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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter of Revenge The Two Women Competing for a Man
"Are we leaving? Should we give him a call?"
"What's the point of calling if we're leaving?"
The chubby one paused his work, puzzled. "Did you invite him to a feast or something?"
"Feast my foot! I haven't had any orders lately; how could I afford to treat anyone?" Chi Xinrong made a face from the side, while Mi Monster looked embarrassed, caught in a dilemma.
"Sigh, such a hard life. I thought I could enjoy some good food."
"Eat? Look at you, you're already so fat; do you really need to eat more?"
Just then, a woman who looked like she had been through a lot approached, standing by the counter and asking, "Which one of you is in charge?"
The chubby one pointed at me. "That's my brother Qi."
The woman was skin and bones, her body resembling a frail frame, and she seemed sickly. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying, and her voice was slightly hoarse when she spoke louder: "Something happened at home. Can you come take a look?"
With the prospect of taking on a serious job and making money again, the chubby one's eyes lit up as he urged me, "Brother Qi, you should go right away. I'll cover lunch today."
The chubby guy's cooking skills were questionable. Sometimes when I was in a bad mood, I thought about shutting down this funeral home and opening a restaurant instead. With his presence in the kitchen, he would be an honest-to-goodness chef—probably even a top-tier one. But this guy was just too greedy; the phrase "money-hungry" fit him perfectly.
No more chit-chat; with an order in hand, I needed to get serious. I grabbed my notebook and asked for details: the deceased was her husband, along with his height, birth date, time of death, and other information that would be necessary for calculating the burial date.
During the Ghost Festival, those who passed away are referred to as Cannon Fodder. As I mentioned before, with the Ghost Gate wide open and Ghostly Enforcers worried about not having enough names on their list of spirits returning home, they needed to grab some living souls to serve as Cannon Fodder.
I currently don't know if this person is the Evil Spirit Collector who has captured the Cannon Fodder. What I need to do now is to clarify the events surrounding the deceased's death. My grandfather bestowed upon me a fourteen-character mantra: "Caution can catch the cicada of a thousand autumns, a steady heart can sail a ship for ten thousand years." This has helped me avoid mistakenly burying someone who is merely in a state of suspended animation.
The woman in front of me, named Su Aizhen, said her husband, Zhu Gui, was perfectly fine just the day before. He had no headaches or fevers; he went out for a stroll last night and returned feeling unwell, and then he didn’t wake up this morning.
Not waking up doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dead; perhaps his soul has wandered off. I asked with concern, “Did you call 10?”
“No, my child just returned home today, and no one in the village was willing to come to our house. So I thought he was dead and came to find you.”
“Is it confirmed that he’s dead?” I wondered how such a significant matter could go unnoticed by anyone in the village. Did she have some kind of conflict with the villagers that made them unwilling to help?
However, these details were not my concern. What I needed to do was visit her home.
I noted down the deceased's height and then asked whether it would be cremation or burial. There was space in her yard, and her husband had jokingly expressed his reluctance toward cremation while he was alive. I nodded and pointed to the room behind us where the coffin was kept, telling her to take a look. There was no need to pay a deposit for now; I would confirm whether the deceased was truly dead before making any decisions.
The woman nodded weakly, “It’s tragic; it should be me who dies, not him.”
“Auntie, stop complaining. Let’s go take a look.”
Before heading to the house of mourning, I had to make sure everything was settled with Mi. Fortunately, during my time taking orders, Chi Xinrong and Mi had been well-behaved. The two of them were whispering secrets in the car. I tapped on the car window.
Chi Xinrong rolled down the window and asked, “All set?”
I deliberately put on a gloomy face and replied, “Get lost; I need to talk to my Wife.”
“Wait, your Wife?” Chi Xinrong exclaimed dramatically, raising her voice in exaggerated surprise as she gestured toward Mi and shouted, “Mi, is his Wife that one?”
Mi lowered her head, the sound of mosquitoes buzzing in the air. "I'm not going to get involved in your quarrel."
"Wife, this isn't right. I'm your man; you can't ignore your man being bullied by someone else."
Mi hadn't responded yet.
Chi Xinrong became serious and shouted angrily, "Ma Qi, what am I? Am I an outsider?"
"Fine, if I can't provoke you, I'll just avoid you. I'm off to take care of some business now. Wife, send me a flying kiss and have fun."
"Dead Ma Qi, stop right there!"
I ran quickly, catching up with Su Aizhen, then said to her, "You lead the way on your bike; I'll follow behind on this old motorcycle." Chi Xinrong opened the car door and came out, while Mi kept apologizing. By then, I had already walked quite far with Su Aizhen.
After walking a bit with Su Aizhen, I realized she lived in Han Family Shangwan Village. The people in Han Family Village were often selfish and self-serving; her family was from outside the village and likely not well-received there. This led me to overturn my previous assumptions—her situation had nothing to do with her; it was the environment that shaped people, and she had come to the wrong place.
Han Family Shangwan Village was much larger than Han Family Lower Bend Village, with houses packed closely together. At that moment, the fields were filled with rice stubble, and a damp scent mixed with the aroma of rice wafted through the air.
Su Aizhen looked weak and struggled to pedal. Before long, I noticed beads of sweat forming on her forehead as her frail frame swayed unsteadily on the bicycle. I genuinely feared she would fall; she was unwell, and if she fell, it could be serious.
A few people stood ahead, seemingly discussing the prices of harvesters—who had harvested more and cursing those who operated them with crude remarks. When they saw us pass by, they scattered to make way for us. Some recognized me and nodded; others quietly asked, "Who is he?"
"From the Funeral Home."
"Did someone die in their family?" It seemed these people were unaware that Su Aizhen was from that family.
"Yes," someone replied.
"I didn't hear any firecrackers!" I clearly heard this statement and couldn't help but glance at the speaker. It was a middle-aged woman with a kind face and sympathetic eyes.
I thought that Su Aizhen hadn't set off any firecrackers, so the villagers must not know.
After a while, we wound through several Mao Bamboo groves and entered a narrow, knife-edged path. Reluctantly, I had to get off the motorcycle and push it along. Su Aizhen also got off and apologized to me, "We're almost there."
Emerging from the bamboo forest, I saw a pile of organic fertilizer that seemed to be made up of leaves and household waste. After circling around this pile, I spotted a low, three-room house. There was a ditch at the entrance, and a stone slab bridge led to their yard. To the left of the yard, two or three tripods made of Mao Bamboo were tied together with a bamboo pole laid across them. The pole was covered in black spots, and the entire yard looked relatively clean; this was a woman who valued cleanliness.
I parked the motorcycle properly, and Su Aizhen had already gone inside, quickly bringing out a cup of tea.
I waved my hand, "Let me see your husband first. Although I'm not a doctor, I can determine whether it's true death or just a faint."
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