Regarding "equality for all beings," the Immolates family's hearse embodies it to the fullest:
Whether its passengers are alive or dead, riding in this car is pure torture.
Ron is used to it, his head leaning against the corner of the compartment, his legs spread out in a relaxed but odd posture. It looks strange for a large man like him to sit this way, but it's his best way to stay balanced, and he even dozes off, snoring lightly.
Orpheus, on the other hand, finds it excruciating. He has to keep using his hands to support himself to maintain balance. While the roads in the city aren't too bad, the route to the outskirts is rough and bumpy, making the journey extremely uncomfortable.
Lazarus and Mr. Moisan, in their unembarrassed state, have been repeatedly tossed together by the constant jostling, resembling lovers sharing secrets in bed. Unable to bear this sight, Orpheus tries multiple times to separate them, but the limited space in the vehicle means they keep bouncing back together like magnets.
If any relatives were accompanying them, this wouldn't be happening. At least they would be confined to the limited sway within their coffins. But Lazarus has no family, riding along on a welfare slot; and although Mr. Moisan isn't on welfare, his situation is no better.
Given the family's current "work ethic," Orpheus has no right to complain. Even though he cooked lunch today, he's still essentially a "parasite" in this household.
Finally,
As Uncle Mason turned the steering wheel left, the hearse pulled into a small compound resembling a factory. The sign at the entrance read: Hughes Crematorium.
"Hey, Ron, wake up!" Uncle Mason banged on the car window.
"Oh, oh, we're here." Ron wiped his drool and stretched.
Orpheus helped lower the stretchers, and then he and Ron moved Lazarus and Mr. Moisan off the vehicle one by one, while Uncle Mason steadied the stretchers.
At that moment, a middle-aged woman in a gray uniform approached, holding a clipboard and pen.
"Oh, what a handsome young man."
She was staring at Orpheus.
"Hello, Mrs. Hughes!" Ron greeted warmly.
So this was the Mrs. Hughes that Paul had mentioned, who seemed to favor Ron?
But despite Ron's enthusiasm, Mrs. Hughes barely acknowledged him, instead focusing her attention on Orpheus.
Mrs. Hughes was actually quite attractive. Despite wearing work clothes, her voluptuous figure and fair skin were still evident.
However, when Mrs. Hughes pinched his cheek, Orpheus awkwardly pulled her hand away. He might have gotten used to this body's appearance, but not to being flirted with like a young boy.
Undeterred, Mrs. Hughes grabbed his hand, running her fingers over his palm with obvious intent.
From her gaze, Orpheus could read the same kind of lustful desire that middle-aged men might have when looking at young girls.
"He's Orpheus, my brother's son," Uncle Mason offered her a cigarette.
"Oh?" Mrs. Hughes looked surprised. "Your nephew?"
Taking the cigarette, she let Mason light it for her. "I've never seen him before."
"One of the workers had an emergency, and I had a minor injury," Mason explained.
"Injury?"
"I tripped."
"Whose wife's windowsill were you sneaking around on?"
"Don't joke about that. By the way, is it busy today?"
"There's one other family ahead. It'll be a while."
"Just the one furnace?"
"I'd like to use more, but you'd need to send me more bodies to burn. It's not cost-effective to leave the furnaces idle."
"Alright, let's get our 'guests' inside."
"Sure, I'll make arrangements. See you later, handsome." Mrs. Hughes winked at Orpheus before turning and heading inside.
Ron pushed Mr. Moisan, and Mason helped Orpheus with Lazarus's stretcher.
"Mrs. Hughes is quite a passionate person," Mason whispered to Orpheus.
"Yes, she is," Orpheus nodded.
"Her husband passed early, and she's been running this crematorium alone. She hasn't remarried, but she has plenty of companions."
"Uncle, there's no need to tell me all this."
"Hey, I need to warn you. I've been your age before." Mason knocked on the stretcher's metal frame, making a "clang, clang" sound. "At your age, a boy can be as hard as iron."
"…"
"You're getting older. Find yourself a proper girlfriend someday." Mason continued.
"Alright, Uncle, I understand."
