Chapter 40: It's My Turn (2/4)

Chapter 40 My Turn (2/4)

...

"The people outside have finally left," Karen said, peeling a tangerine.

Pu'er took a sip of black tea and began to savor the bowl of carp with fried noodles set before it.

"The flavor is excellent, but I feel this dish could have been made even better."

"Because our family isn't composed entirely of cats. After I finished making yours, I still had to prepare dinner for everyone else."

"I'll forgive you this time, for the sake of the new recipe."

"Heh."

Karen tossed the tangerine peel into the trash can beside the dining table, then walked up to the second floor. At the corner of the stairs, he tugged the rope, and a crisp chime of bells rang out.

Originally, the house lacked such a device; Karen had installed it himself.

Every time he finished preparing a proper meal, ringing the bell and waiting for the family to gather for dinner always afforded him a sense of ritualistic satisfaction.

Dinner was served.

Mina, Lente, and Chris, having just returned from school, had no idea what had transpired at home today. Yet they could sense that the adults' spirits were generally low. Consequently, though they usually loved to share amusing anecdotes from school around the dinner table, today they tactfully remained silent.

Dis remained seated at the head of the table. His gaze swept over the faces of his family members as he spoke.

"When enjoying food, one must do so with as much enthusiasm and cheer as possible. This is the most basic respect for the person who prepared it."

Everyone picked up their forks and began to eat.

Dis was again the first to finish and leave the table.

Once Dis had departed, Uncle Mason addressed everyone.

"Mina, Chris, Lente, request a leave of absence tomorrow to stay home and help. Except for Mary and Molly, everyone else get to bed early tonight. We start work at four tomorrow morning."

After dinner.

Aside from Aunt Mary and Ms. Molly, who had to stay up late to rush through the workload, everyone else retired to rest very early.

Karen took a shower and walked back to his bedroom.

"Brother, did something happen at home?"

"It has nothing to do with you. Don't overthink it, go to sleep early."

"Mm, you should sleep early too, brother."

Karen sat down at his desk, retrieved the copy of *The Light of Order* once more, and began flipping through it again.

This time, he did not skip pages, but read earnestly from the very beginning of the mythological narrative all the way through.

When the clock struck midnight, Karen silently put the book away, feeling somewhat unfulfilled.

The atmosphere and immersion of this reading experience simply could not compare to yesterday.

Going to bed.

Lights out.

Karen looked silently out the window.

You all look forward to tomorrow.

What I look forward to,

is tomorrow night.

...

At half past three.

The lights in the Immerse home were already ablaze.

Ron and Alfred placed the remains of the family of four into coffins, wheeled them out from the basement, and arranged them properly in the mourning hall.

And at that moment,

a knock came from the outside door.

Uncle Mason, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, cursed under his breath, "Heh, so early."

Mina went to open the door: "Uncle Lott."

Standing at the doorway was Lott's entire family. Even Sarah's grandmother had been brought here, supported by her daughter-in-law and granddaughter.

At this hour, it was exceptionally cold outside.

Chafing his hands together, Lott cautiously asked Mason inside:

"Excuse me, can I come in now to see, to see Siso?"

"Yes, please come in."

Uncle Mason immediately raised his hand, signaling over there to start the music.

Subsequently,

he, Alfred, and Ron stood on either side, gesturing for Lott's family to enter and mourn.

The period of mourning was not particularly long; they merely looked before each coffin, and then the family gathered once more near the doorway.

Uncle Mason took the initiative to step forward and inquire, "Shall I drive you home?"

"No, no, no, you are busy today, we won't trouble you."

Lott looked much older, and there was none of that luster left in his eyes.

Just then, Lott's elderly mother drew an envelope from her bosom, wrapped in black gauze, and offered it to Mason.

This was the condolence money.

Mason shook his head and said, "The funeral expenses have already been paid by someone, and there is no one left to receive condolence money."

The entire family was dead; who was there to accept condolence money?

The old grandmother insisted, "It's not much, just a small token of respect for the funeral arrangements."

Uncle Mason smiled politely and said, "Old Madame, the funeral expenses have already been paid by someone."

Yet the old grandmother quite stubbornly forced the envelope into Mason's pocket.

Her lips trembled slightly,

as she spat out a few words:

"Their money... is dirty."

Uncle Mason's face flushed red instantly. He tilted his neck back and took a deep breath.

Lott pulled his elderly mother back, gesturing for his wife to take her outside first. He stepped forward on his own initiative to apologize to Mason:

"I am so sorry, my mother didn't mean that, it's just... it's just..."

"It's fine, I know, I understand." Uncle Mason's eyes grew somewhat rimmed with red, yet he inquired again, "I should still have a car send you home. By the way, how did you get here?"

At this hour, there were no trams running.

"No need, we're not going home just yet. I plan to take my family to a nearby park today, sit there all day, and catch the very last tram back.

Last night, a reporter came by and gave me some money. A good amount—five thousand rubles. They said if I came here today for an interview, they'd give me another five thousand once it was done.

I refused and told them to find someone else, but then I got worried they'd come looking for me at home again today, so I thought I'd take the family out to lay low for a bit.

Altogether, that's ten thousand rubles. Even if it were summer all year round, I wouldn't make that much selling slippers."

Rott fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket,

smiled faintly, and said,

"Cheap smokes, won't bother offering you one."

He popped one into his mouth, pulled out a match, struck it,

and turned around.

As he walked away, he called back,

"Coming out to lay low is also because I'm afraid that when the moment comes, I really won't be able to resist the temptation of ten thousand rubles. Ah, it really is a massive sum of money."

...

Karen woke up at half past seven.

His routine had always been steady. Even if there were things to take care of at home in the morning, he didn't need to rise early; today, for instance, his responsibility was the catering, and breakfast wasn't included—only lunch and afternoon refreshments.

Standing by the third-floor window and looking out, the world outside was already bustling.

The crowd of "White Roses" that had appeared yesterday had gathered once again, still staging their sit-in and chanting slogans.

At the same time, a group of "workers" dressed in overalls, their faces bearing obvious smudges, had arrived with placards to join the protest.

One couldn't help but wonder where they had just finished a night shift this early in the morning, getting themselves so filthy, yet rushing over here without a thought for rest.

The reporters had also arrived and begun snapping photographs.

Of course, it was still only morning; by noon, it would undoubtedly become even more lively.

Karen had his breakfast first, habitually flipping through the newspaper as he ate. Today, the Rodya Daily was going absolutely feral. The first, second, and third pages—nearly half the paper—were entirely dedicated to tracking reports on the suicide of the protesting worker representative's entire family.

Furthermore, in detailing the event, they had injected a massive amount of vitriol aimed at the old mayor.

It no longer read like a news report; it felt more like a mystery novel, because numerous details here seemed to hint that since the protest had caused the old mayor to lose face, he had sent people to assassinate them.

Are they no longer satisfied with a standard suicide?

Karen took note of the editor-in-chief's name... Humir.

After finishing breakfast, Karen began preparing the food for lunch.

His grandfather, dressed in priestly robes, happened to walk downstairs.

"Grandfather, have you eaten breakfast?"

"I have."

"Mm," Karen nodded, continuing to wrap his spring rolls.