"Royalty, nobility, dukes—luxurious, honorable, generous… Golden Coffin."
"Elegant, reserved, composed, wise, calm… Breezewood Coffin."
In the living room,
Orpheus was sitting on the small sofa, flipping through the family's "Coffin Catalog."
The names he recited were the two most expensive coffins in the catalog. The adjectives piled on one after another, like a string of pearls. The prices were 2.25 million Luby and 2.5 million Luby, respectively.
Why was the Breezewood Coffin more expensive than the Golden Coffin? Perhaps that was the "price of elegance."
Uncle Mason had told him that the catalog prices were marked up five times from the wholesale cost. But even so, one was 450,000 Luby, and the other 500,000 Luby—a staggering sum.
If he remembered correctly, 500,000 Luby was enough to buy a three-bedroom apartment in a good location in the city.
Sigh, in the world of truly wealthy people, a single coffin was worth as much as a house.
"Coffee."
"Thank you, Aunt."
Aunt Winnie placed the coffee on the coffee table and sat on the small sofa opposite him.
"Having some quiet days lately?" Aunt Winnie asked.
"Yes." Orpheus nodded. Mina and the others had to go to school, while he didn't, so he had been cooking meals for the family these past few days, expanding their understanding of gourmet food.
The day before yesterday, he made a special dish, "Spicy Boiled Beef." The family's tolerance for spicy food was surprisingly high. Uncle Mason, in particular, enjoyed it thoroughly, but the next day he was limping due to a flare-up of hemorrhoids.
Apart from cooking, he didn't have much else to do.
Although Grandpa hadn't restored his school enrollment, he did get him a set of high school textbooks and study guides.
Aside from occasionally glancing at the history book, the rest of the books held little value for Orpheus.
"Things should get busy soon. Two elderly patients at the Blossom Springs Nursing Home aren't doing well, and a couple of critically ill patients at the two nearby hospitals we work with;
The church also has a bedridden parishioner in his final days.
When the time comes, I'll recommend your counseling services to their families."
"Thank you, Aunt."
"It's for our family business; no need for thanks. Have some coffee; I've added sugar."
"Okay."
Orpheus lightly clenched his left hand.
Even though the coffee was on his left side, he still used his right hand, twisting his body to pick up the cup and take a sip.
At that moment, the phone rang.
Aunt Winnie got up to answer it:
"Hello… yes… I understand."
*Click*—the sound of the phone being hung up was a bit heavy,
And what followed was her loud shout:
"Mason! Mason!"
Uncle Mason, who had been upstairs drinking tea and reading the financial newspaper, immediately dropped everything, throwing on his coat and hurrying down the stairs.
"Crown Dance Hall's stage collapsed. There are a lot of casualties," Aunt Winnie said.
"Oh, Crown Dance Hall," Mason nodded immediately.
"Where is Crown Dance Hall?" Aunt Mary's voice came from the top of the stairs.
"Where is Crown Dance Hall?" Mason repeated in confusion.
"I know, Mr. Mason. It's on Hill Street, an old dance hall that's been around for years," Ron answered.
He and Paul had been sunbathing on the bench in the garden earlier. When there was no work, they often spent whole days relaxing.
But in this line of work, even when you know there's no business, you must keep the staff and workers on standby. After all, finding waitstaff on short notice is easy; finding corpse handlers is not.
You can't exactly ask the neighbors for help, can you?
Mrs. Mark complained about the landscaping expenses last time, and Aunt Mary not only refused to pay but also argued with her.
"Oh, on Hill Street." Uncle Mason turned to Aunt Mary, who was standing at the top of the stairs. "Darling, get ready. I'll try to bring the clients back, if there are any."
"Alright, dear," Aunt Mary nodded.
Watching this scene from the nearby sofa, Orpheus found it amusing. To an outsider, it might look as if the family was running an emergency ambulance service, always ready to respond.
But this was just "business networking," wasn't it? The family had connections not only with hospitals and nursing homes but also with many other places. Informants were everywhere, ready to notify them when incidents like this occurred.
That's how deals are made—you have to be proactive.
"Are there many casualties?" Mason looked at Orpheus. "Orpheus, you come along too. We could use an extra hand."
"Alright, Uncle."
Uncle Mason got into the driver's seat while Orpheus, Paul, and Ron folded the stretcher and placed it in the back of the hearse, along with some body bags and other equipment, before getting in themselves.
Before the hearse started, Aunt Winnie threw a stack of Inmerales Funeral Services pamphlets through the window.
"Let's go!"
Mason gave his sister and wife a firm nod, like a general heading off to battle.
Aunt Winnie and Aunt Mary looked on seriously, hoping for the general's triumphant return.
...
The car sped along.
