Wait a minute,

Karen suddenly realized something important:

He had seen some images on the bodies of both Mr. Mo San and Jeff;

Mr. Mo San had a strong aversion to being cremated, which Aunt Mary had confirmed was true because of his religious beliefs; he was very resistant to cremation.

And if what he saw with Mr. Mo San was true,

then what he saw with Jeff—a pair of legs and a face—wasn’t that also… true?

Images of the scene he witnessed at that house flashed in his mind, that pair of legs and the red high heels!

So,

Uncle’s first love’s family

was currently harboring a… monster!

On the way to the crematorium, two honored guests sat in the car.

On the way back, the car held two honored urns.

Although the funeral was rather simple, even bordering on sloppy, when they returned after the cremation, the heavens put on a show: it began to rain, adding a touch of farewell atmosphere to Jeff and Mr. Mossan’s departure from this world.

Looking at the urns in front of him, Karen thought to himself, *Just as I suspected, the jars in the basement really aren’t meant for pickling!*

Freshly cremated ashes are hot; sometimes, for the sake of convenience, the family would use jars from the basement for transport, later transferring them to urns branded with the family business's label.

Jeff’s urn was due for the welfare section of the cemetery, and none of Mr. Mossan’s children seemed interested in taking his ashes.

Even the simplest of cemeteries, even those that aren’t for burials, are not cheap. So the Mossan family was willing to pay the Inmoreless family an extra fee to help them get their father a “free” spot in the welfare section.

In essence, Jeff got to “hitch a ride” on Mr. Mossan’s funeral, and Mr. Mossan, in return, would benefit from Jeff’s welfare status. Barring any unexpected issues, the two urns would be placed in adjacent slots in the welfare cemetery, so, if they ever felt lonely, they could bang their skulls against the “wall” separating them for company.

Karen, still thinking about what his grandfather had said about the cost price of urns, curiously asked his Uncle Mason, who was driving:

“Uncle, what’s our profit margin on coffins?”

“A plain wooden coffin brings in around double the profit, while custom or specialty designs can go up to threefold. Those with prominent careers in government prefer understated, dignified coffins. Nobles, on the other hand, commission lavish, family-tradition-based ones, complete with family crests. As for the nouveau riche, they go for the most golden, gaudy styles they can get.

“We have a catalog at home with over two hundred different coffins. If you’re interested, you can browse through it later. Oh, and don’t mind the price tags—they’re marked up by five times their cost, but we offer ‘discounts’ when pitching to customers.”

Several times the cost…

Karen calculated in his mind. It wasn’t as excessive as Hughes’ cremation urns, which had a cost of less than 50 but sold for a thousand, a 20-fold markup!

It just so happened that Uncle Mason was on a roll with examples.

“Sure, our profits aren’t as outrageous as Hughes’ cremation urns, but even if they mark up their urns by that much, how much do they really sell for? Our basic coffin costs a minimum of 10,000 currency units.

“Plus, we don’t cater to the same clientele. The ones sent to cremation here are… well, they’re lower-end clients, but that’s their primary customer base. They cremate bodies daily; a month’s worth of cremations for them equals the profits of three of our regular sales.

“Of course, Mr. Mossan’s case isn’t the norm.”

“Uncle, have you thought about expanding the business?” Karen asked.

Mason shook his head. “I once tried to invest and leveraged it. Do you know what leverage is?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, my poor nephew, but because of your uncle’s failed attempts, a large portion of the inheritance that should have been your grandfather’s—and therefore yours—has significantly shrunk.”

After a pause, Mason added, “Please don’t hold it against me.”

By tradition in Ruilan, the eldest son typically inherits the family business, while the youngest goes out to seek his own fortune. So, technically, Karen, as the eldest grandson of the main branch, would inherit the funeral business, while Mason would only receive a share of the money or some stock without any say in company decisions.

“I don’t blame you, Uncle,” Karen replied.

In the memories of the previous “Karen,” there was always a positive impression of this uncle. Through their time together these past few weeks, Karen realized that although Mason could be “lazy,” “flippant,” and somewhat greedy, these were common enough faults. More importantly, Mason had a steady approach to life, family, and money.

He was, in fact, the most eager to make money and make a comeback. Once a financial investor in a major city, now he was relegated to driving a hearse. He clearly wasn’t content with this life.

“By the way, Karen,” Mason said, “next time we have a job, you should try dealing with the clients yourself and see how it goes. If it works out, you could formally join the family business and be eligible for profit shares.”

“Sure, Uncle,” Karen replied.

