Chapter 4: Identity Crisis

Chapter 4 Identity Crisis

"Brother, what are you thinking about?"

Mina, who had just finished treating Cullen's nose, noticed her cousin dazing out the window and asked with some curiosity.

In the past, her cousin had been somewhat reclusive, perhaps due to the passing of his parents; after finishing middle school, he dropped out, staying home constantly and rarely communicating with anyone.

Following this recent severe illness, though her brother occasionally seemed to lose his presence of mind, he was much more cheerful than before, and she was more willing to talk to him.

"Oh, I'm thinking about whether to continue my education."

Cullen gently rubbed the tip of his nose; the pain was no longer as intense as before, and with cotton stuffed in his nostrils, it shouldn't be long before they could be removed.

Previously, he had actually been reflecting on what had transpired in the basement and the scenes from his dream—was it a random occurrence related to his own physical and mental state, or had he truly encountered a supernatural event?

After all, regarding the latter, the basement earlier had already encompassed most of the triggering conditions.

Yet, it was ultimately just a dream; no matter how terrifying a nightmare was, upon waking, that sense of palpitations would quickly dissipate for the most part.

Afterward, Cullen spent more time contemplating his future path.

He did not believe that as a transmigrator, he could effortlessly amass a fortune and unlock a successful life at a whim.

But having been a self-made, striving workaholic in his past life,

he possessed enough confidence in his own abilities and qualities to carve out a respectable life in this new world.

After all, no matter what, as for what the identity of Cullen brought him—putting aside any assistance for now—at least in terms of burdens, there were absolutely none.

That was sufficient.

"You used to dislike school the most, Brother," Mina said with a smile.

The old Cullen had leaned somewhat toward being autistic, so he naturally wouldn't enjoy crowded places like schools.

"Going to school is very important, especially when you're young," Cullen said very seriously. "The vast majority of people, upon growing up and reaching adulthood, will feel regret—regretting why they couldn't work a bit harder and endure a bit more hardship when they were studying in their youth."

"The tone you're using to say this, Brother, sounds just like Mother's."

"Haha." Cullen shrugged. "Mina, pour me a glass of water, please."

"Alright, Brother."

His sister obediently went to help pour the water.

Cullen opened the window in the room, and a breath of fresh air rushed over him; he took a deep breath, and then, he closed the window again—this wind was quite chilly.

Turning around, Cullen saw that the black cat, Purr, had appeared at the head of his bed at some point, crouching there with its feline eyes fixed upon him, occasionally turning its neck slightly as if sizing him up and down.

"Purr, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk..."

Cullen used the universal phonetic language for coaxing cats and dogs to try and amuse the black cat.

Purr tilted its head, refusing to take the bait.

Cullen walked forward, and the black cat showed no fear; no matter what, Cullen was family. Cullen reached out his hand and stroked the cat's head.

"Meow..."

Purr turned its head away, seemingly displeased by such caresses.

"Why did Grandfather give you such a tongue-twisting name?" Cullen muttered to himself. "Purr... Purr, ha, it might as well be called Pu-erh, which instantly sounds a lot fresher."

The black cat shifted its body; clearly, it showed no corresponding joy toward this phonetically similar new name.

Mina returned carrying a glass of water and said:

"Mother is on the phone trying to find Father."

"Oh?"

In this era, mobile phones had not yet appeared, and using a landline to track someone down was actually highly inefficient.

Furthermore, if nothing unexpected had happened, Uncle Mason was probably drifting through some street or another in his hearse right now.

After delivering the water to Cullen, Mina very familiarly picked up a rag to wipe the windowsill; originally, the Inmerace household had two maids, one responsible for cleaning and housework, and the other dedicated to cooking, but after Uncle Mason's family and Aunt Winnie and her daughter returned one after another, the two maids were also dismissed by Grandfather.

Daily housework was handled by Mina along with her younger brother Rent and their aunt's daughter Chris, while the three meals were prepared alternately by Aunt Mary and Aunt Winnie.

Everyone in the house had a job, so Cullen was actually the idlest one.

This also demonstrated from another angle that the always majestic Grandfather Dis indeed treated this eldest grandson differently from the others.

At that moment, Grandfather walked upstairs.

Mina immediately stood straight, and Cullen, holding his water glass, also stood straight;

more often than not, whether a household possessed rules did not depend on so-called upbringing or tradition, but rather on whether there was a person in the house whom you revered and feared.

Dis's gaze swept across his grandson and granddaughter, lingering a bit longer on his grandson without saying anything, before he pushed open the door to his own room and walked in.

The stagnant atmosphere in the air only seemed to resume its circulation after the sound of the door closing echoed.

