The security guard's face went pale as he stared at the stiff movements of the figure on the screen.
Sitting up straight, he quickly dialed Old Jack's number.
"Uncle Jack… someone's moving in the middle building!l."
"Hmm? Did they have a flashlight on?" Old Jack sounded surprisingly calm as he poured himself another drink.
"No… they're moving slowly, looks stiff. Just passed the condolence hall."
"Got it. Don't worry about it, just lock up and keep watching your show."
Old Jack took a sip of his drink, reached under his bed, and pulled out a crowbar. Then, he dialed the director's number.
"What is it?" The phone barely rang twice before the director's low voice came through.
"It seems… a client is taking a little midnight stroll."
"Where did they come from?"
"Looks like they slipped out of the middle building."
"Let Harry… actually, never mind. Just monitor the situation for now. If it's nothing serious, put them back to rest and we'll deal with it tomorrow."
"How about…" Old Jack's tone hinted at eagerness.
"If it's a standard client, just escort them back to their place. No need to create extra hassle. Follow the protocol."
"Understood…" Old Jack sighed, somewhat disappointed. He had hoped to simply drag the client to the deluxe furnace and get it over with.
Crowbar in one hand, he fished a charm out of a book in his drawer and walked outside.
He didn't approach directly. Instead, he took a detour around the figure and started by inspecting the VIP rooms in the middle building. When he found an ice casket left open, he let out a long sigh, realizing his plan wouldn't work so easily.
The one who'd slipped out was the elderly man who had arrived just that morning—a regular client, although now a rather restless one. No particular paranormal energy surrounded him, so it was likely something left unfinished in life had stirred him awake.
Pushing a simple transport cart in front of him, Old Jack quickly caught up to the wandering figure and, with a swift motion, slapped the charm onto the man's forehead.
"Gotcha..."
Instantly, the old man's shuffling stopped.
With practiced hands, Old Jack placed him on the cart and wheeled him back to the ice casket, securing the latch once more.
After lighting an incense stick in front of the casket and giving a small bow, Old Jack left the room, adding a chain lock to the outer glass door as he exited.
Returning to his small office, Old Jack resumed watching his videos without giving the incident another thought.
Over the past few years, there had been a growing number of restless clients, especially those who had died unexpectedly. Tonight's visitor had actually been among the easier cases.
Usually, these restless clients didn't warrant calling in the members of the Blazing Sun Sect. As long as they could be managed on-site, the rest of the process could proceed normally.
The night passed quietly.
The next morning, as soon as Harry arrived at work, he ran into the director at the entrance.
"Take the client in VIP Room Seven over to the old cold storage."
Harry paused, realizing something must've happened. "Got it… did something go wrong?"
"This client had a bit of an incident. Apparently, he wasn't dressed up properly before his fall—looked like he had something important to attend to. So, he was a little unsettled last night."
The director paused before adding, "His eldest son and second daughter are still on their way here from out of town. They've asked us to hold off so they can see him one last time. Just put him in the old cold storage for now."
"Understood," Harry replied.
Though the director hadn't spelled it out, Harry could guess there was family drama involved. Rumor had it the deceased had a younger son who lived locally, a rideshare driver, who hadn't even been present when his father was brought in—apparently, he'd been driving a client to the airport.
Pushing the body, Harry made his way to the old building.
As he crossed the line at the end of the corridor, he noticed the body seemed to grow heavier, the stiff figure suddenly going slack and sagging onto the cart, as if an invisible weight had been added.
The charm affixed to the client's forehead crumbled into ashes and drifted away.
Harry frowned, glancing at the boundary line, 'What exactly is going on here? Even charms seemed to turn to dust past this line.'
Without a word, he placed the body into an empty compartment on the basement floor of the old cold storage, meticulously following the procedure.
Around noon, Chandler, a man with rimless glasses, arrived at Serenity Funeral Home, visibly agitated. His father's body had been moved to the old storage due to a supposed freezer malfunction— an explanation he was not pleased with.
"I want to see my father. Don't tell me you've already cremated him."
"Did Cavin tell you to do this? What gives you the right?"
He demanded answers from the staff, even pulling out his phone to record them.
Just then, his phone rang, the screen displaying "Cavin."
Taking the call, he was about to say something when his brother's voice cut him off.
"Chandler, I'm in South City, but couldn't get a high-speed train ticket. Come pick me up. I've informed the funeral home we'll send Dad off tomorrow."
Chandler visibly relaxed, finally calming down. Just then, Angela, the funeral shop owner, arrived, approaching him in a low voice.
"Your father's restoration took a lot of work. Given his condition, he wanted to look presentable. Plus, your family's on a tight schedule. I had to pull a few strings to get someone to stay late to finish the job…"
Without another word, Chandler took a few steps toward the preparation room, only to turn back and leave in silence.
Once he was gone, Angela quickly went over to smooth things over with the funeral staff.
With his extensive experience, she'd seen it all—including families brawling at funerals over inheritance. This was just a minor hiccup in comparison.
The day passed uneventfully, and night fell.
In the old cold storage, the elderly man's eyes twitched slightly within the ice casket. A faint sound escaped his throat, like the flow of air trying to form words, "Harghhh...."
With a jolt, he opened his eyes.
His gaze was dull and lifeless, devoid of any awareness, while air continued to escape his lips in what seemed like garbled speech.
Slowly, he began absorbing the frigid air around him. Like before, he nudged the ice casket door repeatedly, each collision coating the metal with a thin layer of frost.
After several hours, the deformed door creaked open.
The man, covered in frost, tumbled out of the casket, still muttering indistinctly as he dragged his rigid body toward the basement door, "Hargggg... Harggg.."
Raising an arm frozen stiff, he pounded on the door, each strike causing his cracked skin to peel back, revealing bone beneath. Yet he continued, his strength increasing with each blow as his body thawed.
The door lock shattered, and he stumbled down the stairs, tumbling head over heels.
He landed on the next level down, labeled for compartments 51 through 100.
His previously reset neck snapped again, causing his head to droop onto his shoulder as he used the exposed bone to smash through the next door lock. Once the door was open, he staggered toward it.
Reaching compartment number 51, he extended a hand and opened it.
He tore open the body bag inside, revealing a desiccated corpse coated in waxy layers. The only distinguishing feature was a face that appeared to be covered by a wooden mask.
With empty eyes and a mindless expression, the man stretched out a hand, pulling the corpse out inch by inch. He began to tear at its face, slowly peeling away what looked like a wooden mask, and clutched it tightly in his hand.
Then, clutching the mask, he stiffly began his way back up the stairs.