Chapter 1453 Gao Yiye's Chapter (4)
"I am a failure," he began, "one who barely notices if the sun shines or not, for I have no time.
"My parents couldn't support me, and my education was minimal. I was alone in the city, searching for a future that felt forever out of reach.
"I applied for countless jobs, but none of them hired me. Perhaps no one wanted someone who struggled to speak, who avoided conversation, and who hadn't proven their capabilities.
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"For three whole days, I subsisted on just two loaves of bread. Hunger clawed at me, stealing my sleep at night. Fortunately, I'd paid a month's rent in advance, so I could remain in that dark basement, spared from the brutally cold winter winds outside.
"Finally, I found work: a night watchman at the hospital, guarding the morgue.
"The hospital nights were colder than I'd imagined. The sconces in the corridors remained unlit, casting everything in perpetual gloom. I relied on the meager sliver of light escaping from the rooms to guide my steps.
"The stench was pervasive, a cloying smell that never quite faded. Every so often, another deceased individual would arrive, zipped into a body bag, and we'd work together to move them into the morgue.
"It wasn't a good job, but it was enough to buy bread. The quiet hours of the night could also be used for study, as few people ever ventured into the morgue unless a body needed to be brought in or taken for cremation. Still, I lacked the funds for books, and any hope of saving enough money seemed distant.
"I dreamed of switching to day shifts. Sleeping when the sun rose and waking as night fell had left my body frail, and my head often throbbed with a dull ache.
"Then one day, the movers brought in a new body.
"Others whispered that it was my former colleague, the one who'd suddenly left.
"A strange curiosity stirred within me. After everyone had gone, I pulled out his drawer and quietly unzipped the body bag.
"He was an old man, his face a ghastly blue-white, etched with countless wrinkles. In the dim light, he looked terrifying.
"His hair was sparse, mostly white, and his clothes had been stripped away, not a single scrap of fabric left to cover him.
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"I noticed a peculiar mark on his chest, a purplish-black discoloration. I couldn't quite describe its shape; the light was far too dim.
"I reached out and touched the mark. There was nothing remarkable about it.
"Staring at my former colleague, I wondered if I would end up like him, too, if I continued down this path until old age...
"I spoke to him, 'Tomorrow, I'll accompany you to the crematorium and personally bring your ashes to the nearest free cemetery. That way, those responsible won't consider it too much trouble and simply discard you in some river or wasteland.'
"It would cost me a morning of sleep, but it was almost Sunday, so I could catch up.
"After speaking, I prepared the body bag and slid him back into the drawer.
"The light in the room seemed to dim even further...
"Every night after that, whenever I slept, I dreamed of a dense fog.
"I sensed that something would happen soon, that something—or someone, though I wasn't sure if they could be called human—would eventually come for me. But no one would believe me. They thought working in such an environment, doing that kind of job, had simply warped my mind, that I needed to see a doctor..."
A male customer seated at the bar looked up at the narrator, who had abruptly fallen silent:
"And then what?"
The male customer was in his thirties, dressed in a brown tweed jacket and pale yellow trousers. His hair was neatly pressed flat, and a simple, dark bowler hat lay beside his hand.
He appeared unremarkable, much like most of the patrons in the tavern: black hair, light blue eyes, neither handsome nor ugly, utterly lacking in distinct features.
The narrator, in contrast, was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, tall and slender with long limbs. He, too, had short black hair and light blue eyes, yet his features were sharply defined, striking enough to make anyone pause.
The young man gazed at his empty glass and sighed.
"Then what?
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"Then I quit my job, came back to the countryside, and now I'm here, spinning tall tales for you."
As he spoke, a mischievous grin spread across his face.
The male customer paused, taken aback.
"Are you telling me everything you just said was a lie?"
"Ha ha!" A burst of laughter erupted from around the bar.
As the laughter subsided, a gaunt middle-aged man looked at the somewhat embarrassed customer and spoke.
"Outsider, how could you believe Lumian's stories? He spins a different yarn every day! Yesterday, he was a poor wretch whose fiancée broke off their engagement due to his poverty, and today he's a morgue attendant!"
"Exactly! All his talk about 'thirty years on the east side of the Celenzo River, thirty years on the west side'—it's just nonsensical babble!" another tavern regular chimed in.
They were all farmers from Cordu, a large village, dressed in short jackets of black, gray, or brown.
The black-haired young man, Lumian, leaned his hands on the bar, slowly rose, and said with a grin.
"You know, these aren't my stories. My sister writes them all. She loves writing, and she's even a columnist for the *Fiction Weekly*."
Finishing, he turned sideways, spread his hands to the visiting customer, and flashed a brilliant smile.
"Looks like she's quite good at it.
"My apologies for the misunderstanding."
The ordinary-looking man in the brown tweed jacket showed no anger. He rose as well, responding with a smile.