Cullen let out a breath and looked down at Mina, discovering that she was making the exact same movement.

"Grandfather seems to be very busy every day," Cullen inquired.

"Yes, there are many matters at the church, and Grandfather frequently goes on business trips," Mina replied.

As they spoke, Grandfather's door was pushed open from the inside, and Grandfather, having changed into a set of priest's vestments, stepped out again, carrying a black case in his hand.

"I will not return for lunch," Dis said.

"Oh, alright, Grandfather," Mina responded immediately.

Dis walked downstairs.

A moment later, through the windowsill, Cullen saw Grandfather walking out into the courtyard downstairs.

This outfit on Dis clearly bore the style of religious attire, yet it also seemed slightly different, giving him a sense of highly specific purpose.

Perhaps to outsiders, Dis serving as a priest helped expand the family business; after all, this identity of his made it easy to gain the trust of the congregation within the church, which could... bring more orders to the household;

but Cullen did not feel things were truly that simple, and it was only when Grandfather pushed open the courtyard gate and stepped outside that Cullen suddenly found the source of that particular impression.

"Our grandfather has a bit of an Uncle Nine vibe about him."

"Brother, who is Uncle Nine?"

"A priest who specializes in catching vampires."

"Oh, I see, someone from a play?"

"Yes, exactly. Mina, does this entire area need to be mopped?"

"Yes, and the stairs too."

"Let me help you."

"But what about your body, Brother?"

"It's no problem."

Cullen began helping Mina mop the floor, and after finishing that, he went to mop the stairs; when it was time to change the water bucket, Cullen went out to the courtyard, where there was a large faucet that filled the bucket faster.

Just then, Uncle Mason returned driving his modified Nutcar, while Ron and Paul wheeled down a stretcher cart upon which lay an elderly person; Cullen caught sight of white hair peeking out from beneath the white sheet.

Uncle Mason ran into the courtyard first, failing to notice Cullen drawing water in the corner, and headed straight for Aunt Mary.

"Your father is looking for you," Aunt Mary said.

"Where is he?" Uncle Mason's eyes darted around erratically.

It resembled the guilty look of someone who had done something wrong and feared reprimand from an elder; out of a professional habit from his previous life, Karen took note of these details.

"He just went out," Aunt Mary replied.

"Ah..." Uncle Mason let out a long sigh of relief, then added quickly, "No matter, no matter. I'll head out to find him; perhaps he is at the church."

"Alright, off you go then."

Uncle Mason immediately dashed outside, leaving the car behind.

Aunt Mary failed to notice her husband's strange behavior,

For her attention was entirely consumed by the elderly man who had just arrived from the sanatorium.

Soon after,

Aunt Mary’s shriek echoed through the house:

"Good heavens, how is there still feces on him!"

...

Having failed to complete their assigned task, Paul and Ron were ordered by Aunt Mary to clean the corpse; in the face of Mrs. Mary’s wrath, they dared not resist.

Paul wheeled the gurney toward the basement first, while Ron walked over to Karen.

"Young Master Karen, I need to borrow a bucket and a mop."

"Let me carry them down for you."

"No need, no need." Ron twisted his neck; he was tall and rather stout, and though he was not particularly old, a beer belly was already quite prominent. "We can handle it."

Karen smiled and asked, "So why didn't you have the sanatorium caretakers clean the body properly?"

This should have been the duty of the sanatorium staff—to perform a preliminary cleansing of the deceased client—lest the family arrive to find their loved one's body in such a filthy state, which would be a dreadful sight.

"I must apologize for showing you such a pathetic side, Young Master." Ron scratched his head in embarrassment. "I asked the nurse who was looking after Mr. Moers out to the movies in a couple of days."

So that was it...

Ron's face flushed slightly as he continued:

"She said she loves watching movies and eating popcorn, and that she would feed it to me with her own hands during the film. So... so I really didn't want the hands feeding me popcorn to have just wiped *that* stuff off a corpse.

You know, Young Master, couples feeding each other popcorn in a movie theater is truly a sweet thing. In the dim lighting, when she pops it into your mouth, you can even lick her fingers with your tongue;

Oh, heavens, it is simply wonderful!"

"Keep dreaming."

Paul's voice drifted up; he had already moved Mr. Moers into the basement and was coming back up to grab rubber gloves and laundry detergent.

"Paul, I know you're just jealous of me!"

"Jealous of you? Come off it, Ron. Aside from Mrs. Hughes, the owner of the Hughes Crematorium, I doubt any woman in this world would ever look at you."

"You're talking nonsense!"

Ron pointed an angry finger at Paul.

"Mrs. Hughes?" Karen asked, somewhat curious.