Orpheus noticed Uncle Mason running two red lights in a row. Fortunately, there were no traffic cameras, and as long as they didn't have the bad luck of a cop standing right there, they'd be fine.
Of course, accidents were a different story.
"Could a stage collapse be that serious?" Orpheus asked, curious.
Ron was about to answer when Uncle Mason, still driving, spoke first:
"The Crown Dance Hall has a unique stage, a reinforced glass platform suspended about five meters high. Dancers in skirts or miniskirts perform on it while patrons below enjoy the view.
Of course, many guests pay extra to experience the thrill of dancing high above.
So, if the stage collapsed with people dancing on top and below, it could have devastating consequences."
Ron added, "Yes, a dance costs 5 Luby, but a dance on the glass platform costs 50 Luby. It's ridiculously expensive."
Uncle Mason continued, "The money's secondary. The main thing is that the Crown Dance Hall is old and probably not well-maintained. I wouldn't go up there. I've seen too many gruesome accident victims."
"Did you go there often, Uncle?" Orpheus asked.
"I used to enjoy going when I was younger. After I married your aunt, I stopped. I only went two or three times in recent years when visiting Rodja City for reunions with old friends.
Since moving back home, I haven't gone once. I'm no longer in touch with that group of friends."
It wasn't about falling out over wealth or status—just that Uncle Mason, once a minor financial success, was now a manager at the family funeral business. He still had connections, but it was a different circle entirely.
You can't exactly say,
"Hey, buddy, I know you're grieving the loss of your loved one, but how about we go dancing?"
Soon,
They arrived on Hill Street.
Uncle Mason kept his foot on the gas, turning into a narrow alley just wide enough for one car, maneuvering through it swiftly to reach the next street over.
Exiting the alley, he turned right and stopped. Clearly, he was very familiar with this area.
Ahead, a building bore signs for a cinema, gym, and the largest, still flashing one—Crown Dance Hall!
Whew, they had arrived.
The street was already crowded with people at the entrance, many injured, some with blood on their faces, others crying in fear—a chaotic scene.
As Orpheus and the others got out of the car, a police vehicle pulled up beside them. The sergeant in the passenger seat, wearing a khaki trench coat and smoking a pipe, looked at the Inmerales hearse in surprise,
Exclaiming,
"Damn it, Mason, how did you beat the police and ambulances here?!"
It was clear the sergeant knew Uncle Mason.
That wasn't surprising.
Apart from nursing homes, hospitals, and churches, the police station was a major source of regular clients for the funeral home.
Going to the police morgue to pick up bodies was a common occurrence.
Uncle Mason explained, "Sergeant Duke, it's just a coincidence. We were right around the corner."
"Hah." Sergeant Duke clearly didn't believe him.
However, given the traffic congestion and the fact that much of Rodja City's police force was tied up with security for a national soccer match at the stadium, reinforcements would be slow to arrive.
"Follow me and help maintain order."
"Yes, sir!"
Uncle Mason snapped to attention, and Ron and Paul stood to attention immediately. Orpheus was a beat slow but followed suit, standing tall.
The scene was somewhat comedic, making Sergeant Duke chuckle before he remembered where he was and turned to instruct the officer at the wheel:
"Mick, turn on the siren and clear the way up ahead for the ambulances."
"Yes, sir."
Ron and Paul began pushing through the crowd, and Sergeant Duke took a quick look at the injured along the roadside. These were likely people who'd escaped the dance hall after the stage collapsed. Though many were hurt
, they were treating each other's wounds, which meant their injuries weren't life-threatening.
"Are there still people inside?" Sergeant Duke asked.
"Are there still people inside?" Uncle Mason pulled over a staff member in a dance hall uniform.
"Yes… yes, there are."
"Let's go in."
Sergeant Duke led the Inmerales team inside. As they ascended the stairs, they saw several severely injured people being helped out—some with glass shards in their legs, others in their abdomen, unable to walk on their own.
Uncle Mason bypassed the one with glass in his leg and instead approached a young man in hip-hop attire with a shard embedded in his stomach.
"Are you alright? Can you hang in there?"
The young man thought a doctor was speaking to him and nodded vigorously, "I think I'm okay. I can hold on."
Uncle Mason's enthusiasm immediately faded, and he released the young man's hand.
"Doctor?" The young man called after Uncle Mason.
"Sorry, I need to find those in worse condition. They need me more right now!"
The young man nodded. "I understand. I get it."
Sergeant Duke led the Inmerales crew deeper inside.
On the way, he teased Mason, "So eager to see some deaths?"
Uncle Mason replied, "It's been a slow season."
"Hah, a slow season."
"When your slow season hits, you can go after drug dealers and unlicensed brothels. Our slow season doesn't mean we go out killing people, does it?"
"I'm warning you, if we find severely injured people in there, they go to the hospital first. If the ambulances haven't arrived, use your car. Don't go hauling off folks who aren't dead yet."