"A very interesting story.
"May I ask your name?"
"Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself before asking for another's name?" Lumian quipped with a smile.
The visiting customer nodded.
"My name is Ryan Koss.
"And these two are my companions, Valentine and Lia."
He indicated the man and woman sitting nearby with his last remark.
The man, in his late twenties, had yellowish hair dusted with powder. His eyes, though not large, were a deeper shade of blue than a lake. Dressed in a white waistcoat, a fine blue tweed jacket, and black trousers, he had clearly taken great care with his appearance before venturing out.
His expression was rather aloof; he barely glanced at the farmers and shepherds around them.
The woman appeared younger than both men. Her long, light gray hair was styled into an intricate knot and covered with a white veil that served as a hat.
Her eyes, the same shade as her hair, held an unconcealed amusement as she looked at Lumian, finding the recent exchange merely entertaining.
Illuminated by the tavern's gaslight sconces, the woman named Lia revealed a pert nose and lips with a graceful curve, undoubtedly a beauty in a rural village like Cordu.
She wore a white, unpleated cashmere dress, paired with a cream-colored bolero jacket and a pair of tall, Maseil boots. Small silver bells were tied to both her veil and her boots, jingling delightfully as she entered the tavern, drawing every eye and making many men stare openly.
In their eyes, such fashionable attire belonged only in grand cities like Bigore, the provincial capital, or Trier, the nation's capital.
Lumian nodded to the three visitors.
"My name is Lumian Lee. You can just call me Lumian."
"Lee?" Lia blurted out.
"What's wrong? Is there an issue with my surname?" Lumian asked curiously.
Ryan Koss explained for Lia.
"Your surname instills fear. I almost couldn't control my voice just now."
Seeing the puzzled expressions on the faces of the surrounding farmers and shepherds, he elaborated.
"Anyone who has dealt with sailors or sea merchants knows a saying that circulates across the Five Seas.
"They'd rather face pirate generals, even kings, than encounter a man named Franck Lee.
"That man's surname is also Lee."
"Is he so terrible?" Lumian inquired.
Ryan shook his head.
"I don't know for certain, but if such a legend exists, he must be formidable indeed."
He dropped the subject, turning to Lumian.
"Thank you for your story. It deserves a drink. What would you like?"
"A 'Green Fairy'," Lumian declared without hesitation, settling back onto his stool.
Ryan Koss furrowed his brow slightly.
"'Green Fairy'... Absinthe?
"I feel I should warn you, absinthe is harmful to the body. Such liquor can potentially lead to madness and cause hallucinations."
"I hadn't realized Trier's trends had already reached this far," Lia added with a smile from beside them.
Lumian let out an 'Oh'.
"So Trier residents also enjoy 'Green Fairy'...
"For us, life is already hard enough. There's no need to worry about a little extra harm. This drink offers a far greater relaxation for our weary spirits."
"Very well," Ryan conceded, resuming his seat and looking at the bartender. "One 'Green Fairy,' and add a 'Spicy Heart' for me."
'Spicy Heart' was a renowned fruit brandy.
"Why don't *I* get a 'Green Fairy' too? I was the one who told you the truth just now! I could tell you everything about this lad, from start to finish!" the gaunt middle-aged man, who had first exposed Lumian's daily storytelling, shouted discontentedly. "Outsider, I can tell you still have doubts about the veracity of that tale!"
"Pierre, you'd do anything for a free drink!" Lumian shot back loudly.
Before Ryan could decide, Lumian added.
"Why can't I be the one to tell it myself? That way, I could get another 'Green Fairy'!"
"Because they wouldn't know whether to believe your version of events," the middle-aged man named Pierre said with a triumphant chuckle. "Your sister's favorite story to tell children is 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.' A constant liar is bound to lose all credibility."
"Fine," Lumian conceded, shrugging his shoulders as he watched the bartender slide a glass of pale green liquid towards him.
Ryan looked at him, seeking confirmation.
"Is that alright?"
"No problem, as long as your purse can cover the cost of these drinks," Lumian replied nonchalantly.
"Then another 'Green Fairy'," Ryan affirmed, nodding.
Pierre's face instantly lit up with a wide smile.
"Generous outsider! This lad is the biggest prankster in the village; you should definitely keep your distance 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 attendant at that age? The nearest hospital to us is in Dalesh, down the mountain, a full afternoon's walk away."
"Brought back to the village?" Lia asked, her interest piqued.
She tilted her head slightly, causing a gentle jingle of bells.
Pierre nodded.
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"And then he took Aurore's surname, 'Lee.' Even the name 'Lumian' was given to him by Aurore."
"I've even forgotten what I was originally called," Lumian said, taking a sip of absinthe and grinning playfully.
He seemed utterly devoid of self-consciousness or shame about his past being so casually revealed.
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