Orpheus knew Mason wasn't bad-mouthing Mrs. Hughes but was genuinely concerned his young nephew might be seduced by her charms.
Moving deeper inside, Orpheus caught a whiff of a greasy odor. It wasn't pleasant, like moldy air on a rainy day.
The interior looked worn, clearly an old establishment.
"A few years ago, this place was almost shut down, nearly bought out by a big cremation company," Mason said.
"And then?"
"And then that company was caught using night shifts to cut costs, giving yesterday's ashes to today's families."
Orpheus's eyes widened in disbelief. "Is that even possible?"
"Yes, families would bring their loved ones here, only to take home a stranger's ashes. What's even funnier is that this went on for years."
"That's awful."
"After the scandal, the crematorium's owner was stoned to death one night. The police couldn't find the culprit because there were too many suspects with motives."
Orpheus nodded, "He deserved it."
Just imagining being in that situation, bringing a loved one for cremation, only to unknowingly take home the ashes of a stranger—perhaps even worshipping those ashes for years—made Orpheus feel a murderous rage himself.
"After that big crematorium went bankrupt, Mrs. Hughes's place survived, but it's tough now. Big funeral companies have chains in other cities. They handle everything, from hospitals to mortuaries, crematoriums, and transportation."
"They run it like a vegetable wholesale market."
"Those capitalists should be hung from streetlamps! All they care about is money; they have no respect for the deceased or understanding of grief!"
Hearing this, Orpheus couldn't help but think of Lazarus and Mr. Moisan nearly kissing each other in the jostling hearse.
Uncle,
how can you even mention "respect" with a straight face?
"Our family is okay. They tried to squeeze our suppliers, but because of your grandfather, we're managing. Mrs. Hughes, though, is struggling again."
Ron, up ahead, turned and shouted,
"Which is why I support the Yag Party! They're the only ones willing to punch those damn capitalists in the face!"
He pumped his fist.
The Yag Party, which Orpheus had read about in the newspaper a few days ago, was a rising left-wing party in Roja City.
But upon hearing "Yag Party,"
Mason immediately shouted back:
"Are you crazy? If those lunatics get in, they'll ruin everything we have!"
Ron shrugged, seemingly unwilling to argue, and kept pushing the stretcher.
Watching his uncle turn red with anger, Orpheus could understand. Mason perfectly represented the petty bourgeoisie's wavering stance.
It might sound like mockery, but it's simply the reality dictated by their economic position.
After passing through a short corridor, they finally reached the "incineration room."
There were three furnaces inside, but only one was running.
Through the glass window, Orpheus saw a disheveled man sitting on the floor.
At that moment,
the active furnace also came to a halt.
An elderly but energetic worker opened the door and called to the man,
"Sir, please come collect your wife."
Then, seeing Mason, the worker smiled and waved.
"Hey, Mason."
"Old Darcy!"
Mason stepped forward, handing Old Darcy a cigarette.
"How many today?" Old Darcy asked, lighting the cigarette.
Mason held up two fingers.
"Oh, may God pity you." Old Darcy laughed, clearly enjoying the situation.
He knew full well how much of a loss cremation meant for the Immolates family.
They wouldn't actually lose money, but cremation didn't bring in nearly as much profit as a burial would. The lost opportunity to make that extra profit turned into a "loss."
"Sir, please come collect your wife," Old Darcy urged again.
The man looked up blankly, then stood, but as he approached the window and saw the furnace, he leaned back against the wall, resisting everything in front of him.
Who could easily accept their beloved spouse turning into a pile of ashes?
Orpheus overheard Mason whispering to Old Darcy, "What's going on?"
Old Darcy shook his head in disdain, puffing on his cigarette, "He wouldn't pay a tip, and he didn't buy an urn."
If customers gave a tip or bought "extras,"
they'd get special treatment.
For example, if you were scared or uncomfortable, Old Darcy would pack the ashes neatly into an urn and hand them to you.
And if you preferred to collect the ashes yourself, he'd carefully break up the bones to make it easier for you to handle.
