Chapter 9: This Chapter is Wonderful

Chapter 9 This Chapter is Splendid

In terms of "all living beings are equal," this hearse of the Inmeles family could be said to have achieved the absolute pinnacle:

Whether living or dead, riding in this vehicle was a grueling ordeal.

Ron had long grown accustomed to it; his head propped against the corner of the carriage, his feet splayed outward in a bird-like seating posture.

Such a pose on a fat, burly man seemed highly discordant, yet it allowed him to maintain the maximum degree of stability, and he had even begun to snore, catching up on his sleep.

Karen, by contrast, found the ride rather agonizing; he constantly had to brace himself against the floor with both hands to maintain his balance. The roads within the city center were decent enough, but once they left the city and headed toward the suburbs, the road conditions deteriorated significantly, and the jolting became a miserable torment.

Jeff and Mr. Moissant, utterly shameless amidst the continuous buffeting, had even embraced one another; the posture resembled nothing less than a pair of lovers lying in bed, pouring their hearts out.

Unable to bear the sight, Karen tried more than once to pull the "two" apart, but the space inside the carriage was only so large; no sooner had they been separated than the two would soon seek each other out again with the jolting, only to embrace once more.

Had there been relatives accompanying the vehicle, such a situation would never have been permitted to occur; at the very least, they would only have had to endure a limited amount of vibration inside a coffin.

But who could blame Jeff for being a solitary soul who happened to hitch a ride on a welfare case? As for Mr. Moissant, while his was not a welfare case, it might as well have been.

Regarding his family's "working attitude," Karen was in no position to criticize; even though he had cooked lunch today, the truth remained that he was still a "parasite" in this household.

At last,

As Uncle Mason turned the steering wheel to the left, the hearse drove into a courtyard resembling a small factory workshop, with a sign hanging at the entrance—Hughes Crematorium.

"Hey, Ron, wake up!" Uncle Mason shouted while tapping on the carriage window.

"Oh, oh oh, we're here." Ron wiped away his drool and stretched his limbs.

Karen first helped lower the gurney, and then together with Ron, they carried Jeff and Mr. Moissant down one after the other, while Uncle Mason was responsible for steadying the gurney to keep it from rolling.

Just then, a middle-aged woman wearing gray overalls walked over, holding a pen and paper in her hand.

"My, what a handsome young man."

The woman's gaze fixed upon Karen first.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes," Ron greeted her warmly.

Was this the Mrs. Hughes that Paul had mentioned, the one who preferred Ron?

However, faced with Ron's enthusiasm, Mrs. Hughes merely let out a sound from the corner of her mouth by way of reply, turning to focus still more of her attention on Karen.

In truth, Mrs. Hughes was quite good-looking; although she wore overalls, one could still discern the fullness of her figure, and moreover, her skin was very fair.

Nevertheless, when Mrs. Hughes's hand pinched his cheek, Karen still felt a bit unnatural and reached out to take her hand off;

After all, while he could adjust to the good looks of this body, he could not adjust to truly being toyed with like a little boy.

Yet Mrs. Hughes directly turned her hand to clasp Karen's, her fingertips sweeping back and forth across his palm, the teasing intent glaringly obvious.

From her gaze, Karen read the kind of greed with which middle-aged and elderly men look upon the figures of young girls.

"He is Karen, my brother's son." Uncle Mason handed over a cigarette.

"Oh?" Mrs. Hughes seemed a bit surprised, "Your nephew?"

Mrs. Hughes took the cigarette and let Mason light it for her, continuing, "Haven't seen him before."

"A lad at the shop had some family business, and I got a bit injured," Uncle Mason explained.

"Injured?"

"Accidentally took a fall."

"Whose wife's windowsill did you fall from?"

"Don't joke like that. By the way, you're not busy today, are you?"

"There's one ahead of you, in the furnace now. Just a short wait."

"Only one furnace running?"

"I'd love to fire up a few more, but you have to bring me that many people to burn. Doesn't it cost money to heat a furnace?"

"Fine, fine, fine, let's push the 'guests' in first."

"Alright, I'll go inside to arrange things first. See you in a bit, handsome." Mrs. Hughes threw a wink at Karen, turned, and led the way inside.

Ron pushed Mr. Moissant by himself, while Mason helped Karen push Jeff's gurney.

"Mrs. Hughes is a very passionate person," Mason said to Karen, lowering his voice slightly.

"Yes, indeed," Karen nodded.

"Her husband passed away early, and she manages this crematorium now. Though she has never remarried, she has no shortage of lovers around her."

"Uncle, you don't need to tell me these things."