Working for the Inmoreless family—

No, *working for the Dis*—

would be an honor.

“And as for expansion, I think we’re fine as we are. Even if we could secure a loan, there’s no way we could compete in scale with the big chains. I think the key for us is to improve our service quality while finding new profit points. You’re an example of this.”

“Couldn’t Grandpa handle this role himself?” Karen asked.

“Your grandpa is a priest. Besides,” Mason shrugged, “who’s really honest with God anyway?”

Just then, the car hit a pothole, causing a noticeable bump. Though the urns weren’t damaged, they clanked together with a loud *thud*.

Mason glanced back and said, “When I die, I don’t want a funeral. Forget a coffin—I don’t even want an urn.”

“Oh? You’ve thought about it that far, Uncle?” Karen asked.

“After a while, you see so much of this stuff that it all starts to seem pointless. When I’m old, as long as Mina and Lent respect me, I wouldn’t even mind if they threw my ashes in a black plastic bag from the fish market.”

“What would you like done with your ashes, then?” Karen asked.

“Oh, that’s easy. Get a big flower pot, put my ashes inside, add some soil, plant something random on top, and set it in the garden. You guys can water it when you’re home, and when you’re away, I’ll look after the place for you.”

At that moment, Ron, who had dozed off earlier in the drive, was jostled awake by the bump. Hearing the conversation, he asked, “Mr. Mason, Master Karen, you’re talking about such a heavy topic?”

“Ron, what are your plans for your funeral?” Mason asked casually, taking one hand off the wheel to light a cigarette.

Ron laughed sheepishly. “I plan to spend my last currency unit before I die.”

“And your family?” Karen asked.

“Oh, I’m planning to ask that caregiver out from the nursing home. If that doesn’t work out, I guess I’ll have no family, let alone kids.”

“Then what about your final arrangements?” Karen asked.

“Final arrangements?” Ron patted his belly. “I heard they accept body donations at Luojia Medical College. They even call the donated bodies… what was it again?”

“‘Teaching cadavers,’” Karen answered.

“Right, right. Thanks, Master Karen. Heh, I’ll just sign a form and donate myself. I’ll become a teaching cadaver.”

Mason chuckled. “Didn’t expect that, Ron—you’ve gone up in my estimation.”

Ron scratched his head. “I didn’t study well as a kid, couldn’t learn a thing from books, and dropped out early. But I know this: getting into Luojia Medical College is no small feat. When I think about all those top students bowing to me and calling me ‘teacher,’ it makes me smile.”

Mason burst into laughter, and Karen couldn’t help but join in.

“Ron, you’d better start losing weight, though.”

“Losing weight? Why would I need to slim down to be a teaching cadaver?”

“Well, you see, when they cut you open, all that fat will stack up. The students will probably have to hold back their disgust while muttering, ‘Oh, why did we get such a… rotund teacher!’”

Ron immediately straightened up. “It’s that bad?”

Mason smirked. “Karen, how do you know all this?”

“Aunt Mary told me. You know how sometimes she has to handle, uh, ‘difficult cases’? She tends to complain about it over dinner.”

Mason nodded. “Yep, her temper’s only gotten worse over the years.”

Then, sighing, Mason flicked his cigarette ash and said, “All my fault.”

---

Back home around nine that evening, they placed the urns in the basement, marking the end of the day’s work. The late-night dinner left for them was mashed potatoes, smoked meat, and salad.

Karen washed up, and seeing the spread, felt a bit disappointed—especially after a long day and an even longer night. He’d hoped for something more substantial. Next time, he thought, he’d just cook for himself.

“Oh, my dear, I opened a can of pickled herring for you,” Aunt Mary announced with a smile.

When Uncle Mason heard "herring," he immediately spread his arms with a smile and kissed Aunt Mary several times right in front of Karen.

"This is a delightful dinner. I love it—and I love you for preparing it, my dear."

The day before, sitting in the car, Uncle Mason had told Aunt Mary that the meat pies she made were one of only two foods he truly loved. The other "culinary delight" he referred to was herring.

Karen blinked, suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding.

*Pop!*

The can made a muffled sound when opened, releasing a putrid smell of decaying fish.

Karen’s stomach clenched, and he felt nausea rising to his throat but managed to swallow it down. Compared to this, stinky tofu seemed like a fragrant delicacy!

Uncle Mason eagerly forked a piece and placed it in his mouth, chewing with a look of pure enjoyment. Without even asking Karen, he scooped another piece onto Karen’s mashed potatoes.