The owner of a crematorium sounded like she might be a wealthy woman; why was Ron so agitated?

"Haha," Paul laughed first before explaining, "Young Master Karen, you probably don't know this, but before a body is pushed into the furnace for cremation, it needs to be sprayed with gasoline to aid combustion. Thin people often require more gasoline, otherwise the bones won't burn down completely. But fat people—the fat on their own bodies helps the fire along.

So, Mrs. Hughes at the crematorium likes men with Ron's build the most, because he saves her fuel."

"I see."

"Curse you, Paul, how dare you slander me like this in front of Young Master Karen!"

"Let's go, let's go, down to work we go, or Mrs. Mary will lose her temper again in a moment."

Bickering back and forth, Ron and Paul carried the supplies down to the basement.

In the main hall, Aunt Mary lit a cigarette, her mood lifting slightly.

Paul had given her a piece of good news: this elderly man named Moers had children, and they would be arriving later.

If it wasn't a welfare case, it meant there was profit to be made; even the lowest-tier package would yield a margin.

Aunt Mary’s "salary" depended on the household's business performance; after deducting expenses for the common fund, the remaining profits were distributed to the family members as stipends.

The accounts were managed by Aunt Winny.

This was also why, despite everyone fearing Grandfather, no one ever spoke ill of him behind his back; he was stern, but by no means a miserly or money-grubbing old man.

Karen returned to the second floor to help his cousin, Mina, wipe down the furniture.

As they were nearly finished, he heard Ron and Paul coming back up from the basement; they had finished cleaning the corpse, and next it was Aunt Mary’s turn to step in.

Since the family might arrive in the afternoon to arrange the memorial service, it was highly necessary to make the elderly man look presentable beforehand.

However, it seemed a guest had arrived, as Karen heard Aunt Mary calling him from downstairs:

"Karen, come down and entertain Mr. Hoffen for a moment."

Setting down his rag, Karen first searched his memory for "Mr. Hoffen":

He was an elderly man, a retired professor from the university's philosophy department with a decent pension and a respectable life. A close friend of Grandfather, he frequently came over to drink tea and chat.

Furthermore, he possessed a keen interest in divination and had once gifted Karen an exquisite deck of playing cards—not Tarot cards, but the kind used to play Landlord.

Karen went to the second-floor kitchen first to brew a cup of tea, arranged a few simple refreshments, and carried them down to the first-floor living room.

Mr. Hoffen was tall but very gaunt;

In gaunt people, facial features tend to be more defined, and emotional expressions more direct.

The moment Karen saw him,

He realized Mr. Hoffen's gaze was locked directly onto him.

Even the golden retriever lounging beside Mr. Hoffen seemed to sense its master's emotional shift; it stood up slowly, yet looked somewhat bewildered, unable to fathom what was amiss.

Not until it spotted Purr crouching at the top of the stairs did it instinctively find an object of interest, attempting to approach.

But Purr merely swept a gaze over with her feline eyes, and the golden retriever instantly deflated, slumping back down.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Hoffen, my grandfather went out. But I think he should return shortly; my uncle has already gone to look for him."

Karen set the tea down, offering a polite courtesy.

Yet,

At that exact moment,

Mr. Hoffen suddenly reached out and gripped Karen's wrist tightly, his entire face drawing close in an instant, his breathing turning incredibly rapid,

In a suppressed yet uncontrollably ecstatic tone,

He demanded:

"You are not Karen... Who... who on earth are you?"

In an instant, a sudden surge of dread invaded Kallen’s mind, born from the fact that this stranger had stripped away his disguise upon their very first meeting, leaving him utterly unmoored despite the half-month he had spent mentally preparing himself.

Instinctively, Kallen took two steps back, trying to put some distance between himself and Mr. Hoffen.

By some cruel twist of fate, Mr. Hoffen, who was still gripping Kallen's wrist, was yanked off balance and stumbled haphazardly; he reached out to brace himself against the desk, but his hand tragically missed its mark, sending his body plunging forward until his forehead slammed squarely against the edge of the wood.

A dull thud echoed.

Immediately following,

Mr. Hoffen capsized backward, the helm of his skull striking the tiled floor heavily and without restraint.

Crack.

Kallen stared at the scene before him in sheer stupefaction.

This old man, who just moments ago had directly exposed his secret, was now exhaling far more breath than he was taking in.

Furthermore,

beneath his head, a vast pool of crimson blood began to spill across the living room tiles.

Just then, Mina, still occupied on the second floor, seemed to catch the commotion and called out from the landing:

"Brother, what happened downstairs?"

Kallen licked his dry lips,

slowly straightened his posture,

and replied:

"Mr. Hoffen suffered a stroke and fell."