Maybe the man couldn't afford it, or maybe he just didn't know. His eyes were filled with confusion, nothing more.
"Psychology professor, they say, but he can't even handle this," Old Darcy scoffed.
What?
That job title caught Orphe
us's attention.
Interesting. A fellow professional.
Orpheus approached the man and softly said,
"You should go collect your wife now."
"I… I…" The man's hands were trembling.
Clearly, he was battling intense emotions.
Actually, if you've been deeply in love and lived together for a long time, the body or ashes of your loved one wouldn't seem scary, like in a horror movie. It would feel… familiar.
But some people's emotions and psyche are more delicate. For example, in his previous life, Orpheus treated a man who loved his wife deeply. But during childbirth, when he chose to accompany her in the delivery room—though a loving gesture—it left him with severe psychological trauma. He had to divorce his wife, and it became so bad that he couldn't even look at women or children without shaking in fear.
"Are you afraid of your wife?" Old Darcy chided. "Hurry up, people are waiting."
"I… I'm not…" The man's face twisted in struggle and guilt. Darcy's comment about fearing his wife struck a deep chord, filling him with shame.
The mind has both "physical" and "psychological" aspects. The latter is easier to manage, but the former? Much tougher.
"I'm not… I'm not afraid of her… I just…"
Orpheus sighed and gently patted the man's shoulder.
Alright then,
as a fellow professional.
He turned to Mason and said:
"Uncle, we're in a hurry to get home. Let me collect the ashes for him."
Old Darcy didn't seem pleased to hear that. His response was lukewarm:
"Your nephew is so kind."
There was no praise in his tone.
Mason shrugged, "Old Darcy, I'm in a rush. If I'm late, Mary will have my head."
"Fine, fine."
Old Darcy relented,
"Bring one body in. I'll go gather the ashes."
Ron moved Mr. Moisan inside, and Orpheus hesitated but decided to help Ron lift him onto the furnace's loading tray.
Though Mr. Moisan had "appeared" last night,
expressing his strong wish not to be cremated, Orpheus had no way to help him. Even with the previous "Orpheus's" six thousand Lubis stash, it might buy a casket at cost, but what about burial plot expenses?
And most importantly, what right or reason did he have to demand the family provide extra treatment for an ordinary customer?
His grandfather was still alive,
and even if he weren't, there was still Uncle Mason.
This family wasn't his to… well, ruin.
After finishing, Orpheus walked over to Old Darcy, who was sifting through the ashes with an iron hook.
Old Darcy glanced at Orpheus,
"First time?"
"Yeah."
"Never seen this before?"
"No."
"A real young master, huh?" Old Darcy teased.
The males of the Immolates family, seeing bone ashes for the first time.
Orpheus pointed to the pile of bones on the ground. "Shouldn't there be more ashes?"
He emphasized the word "ashes."
He'd always imagined ashes would be white, like flour.
But here, he saw mostly bone fragments, with some ash mixed in, mostly large bone pieces.
Old Darcy seemed puzzled. "This is how it is."
"Oh, I see."
Orpheus realized that all those depictions in movies had misled him.
Seeing Old Darcy flick his spent cigarette on the ground, Orpheus took out the pack Paul had given him, pulled one out, and handed it over.
Old Darcy's expression softened as he took the cigarette,
but he still reminded Orpheus:
"Good intentions won't get you far."
"Heh," Orpheus understood. "He once gave a lecture at our school. Consider him my teacher."
Hearing this,
Old Darcy clicked his tongue at the filter tip.
"I see."
Then,
He put on gloves on his left hand and picked up a small hammer with his right, crouching down.
He started tapping at the larger bone fragments, breaking them down.
"Does everyone take the ashes home like this?" Orpheus asked, curious.
Old Darcy chuckled. "Most people just take a bit."
"Oh." Orpheus nodded, then added, "Um…"
"Can't you see I'm busy? I'm doing this out of respect for your uncle… and your grandfather."
Old Darcy continued breaking up the bones.
Each large fragment was smashed into smaller pieces,
layered neatly into the urn.
Orpheus thought it looked like plating a dish before serving.
