After changing into his protective suit, he dragged his leaden feet into the Body Repair Room. There were quite a few people inside, some familiar and some strangers.
The one with the prettiest eyes was a stranger to him. Some called her Bennett, others Rae.
"You're the new guy, Smith?"
She was quite tall, wearing a mask that only revealed her full forehead and a pair of bright eyes with slightly curved, delicate double eyelids—eyes full of spirit and liveliness.
Her voice was sweet and a bit soft, pleasing enough to make Smith forget his trembling.
Smith nodded shyly.
"Hello there," she said.
With a smile, her eyes curved into a half-moon, exuding a fatally innocent charm.
Smith was very nervous and stuttered, "H-hello."
That afternoon, he had regretted studying mortuary science, but now he suddenly felt relieved.
Bennett, wearing latex gloves, was siphoning bodily fluids from the corpse's abdominal cavity. Then, she picked up a long needle connected to a tube filled with formalin and injected the embalming fluid into what used to be the heart of the living—a fluid sequence of motions, her eyelashes not even flickering as she focused on the task at hand.
Halfway through the injection, she turned back, "Could you hand me the toolbox, please?"
Smith saw the fluids she extracted and the corpse revealed upon lifting the cotton cloth.
He couldn't hold back: "Ugh..."
Before coming here, his master Sir Perry had told him that the deceased was a victim of a traffic accident, with the face severely damaged by a vehicle's tire.
He had been temporarily distracted by the pretty girl, but reality had slapped him hard.
"Ugh..."
This was his first time, in the true sense, being exposed to the industry of corpse cosmetology.
Clutching his mouth through the mask, he swallowed back the acidic reflux.
Rae, unfazed, continued her work without stopping. She asked him, "Can't handle it?"
Still unaccustomed, Smith shook his head, "No, I can."
She seemed to have a good temper, speaking softly and gently, "You can step outside first. Come back in after you've finished throwing up."
Smith didn't want to cause any more trouble, so he apologized and ran out.
There were no chairs outside, so he leaned against a corpse transport vehicle. That's when a bottle of water was handed to him.
"Here."
It was Frederick, as everyone in the museum village called him, though Frederick wasn't old, having joined less than two years ago.
Smith took the water, "Thanks." He unscrewed it and took a drink.
Patting his shoulder, Frederick took on the air of a seasoned veteran, "You'll get used to it after you've seen more." He was quite composed, having seen a lot, "This kind of case is actually on the lighter side, at least there isn't a heavy smell."
Smith's mind wandered, his eyes drifting toward the Repair Room, "Is she the main person in charge of this repair?"
"You mean Rae?" Frederick hummed in approval, "She handles the tougher cases of body cosmetology."
They were all embalmers at the museum village, sometimes referred to as morticians or funeral directors, each with their own assigned duties. There had been a commotion with family members before; not only was there division of labor, but also gender-specific roles—some were responsible for embalming, others for cleaning, some for dressing, and there were those who handled makeup and reconstruction.
Rae mainly worked on body reconstruction and occasionally did makeup.
Smith thought of Sir Perry, the seasoned mortician over fifty years old, "She looks really young."
Frederick raised an eyebrow, "Not just young, she's also pretty."
It was evident, even though she wore a mask.
Smith mused to himself that she must have been the "museum flower" Sir Perry had mentioned during recruitment. He was certain he hadn't come here just because of the "museum flower", but out of love for the profession.
"Ugh..."
Smith felt nauseous again.
To the right of the Plastic Surgery District was the Mourning Hall. Nowadays, many families chose to set up the Spiritual Hall in the funeral home for convenience—using an ice coffin to preserve the body while paying respects to the departed.
It was the middle of the lunar month, with a full moon shining high. October's golden autumn brought cool evenings, and by the entrance stood a young man with a hoodie drawn up over his head. He was holding a cell phone, talking to someone.
"Bro, have you arrived?"
The boy was barely in his twenties, with a small face, well-proportioned features, and prettier than a girl. But his curly hair undercut slightly diminished his youthful appearance.
The voice on the other end of the phone was hoarse, clearly tired, "Just looking for a place to park."
"The parking lot is in front of the Service Hall. Park on the right; the left is reserved for the Corpse Transport Vehicle."
Corpse Transport Vehicle...
A burly man who had just peeked out of the Mourning Hall shuddered and withdrew back inside.
"It's on the first floor, Spiritual Hall number two."