorry, so sorry, I forgot that the money for the urn has not been paid yet."

The man pulled out a somewhat worn and clearly ancient wallet,

of course, the preceding adjectives were meaningless and pale,

because the key point in describing a wallet lay in its... thickness.

It was very thick—to be precise, it was completely bloated!

Bloated to the point where it could not even be closed!

Printed upon the one-hundred-Rube banknotes was the portrait of Emperor Rotland from the history of the Kingdom of Rulan,

and at this moment,

The Great Emperor Roteland was taut to the absolute limit, ready to snap and violently recoil.

It turned out he wasn't lacking the money for the cremation, nor the money for a tip, nor the money to purchase an urn. He had simply never even considered the matter; he lacked the basic, worldly experience of paying one's way through life.

"I have already paid the cremation fee. May I ask how much the urn is?" the man inquired. "Forgive me, I almost forgot and nearly walked right out with Linda's hand in mine."

"Five—cough—one thousand lubis."

Karen had initially wanted to state the cost price of fifty.

But then it occurred to him that Old Darcy had been of help, carefully gathering the ashes, and this one thousand lubis ought to go toward paying for the urn itself.

He certainly had no intention of profiting from the margin.

After all, in his past life, he had never been short of pocket money; in this life, he didn't have to worry about food or drink for the time being, and the previous "Karen" had even managed to hoard a private savings of six thousand lubis.

"Very well."

The man drew every last note from his wallet, stowed the empty leather away, and then offered the thick, heavy stack of currency straight into Karen's hands.

That thickness,

that weight—

Uncle Mason’s eyes fixed upon it from the side, going completely rigid.

And well,

Karen, who just moments ago had remained unmoved by petty cash, found his own eyes freezing up a little at this exact moment.

This substantial wad of money amounted to at least twenty thousand lubis, if not more.

Subconsciously swallowing a breath of saliva, Karen spoke: "You have given... too much."

"It is not too much. This is your fee for the psychological consultation. The psychological services you provided me are well worth this price—nay, you have restored Linda to me, and this trivial amount cannot even begin to repay the immense kindness you have shown!

Yet on this occasion, I only had time to make a hasty stop at the bank to withdraw this cash. Had I known, I should have taken out much more..."

"No, no, no, it is enough, it is quite enough," Karen rushed to soothe him.

"I... I did not bring my card. My name is Piaget, Piaget Adams. Where is my card, my card... Do you have one? I hope to contact you in the future to converse further."

"I do not have—"

"We do, we do."

Uncle Mason, standing right beside them, immediately produced one of his own business cards and proffered it over. Printed upon it were the words: "Inmoles Deceased Care Company."

Piaget accepted the card and smiled. "I shall visit you at this address in the future. My thanks to you once more."

With that,

Piaget bowed to Karen yet again.

Clutching the great stack of banknotes, Karen returned the salute without delay.

And then,

Piaget took his wife by the hand, and once more, he departed.