Finally,
With hardly anything left out,
Old Darcy placed almost all the ashes into the urn.
The toughest, nearly unburned skull piece was carefully placed at the top.
Then,
"Snap,"
Old Darcy closed the urn.
"Take it to him."
"Okay, thank you."
"Heh."
Orpheus bent down,
lifting the urn.
It was hard to imagine this had been a living, breathing person, even a complete person just before entering the furnace.
Now,
all that remained was inside this small box.
Orpheus walked over to the man, who instinctively reached out but hesitated.
"She… she…"
"I've led your wife out. Please don't mind; I'm placing her hand in yours."
Hearing this,
The man visibly relaxed,
his tone steadying slightly:
"No… You're a gentleman."
He finally took the urn, holding it to his chest.
"My Linda… Is she really gone?"
Orpheus replied, "Physically, yes, she's gone."
"But…" The man's eyes were full of hope.
"But in the realm of the mind, she's still alive, living in your thoughts.
When you think of her, she is there."
"Yes, yes." The man nodded repeatedly. "As long as I think of her, she's still with me, even closer to me now. My Linda."
A warm, radiant, sunny smile spread across his face.
"Linda was a believer in the Beret faith. Their teachings require cremation. Bringing her here was torture for me. Thank you. After Linda's passing, everyone around me advised me to let go, to accept her death. You're the first to tell me she's still here. Thank you. I'm truly grateful."
"You're welcome."
The man, holding the urn, turned and left.
Orpheus leaned against the corridor wall, slowly taking out a cigarette.
Just then, Mason approached, irritated.
"When did you start smoking? Who taught you?"
Orpheus replied, "Aunt Mary."
He wasn't lying. His first cigarette in this world was given to him by Aunt Mary.
"Oh… fine."
Mason quickly changed the subject:
"Orpheus, I know you're kind, but you can't help everyone. If you grow accustomed to kindness, you'll see that there are far too many people in need."
"Uncle, I was just…" Orpheus wanted to explain, but couldn't find a way to express the professional connection, so he just nodded. "Yes, Uncle, I know I can't help everyone."
"It's not about whether you can or can't. When you see so many in need and can't help them, you'll feel pain."
Orpheus paused, then nodded, "You're right."
Mason, pleased with Orpheus's attitude, shrugged and said, "Also, being good doesn't always get you rewarded."
Just as he said that,
the man who had just left came running back. He stood in front of Orpheus, bowing deeply.
Orpheus, caught off guard, bowed back instinctively.
"I'm sorry, I forgot to pay for the urn."
The man took out an old, worn wallet.
The previous adjectives didn't matter.
The key feature of this wallet was its… thickness.
It was very thick, bursting even!
It couldn't close!
The hundred-Lubi bills bore the portrait of Emperor Roteland of the Kingdom of Ruisseau,
and at this moment,
the Emperor seemed ready to launch himself out!
So he wasn't poor, or stingy, or unwilling to buy the urn—he simply hadn't thought about it.
"I paid for the cremation earlier. How much is the urn? Sorry, I almost took Linda's hand and left without paying."
"Fiv—cough—one thousand Lubis."
Orpheus almost blurted out the 50-cost price.
But then he remembered Old Darcy's help, neatly handling the ashes. That thousand Lubis should go to paying for the urn.
He hadn't thought of making a profit on it.
He wasn't short on small change in his previous life, and in this one, he didn't need to worry about food or drink. The previous "Orpheus" had left him a six-thousand-Lubi nest egg.
"Alright."
The man took out all the cash from his wallet. Putting the empty wallet away, he handed Orpheus a thick stack of bills.
The weight,
The heft,
Mason's eyes widened.
And Orpheus, not caring about small change before, found himself slightly stunned.
This pile,
at least twenty thousand Lubis, maybe more!
Swallowing, Orpheus said, "You've given too much."
"No, this is for your counseling. The service you provided was worth it. No, you've brought Linda back to me. This amount can't repay your immense help!
But I could only withdraw this much cash on short notice. If I'd known, I would have withdrawn more…"
"No, no, it's enough. It's already enough," Orpheus quickly reassured him.
