Harry returned home and immediately started searching for anything unusual on internet. It is the most efficient way, or at least that's what he thought.
He clicked an article that summarised the major historical events.
"Not this one..."
"Not this one either..."
Unfortunately, after a long search, all he found were fake, clickbait articles.
After finally finding one that seemed somewhat credible, he scrolled to the bottom only to be greeted with a line of text:
"To read the full story, please log in to 4Chan and search..."
Harry felt speechless.
Giving up on unreliable sources, he decided to focus on information related to Serenity Funeral Home.
At least the staff records were easy to find.
The director's name was Keith, and he'd been working there for most of his life.
"Old Wayne... Wayne.... Wayne...."
Harry looked for the "Wayne" that the director had mentioned. Currently, there was no one by that name.
After digging into last year's records, he found a man with the surname Wayne, but he had already passed away.
As for the other information, not much was of value.
For example, the fire evacuation map had a marked escape route.
It confirmed that Serenity Funeral Home had been expanded twice. The building where he had encountered the ghost was the oldest office building.
The current office was a newly constructed one.
Harry had hoped to uncover something abnormal, but all he found were fragmented and vague rumors.
Shutting off his computer, Harry shook his head, 'Forget it. I'll just ask the director later.'
He now had no doubt that the Soul Devouring Beast was real and that he had encountered it on his way back in the dream, 'Something must have happened at that time...'
Moreover, the fact that he couldn't leave without choosing a profession that day was likely tied to the appearance of the Soul Devouring Beast.
However, no massive deaths had occurred anywhere in the country.
Whether through news outlets or social media, all that could be found were minor natural disasters: flash floods here, a small earthquake there, or a chemical leak somewhere else.
None of these incidents had caused more than a handful of casualties.
Yet, Harry was feeling nothing but odd. The food he loved had all lost its "soul," and no one else seemed to think anything was wrong.
He himself had also become a soul-less person. He was certain of this because he had clearly felt his soul being drawn out of him. He definitely hadn't been born without a soul.
So, the Soul Devouring Beast was real, but it seemed to have a slightly skewed understanding of what a soul was.
At least with food, the soul could still be restored.
But once a person dies, that's it—there's no going back.
If that's the case, Harry figured he could come to terms with it.
The world had changed, or maybe it had been different all along, and he just hadn't noticed.
Thinking back carefully, there had been signs, but he had never considered them before.
———
The next day, Harry went to work as usual. He wandered around like a slacker, learning the ropes, familiarizing himself with the place, and spending most of his time finding sunny spots to relax.
The director still hadn't assigned him any tasks. The other two deputy directors didn't bother with him either. In fact, in the three days since he'd started, he'd only seen one of the deputy directors, the one in charge of administrative work.
But after just three days, he already felt uneasy.
Unable to suppress his curiosity, he made his way to the director's office.
He wanted to ask about the thing he had encountered in the old office building and what had happened afterward.
More importantly, he was intrigued by the strange and strict staff code in the old office.
Based on his experience, each rule probably represented something that had actually occurred.
However, in his three days at the funeral home, he hadn't heard a word about anything related to those rules from any of his colleagues.
The only rule-related incident he had heard about was a colleague in the cremation department who had accepted a bribe from a family member. The deputy director had given him a stern talking-to in the office and sent him home to reflect.
Harry knocked on the director's office door.
Keith was still wearing that ill-fitting black suit, even in the office. The tears in the fabric were no longer visible.
'But seriously, isn't he hot in the middle of summer? Even only seeing him in that giving me sweats.'
Harry glanced at the air conditioner—set to 19 degrees Celsius.
The director smiled warmly and gestured for him to sit.
"Have a seat. Actually, I've been thinking to talk to you."
"You're curious about what happened with that thing the other day, right?"
"Well, Old Wayne is busy, so you'll have to go to the old cold storage room and find drawer number 89."
"Inside, you'll find the body of that guy we encountered. He's likely after his own body. Push him over to the cremation department. There's a luxury furnace available."
"Then in the afternoon, join me for lunch. An old friend of mine is visiting, and we need to entertain him."
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the director walked over and patted him on the shoulder, 'But...'
"Relax. The guy crossed the Line, so he's gone for good. Just follow the procedure and burn the body."
Harry still wanted to say something, but the director just laughed.
"Young people aren't still scared of this stuff, are they? Want me to go with you?"
As Harry left the director's office, he sighed.
The director had only been making a polite offer. He actually would have liked the director to go with him.
After all, he had seen with his own eyes that the director would collapse if he crossed the line.
As Harry reached the lower floor, the director opened a window and called out once more, reminding him:
"Remember to check the staff code first."
Harry made his way to the old office building, walking down the long hallway and crossing the line at the end. That's when he noticed an elevator and a staircase leading down.
After hesitating for a moment, he chose for the stairs and descended to the basement, 'No way in hell I'll take the elevator. I have seen enough movies...'
The door to the first basement was labeled "1-50."
He continued down to the second basement, where the label read "51-100."
The door was locked, but with the key the director had given him, Harry unlocked it.
A chilling gust of air hit him as he entered. Inside were a few simple wheeled beds and a row of stainless steel cabinets, each labeled with a number etched into the door and traced over in red paint.
It looked very ordinary, not much different from the ones he'd seen before.
Harry was about to mutter a polite greeting but remembered the staff rule he had just read multiple times in his head.
[No talking in rooms where bodies are present.]
He put on a mask and gloves, walked to drawer number 89, and pulled out the body, 'Ugh, it stinks. What's the name ?', He flipped over the tag to see.
'Name?umm.... Check.'
'Serial?.... Check.'
After confirming the identification details, he unzipped the body bag and found a wax-sealed corpse inside.
This body had been stored here for at least ten years.
The waxed corpse looked exactly like the phantom he had encountered a few days ago, just far less menacing.
'Alright, identity confirmed.'
Harry zipped the bag back up, locked the door to the cold storage room, and took the elevator back up. Everything went smoothly, with no incidents.
He didn't even feel much pressure or fear. He was certain this was just a body—nothing more.
Watching the wax corpse being pushed into the boiling furnace, Harry inexplicably let out a sigh of relief.
At that moment, he realized this might be the first client he had personally sent off since starting this job.
'It probably counts… right?'
After a while, someone approached him, snapping him out of his thoughts.
The man was in his fifties, with a weathered face. He wore a blue work uniform and held out a cigarette box.
"You'll get used to it."
Harry hesitated for a moment before taking one and following the man outside.
As the man puffed on his cigarette, Harry, without thinking, asked:
"Uncle Jack, is this common around here?"
"Not really." Jack Kent responded naturally, knowing exactly what Harry was asking. "If you're not used to it, come work in the cremation department. Everyone's easy to deal with—from the families to the bosses."
"What if you run into a client that's a little… restless?"
Jack took a drag from his cigarette and chuckled.
"Then you turn up the heat."