"Of course not."
They continued into the main hall. Most people had already left, but about a dozen remained inside.
The floor was littered with shattered glass, in large and small pieces.
They hadn't walked far when they saw someone slumped in a booth.
On closer inspection, they saw that half of his head was sheared off.
Behind the booth was a three-square-meter piece of glass.
A piece of glass that size, crashing down, could shear through a person's head as easily as slicing a watermelon.
The scene behind the booth was even more ghastly, a mess of colors like a splattered condiment shop.
Uncle Mason quickly approached, turning to Sergeant Duke with an anxious look:
"Sergeant, check this one. Is he gone?"
Sergeant Duke kicked at Mason, but mindful of the glass shards everywhere, he pulled his kick halfway through.
This showed how close Uncle Mason and Sergeant Duke really were.
Three years ago, Sergeant Duke's mother had passed, and the funeral was handled by the Inmerales family. In the end, they didn't charge a single Luby for the service.
"Ron, get a body bag," Uncle Mason instructed.
"Got it."
Ron took out a body bag, wrapping up the unfortunate man, muttering as he worked:
"This seat isn't cheap. You're really unlucky, buddy."
The glass platform had been directly above this seat, offering the best view for looking up.
Ron worked swiftly and without hesitation, unaffected by the grisly sight or anything else. This was professionalism, and the reason Ron and Paul could spend entire days on paid leave while earning far more than regular workers.
Up ahead, a man lay surrounded by others,
Glass embedded in several places on his body, blood bubbling from his mouth, unable to speak, his eyes fluttering.
His injuries were so severe that those around him, whether friends or kind strangers, dared not move him, fearing that one wrong move would be fatal.
Uncle Mason rushed over, grasping the man's hand:
"Hang in there, please hang in there!"
He turned to Paul, carrying the stretcher:
"Stretcher, stretcher, quick!"
Paul immediately unfolded the stretcher but didn't set down the wheels.
Uncle Mason directed the surrounding people:
"Careful now, everyone lift a little, keep it steady. Let's get him onto the stretcher and out of here. The ambulance will be here soon. He still has hope, he still has hope!"
The crowd began helping as directed.
Orpheus knew Uncle Mason's enthusiasm was because this man, barring a miracle, was likely beyond saving.
Still, Mason's choice was the right one. This was the best way to help the injured and get him medical treatment quickly.
And when the man died at the hospital, Mason, who had already made an impression on the grateful family, would naturally secure the funeral contract.
Sergeant Duke stood by, watching, not intervening. He knew Mason might be after the business, but he wasn't reckless.
Orpheus wanted to help but couldn't find a place on the stretcher.
Just then, Orpheus heard Sergeant Duke mutter, "Hmm?"
He looked over and saw Sergeant Duke standing at the center of what had been the stage.
The layout of the Crown Dance Hall featured a large wooden stage three steps high, with the glass stage suspended above it.
When the glass stage fell, it punctured several holes in the wooden stage below.
Sergeant Duke crouched by one of these holes, pushing aside some broken boards.
Orpheus walked over and froze in place.
In the hole lay a male corpse, naked.
The corpse's arms were spread out at a forty-five-degree angle, palms up, each middle finger pinned down by iron nails, forming a double middle-finger gesture.
Moreover,
A white flower, likely plastic, was placed at the navel.
Judging by the sutures around the navel, this wasn't just a flower but a flowerpot, embedded inside the man's stomach.
Besides this, the man's face was heavily made up,
With exaggerated lipstick marks extending downward from the corners of his mouth, giving the illusion of a "smile."
A book lay on the man's chest, titled *The Song of the Soul*, the holy book of the Beric Church.
Aunt Mary had previously complained about the Mosan family claiming Mr. Mosan was a Beric believer to save on funeral costs.
According to the Beric doctrine, bodies must be cremated to return to nature, and the more the body is decorated or the grander the funeral, the more it desecrates nature and violates the faith.
But this corpse, concealed beneath the stage, was heavily modified and arranged.
Moreover, judging by the corpse's bluish-black skin, it had been dead for some time, though it showed no obvious signs of decomposition.
But surely it wasn't a case of the man being killed by the falling stage, then stripped and arranged like this, was it?
Sergeant Duke's expression turned grim.
The incident at the dance hall had been an accident, and accidents were outside his immediate concern; he only needed to maintain order during the rescue. But this body was a different matter.
Biting down on his pipe,
He muttered,
"If not for this accident, we'd have never discovered this murder."
"I don't think… that's the case."
"Oh?"
Sergeant Duke turned to the handsome young man beside him.
"What do you think?"
Orpheus pointed at the corpse in the hole,
And said,
"I think the killer caused this 'accident' on purpose to display his 'artwork.'"