"Go ahead, Karen. In this family, you and I are the most devout fans of herring—no, its disciples!"

Karen held his breath, looking at Mason, who raised another piece and shouted, "To our faith!"

With that, he once again relished a bite.

Karen looked troubled, but considering that the previous "Karen" had liked this food, he had no choice. Besides, as someone who had enjoyed stinky tofu in his past life, he guessed this might be similar—smelling bad but tasting great.

Summoning his courage, Karen forked a piece into his mouth.

Instantly, his eyes widened as he spat it into a napkin, unable even to swallow it. He immediately left the table and headed for the restroom, where he started retching.

Back at the table, Aunt Mary and Uncle Mason looked slightly surprised.

"What happened to him?" Aunt Mary asked.

Uncle Mason guessed, "Maybe he caught a chill on the way back, with the car draft and rain?"

"I’ll get some medicine for him."

…

After vomiting, Karen leaned back, catching his breath, feeling resigned. He looked to see Pu'er, the cat, watching him from the doorway with what seemed like a mocking smile on its face.

"Are you laughing at me?"

The cat’s expression remained unchanged as it flicked its tail.

Outside, Aunt Mary’s voice called out, "Karen, are you feeling unwell? I brought you some medicine."

"Thank you, Aunt Mary. I’ll take it in a bit."

"And your midnight snack…"

No, Karen had no desire to return to that table—nor even the second floor, which was now filled with the stench of herring.

"I’ll grab a little something from Lent's stash; my stomach isn’t feeling great anyway."

"Alright. Take care. If you still feel sick tomorrow morning, I’ll take you to the doctor."

"Thank you, Aunt."

Karen heard Aunt Mary walk away, her voice soon scolding his cousin Lent: "You have cavities already, and yet you’re still hoarding snacks! Since you don’t care about your teeth, I’ll pull out every last one!"

In the bathroom, Karen felt a pang of guilt for his cousin before taking a long, soothing shower.

Afterward, he dried his hair with a towel as he walked back to his room. On the desk were milk, bread, a glass of water, and some pills. Lent was on the floor, sorting through a box under the bed, and looked up with a pout.

"Brother, Mom took away all my candy and chocolate."

Lent’s face held no resentment, only a hint of helplessness.

"I knew I should’ve finished them sooner instead of saving them."

Karen laughed, took out 1,000 rubles from his pocket, hesitated a bit, and then handed Lent only three bills. "Take this and buy yourself some sweets. If you run out, come to me for more."

Lent shook his head. "I can’t take your money, Brother."

"But little brothers are supposed to spend their older brothers’ money, aren’t they?"

"No, Mom says we’re supposed to look after you because…well, I do have an allowance too!"

In their family, all four children received the same monthly allowance, but since Lent and his siblings had parents, their mother kept their allowance for them, so they rarely had much on hand. Karen, however, without parents, received his full allowance each month and had managed to save up 6,000 rubles.

"Just make sure you brush your teeth every day and control how much you eat. You’ll be fine."

Karen placed the 300 rubles on Lent’s bed. He noticed some books and notebooks on the bed, likely dug out during Aunt Mary’s "inspection" earlier.

One of the notebooks had a white rose on the cover, which someone had colored in red.

Karen opened it. On the first page was a drawing of three people—two adults and a child. Despite the rudimentary style, he could make out that the left figure was the father, the right was the mother, and the child was in the middle.

"You draw well," Karen complimented Lent.

"Brother, that’s not my notebook."

"It’s not yours?"

In this house, if it wasn’t Lent's, it could only be… the previous Karen's.

Karen thought for a moment, realizing he had no memory of the notebook. Given its worn pages, it was clearly old.

"Hey, Lent, it’s time to brush your teeth and go to bed!" Aunt Mary’s voice came from the staircase.

"Coming, Mom," Lent called, running out of the room.

Karen sat on Lent’s bed, flipping through the notebook. The second and third pages showed similar family drawings, but on the fourth page, Karen frowned.

This page was entirely blackened, with only a white circle left uncolored in the middle. If analyzed from a child psychology perspective, this drawing suggested deep insecurity. The black likely symbolized a sense of protection, like a child pulling their blanket tight around them in the dark but leaving a small gap to peek out or breathe.

Turning the page, he saw similar drawings—black backgrounds with circles in different positions.

He froze when he reached the next page.

In this drawing, two figures lay horizontally—a father and a mother, lying down. A third figure stood beside them, holding something in his hand.

Karen brought the notebook closer, realizing the child had drawn something that looked vaguely like a sword, though it was much too short.