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Dark Melody
墨書 Inktalez
The woman's fingers were long and pale, her nails painted a vibrant and captivating shade of purple. She possessed a delicate face, and the subtle allure in her eyes was unforgettable.
With a familiar motion, she extinguished the cigarette in her hand and slowly turned to face the man nestled on the sofa. Her cold voice shattered the silence, “Are you sure?”
“Mm,” he replied softly.
“Good. Rest assured, I will transfer the money to your father's account on time every month.” There was an undeniable firmness in her tone.
In the shadows of the sofa, the man's figure was obscured; he sighed silently, unheard by anyone. As soon as the woman stepped out of the room, she quickly dialed a number. A hint of joy and tenderness crept into her voice as she spoke, “Xiao Kai, he agreed. Soon, everything will be settled, and we can leave this place to continue searching. What do you think?” The man referred to as Xiao Kai, on the other side of the city, gazed at the fading dawn and silently vowed, “Once this is all over, I will definitely find you.”
The old classmate of my mother had passed away, and the body was sent to my Processing Room. As a senior mortician, my duty was to restore the deceased's appearance to that of their living self, as if they were merely sleeping peacefully. Leng Junqing—this was the name my grandmother had given me: cold and indifferent, a name I was quite satisfied with.
The deceased classmate of my mother, Mr. Xiao, was one of the city's leading businessmen who had died from a heart attack two days prior. The substantial shares he held would be inherited as part of his estate. Given the generous compensation involved, I naturally committed myself to fulfilling all tasks diligently as instructed. His lawyer, Cheng Luoning, brought the body to my Processing Room. This lawyer was polite and refined; even in the chilly Processing Room, his lips seemed to maintain a pleasant curve. “Miss Leng, thank you in advance,” he said.
I waved my hand dismissively and replied lightly, “This is work; it must be done with care.”
Dealing with a body was merely a systematic process: cleaning, disinfecting, massaging, and then dressing him in the prepared burial attire. At Mr. Xiao's funeral, my mother and I attended together. Indeed, funerals always seemed more solemn than death itself. His daughter, Xiao Ruoan, in her mid-twenties and at the height of youthfulness, exuded charm even wrapped in black attire. However, she emanated a strong scent of perfume that made me somewhat uncomfortable. She rarely appeared in her father's social circle and had always maintained her own independent space.
In contrast, Mr. Xiao's son, Xiao Ruohui, was short in stature and lacked the typical assertiveness associated with the Xiao family. He wore large sunglasses that obscured his cheeks. It was said he had just returned from America after having a poor relationship with his father since childhood; he had lived abroad for years with minimal contact with his father. Any communication came through letters or calls via his sister. Even at the funeral, there were no signs of sorrow or tears from him; his facial expression remained stiff and indifferent to both joy and grief. He merely followed behind his sister like a mechanical puppet performing for show.
Perhaps it was intuition that made me feel there was something hidden in the eyes of the Xiao family that I could not quite discern. This was simply my nature—I liked to observe things unrelated to me.
The atmosphere at the funeral felt strange; it was primarily outsiders who shed tears while the Xiao children awkwardly dealt with guests—somewhat clumsily even. Cheng Luoning's usual calm demeanor contrasted sharply with my indifference and seemed to complement the somber occasion perfectly. My mother was easily moved; she held Xiao Ruoan's hand tightly while whispering condolences. She insisted on being among the last to leave, so we departed alongside Cheng Luoning who also left late for downtown. As we drove away, I caught sight through the rearview mirror of a uniformed driver from the Xiao family opening the car door for Xiao Ruoan. The black Bentley matched perfectly with the funeral's atmosphere.
Yet this tall and handsome driver appeared somewhat rebellious; he had not been present at the funeral earlier. When Xiao Ruoan saw him, she smiled brightly and gracefully slipped into the car. Suddenly it dawned on me—her relief did not stem from having bid farewell to her father; rather it was this person coming to pick her up that transformed her sorrow into joy. I couldn’t help but smile wryly; indeed, wealthy families were different—surely even their drivers were carefully selected.
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