"I… I don't have my card. My name is Piaget, Piaget Adams. My
card… Do you have one? I'd like to stay in touch, to discuss more."
"I don't have…"
"I do, I do."
Mason stepped in, handing over a card reading "Immolates Funeral Services."
Piaget took it, smiling, "I'll come to visit at this address. Thank you again."
He bowed to Orpheus again.
Holding the stack of cash, Orpheus returned the bow.
Piaget,
with Linda's hand in his, left once more.
Orpheus counted out a thousand Lubis, intending to give them to Old Darcy later.
The remaining money, he handed to Mason.
Mason just smiled, pushing it back, saying:
"You keep it."
"Shouldn't I turn it in?" Orpheus asked.
It was a lot of money, but survival was more important than wealth.
If he turned this in:
Hey,
Des,
did you see?
I can cook and make money!
So please don't kill me!
"He said it was your… fee… consultation fee, so it's yours. Keep it. I'll take you to the bank tomorrow to open an account."
"Thank you, Uncle."
"No need to thank me." Mason draped an arm over Orpheus's shoulder. "You know, I overheard your conversation with Piaget. I didn't get all of it, but I could tell you helped him a lot. I didn't know you could counsel people like that."
The old "Orpheus" had been autistic; there was no way he could counsel anyone.
"I read some books, learned a bit."
"Oh, I see. I'll discuss it with Mary. Maybe we could offer another service: psychological counseling or therapy. You know, those who've lost loved ones are often in pain. They need someone to console them."
Oh,
Orpheus understood.
In his previous world, upscale funeral homes often employed therapists to counsel bereaved families.
"Do you think you can do it?" Mason asked. "No pressure."
"I can. It's fine."
Orpheus replied confidently, trusting in his professional skills.
"That's great. You know, it hurts me to see those grieving families…"
"Uncle, you're so kind…"
"Because I know grief makes people irrational, more willing to spend. And I haven't had enough ways to charge them. It's heartbreaking."
"…" Orpheus.
"Really giving Darcy a thousand?" Mason asked.
"Yes." Orpheus nodded.
"Alright, I'll give it to him." Mason went inside to find Old Darcy.
Through the glass wall,
Old Darcy used an iron hook to tear open Mr. Moisan's stomach,
then pushed him into the furnace.
Orpheus saw Mason whisper to Old Darcy, who looked surprised, then smiled, even turning to bow toward Orpheus through the glass.
Just then,
Ron came out, lighting a cigarette to relax.
"Ron."
"Yes, Master Orpheus?"
Orpheus handed him 500 Lubis.
"This money…" Ron was puzzled.
"That man just now, he gave it. A share for everyone."
"Really? Thank you, Master Orpheus!"
Ron was delighted, pocketing the cash. He had no family and lived paycheck to paycheck. This extra 500 Lubis meant he could enjoy two good nights at the tavern.
Orpheus asked,
"Ron, was the call about Lazarus from the government?"
Ron, unguarded, replied:
"No, that morning we were on our way to pick up Mr. Moisan from the Flowerspring Nursing Home. Passing Chiswick Street… Was it 125 or 130? Anyway, there was Lazarus, frozen by the street trash bins.
We brought him back first, then picked up Mr. Moisan. Mason applied for the welfare slot afterward."
I knew it!
Orpheus vividly recalled Mason's words when they passed 128 Chiswick Street:
"Two days ago, she had some trouble. She asked for help, and I sorted it out… She and her husband are looking for a new place to move…"
So,
Uncle helped his first love's family
deal with a body!
Wait,
Orpheus suddenly realized:
He'd seen things in both Mr. Moisan and Lazarus's bodies.
Mr. Moisan's resentment over cremation had been confirmed by Aunt Mary, due to his religious beliefs.
And if what he saw in Mr. Moisan was true,
then the vision from Lazarus—the woman with just legs and a face—must also be… real?
Orpheus's mind flashed back to the scene in the two-story townhouse:
those legs,
and those red high heels!
So,
in Uncle's first love's house,
there's currently a… monster!