"Ha, I must remind you. I went through your age once myself." Mason reached out and tapped the iron plate of the gurney, making a "clang clang" sound, "A boy at this age could pierce right through an iron plate."

"..." Karen.

"You're getting older now, find yourself a proper girlfriend in the future," Mason admonished again.

"Alright, Uncle, I understand."

Karen knew that Mason wasn't intentionally trying to speak ill of Mrs. Hughes, but rather didn't want his young nephew to lose his restraint and have his soul bewitched away by her.

Walking further inside, Karen clearly detected a greasy odor.

Just greasy... neither fragrant nor sweet, somewhat like a bedroom grown moldy during the rainy season.

However, the furnishings inside were visibly aged; this must be a crematorium with quite a history.

"In the early years, this crematorium was practically on the verge of going under, almost about to be acquired by another large-scale crematorium."

"And then?" Karen asked.

"And then that large crematorium was discovered to be firing up their furnaces uniformly at night to save costs, so they were giving the previous day's ashes of other people to the families of today's deceased."

Hearing this, Karen's eyes widened: such an operation was actually possible?

"Then wouldn't that mean..."

"Yes, bringing your loved one to be cremated, only to take home the ashes of a stranger. The funniest part is, they actually kept this up for several years."

"That is far too tragic."

"After the matter was exposed, the owner of that crematorium was stoned to death by someone unknown one night. The police couldn't find the killer either, because there were simply too many suspects with a motive."

Karen nodded and said, "He truly deserved to die."

Putting himself in those shoes, if he were carrying the grief of losing a loved one and brought them here for cremation, only to take back the ashes of some unknown stranger—worshipping that urn of ashes for several years to boot—Karen felt that he, too, would have the urge to kill.

"After that big crematorium went bankrupt, Mrs. Hughes's crematorium managed to survive and keep operating, but it's difficult now too. Large-scale chain funeral corporations appeared in other cities long ago.

They can connect everything from the hospital, to our bereavement care parlor, to the crematorium, as well as the transportation between them.

They've opened a branch in Luojia City as well. Winnie even received a call from them a while back, saying they wanted to acquire our family business."

"Grandfather won't agree," Karen said.

"Father certainly won't agree, and neither will I! Do you know how they operate? They collect bodies for centralized transportation, centralized management, centralized mourning, and centralized cremation or burial.

Like wholesale vegetables in a market.

Those capitalists truly ought to be strung up on lampposts!

"Money is all they see; they understand nothing of caring for the departed, nor do they possess a shred of respect for the deceased!"

Hearing this,

Karen could not help but picture Jeff and Mr. Mauss inside the hearse earlier, jolt-kissing from the bumpy ride.

Uncle,

how on earth do you have the cheek to utter the word "respect"?

"Our family is still fine; although they plan to squeeze our suppliers, business has remained manageable thanks to your grandfather." Uncle Mason’s tone sank quite a bit. "But for Mrs. Hughes here, things have started to become rather difficult again."

Just then, Ron, who was pushing Mr. Mauss up ahead, turned his head and shouted:

"Aha, that is why I back the Accord Party! They are the only ones willing to punch those damn capitalists right back!"

As he spoke, Ron even brandished a fist.

The Accord Party—Karen had seen them in the newspaper a few days ago—was a left-wing faction that had gained decent momentum in recent years after developing in Rodgar City.

However,

upon hearing the name "Accord Party,"

Uncle Mason immediately barked:

"Are you mad? Supporting those lunatics into power—they will only turn our current lives into a complete mess!"

Ron shrugged, seemingly disinclined to argue with his boss, and continued pushing the gurney.

Karen looked at Uncle Mason, whose neck flushed red with anger, though he could actually understand it well enough, for his uncle perfectly embodied the fragility of the petty bourgeoisie.

This was not mockery—it might sound like it, but ultimately, it was the divergence of perspective brought about by one's social stratum.

After walking through a corridor that was not particularly long, Karen and the others finally pushed the gurney into the "incineration room."

There were three incinerators inside, but only one was currently operating.

Outside the glass window, Karen saw a man with messy hair and stubble sitting on the floor.

And at that moment,

the single incinerator that had been running also ground to a halt.

A worker with graying hair but a spirited look opened the door and called out to the man:

"Sir, please come and collect your wife."

Promptly, the old worker spotted Mason, a smile breaking across his face as he waved in greeting:

"Hi, Mason."

"Old Darcy!"

Uncle Mason stepped forward and handed Old Darcy a cigarette.

"How many today?" Old Darcy asked, lighting up.

Mason held up two fingers.