Chapter 6

This morning seems no different from many mornings before.

At 7:00 AM, Ling Chen was promptly woken up by his alarm, spending fifteen minutes getting out of bed and washing up. He changed into his work clothes—black pants and a white shirt—and went downstairs to find his little electric scooter in the garage. After enduring a bit of small talk with the security guard, he got on his scooter and prepared to head toward the cafeteria.

Just as he was about to twist the throttle, he suddenly remembered something.

He looked around and saw that the security guard had gone to patrol another dorm building. Turning his head, he glanced at the half-transparent figure beside him. One hand was on the scooter’s handlebar, the other tapping the seat behind him, as he called out, “He Jinchao, get on.”

He Jinchao, who had been floating beside him since this morning, furrowed his brow and cast a disdainful glance at the scooter. He spoke with a touch of sarcasm, “I only take the nanny car.”

“Nanny car? Where would you get one of those in a funeral home? All we’ve got is the hearse. Take it or leave it,” Ling Chen retorted, unwilling to pamper him.

He Jinchao, acting as if his status were above others, stayed frozen in place, refusing to move. “Tell me where the cafeteria is. You ride ahead, and I’ll float over and meet you there.”

“Big brother, you didn’t forget about our ‘line’ between us, did you?” Ling Chen bent his right pinky and pointed to his chest, reminding him. “I’ll ride in front, you float behind—are we in a cemetery flying kites?”

“…” He Jinchao imagined that scene and reluctantly lowered his head in defeat.

He swung his long legs over and gently sat on the back of Ling Chen’s scooter.

As a soul, He Jinchao had no weight, and Ling Chen asked with concern, “Are you sitting, okay?”

“I’m good,” He Jinchao replied, his arms naturally wrapping around Ling Chen’s waist. He was taller than Ling Chen by half a head, and when he sat down, his lips were right next to Ling Chen’s ear, his voice almost directly entering the young man’s ear.

Ling Chen’s heart skipped a beat. If he looked down, he’d see the translucent figure of the man holding onto his body. Even with a strong heart, he couldn’t help but get goosebumps. “What are you hugging me for?”

“Backseat passengers on a motorcycle hold the front passenger’s waist, and it’s the same for electric scooters,” He Jinchao answered, speaking as if it were common knowledge. “Ah, I get it now. Little Ling, are you shy? I can understand. After all, I’ve been number one on the ‘Most Desired to Be Hugged by a Male Star’ ranking for three years in a row. Other fans have to come up with all sorts of ways to take pictures with me. You get a free hug from me, no need to get too excited—this is a fan benefit just for you.”

Ling Chen: “…”

He regretted letting He Jinchao ride his scooter… No, if time could be reversed, he definitely wouldn’t have taken that makeup job for him late at night!

It turns out that walking down dark paths doesn’t just lead to encountering ghosts, but also to running into an ancestor alive and well.

—-

The staff benefits at the funeral home were quite generous. The cafeteria provided free meals three times a day with a variety of dishes, so Ling Chen took his time to enjoy breakfast before getting back on the scooter and heading to the office.

He Jinchao leisurely sat on the backseat, feeling the cool breeze on his face.

“Don’t forget to get me an iced Americano,” He Jinchao reminded Ling Chen as he held his waist. “You’ve eaten breakfast, but I haven’t.”

Ling Chen, riding the scooter with this “ancestor” behind him, casually replied, “I ordered it, but no one picked it up. It’s over ten kilometers to the town.”

The funeral center was nestled in a mountainous area, surrounded by hills on three sides and facing a body of water. It was indeed a prime location in terms of feng shui, but the only problem was its distance from the town. There was a coffee shop about ten kilometers away, but they didn’t take delivery orders, and Ling Chen couldn’t force the delivery driver to bring the coffee.

He Jinchao’s voice darkened. “I don’t care. I want coffee, and you promised me yesterday.”

Ling Chen: “Transfer five hundred to my account, and then I’ll help you out.”

“No way. You buy me the coffee first, then I’ll transfer the money.”

They were stuck in a standoff, each insisting on their demands—one wanted the money first, the other wanted the coffee. They bargained for a while, neither willing to back down.

They bickered all the way to the office building. The workday officially started at 8:00 AM, but since Ling Chen had a special position, he didn’t need to clock in. As long as he completed the assigned makeup tasks for the day, he could spend the rest of the time relaxing in the office.

There were four official employees in the postmortem beauty department, and the remaining three were senior workers who had been there for years. Ling Chen was the only young person and the only male.

When he arrived at the office, the other makeup artists had already arrived, each reviewing the day’s work schedule on their computers.

Most people in this profession were taciturn, not chatting during work hours and avoiding socializing after work. They were used to seeing life and death and showed little interest in the living.

“Your office is so quiet,” He Jinchao floated around the office. “The makeup artists I know are always up to date on the latest gossip—who’s a diva, who’s hard to please. They exchange information right away. You guys don’t talk?”

Ling Chen, not wanting to speak out loud, picked up a piece of paper from the desk and wrote: 【What are we supposed to talk about? Which guest turned into a ghost and keeps chatting non-stop?】

He Jinchao: “…”

Ling Chen logged into the system to check the work orders, only to find that today’s assignment was… zero.

He thought the system was malfunctioning and was about to ask the administration about it when a message popped up on his phone.

@Director Song: Ling Chen, have you arrived at the office?

@Director Song: Come to my office.

Director Song was the one who handled things with the agency late last night and assigned tasks to Ling Chen. He was in his fifties and had been with the funeral center since its establishment. He was a very approachable leader.

Ling Chen frowned at the message. “Why is the director calling for me?”

As an ordinary employee, even with a friendly boss, Ling Chen didn’t want to interact with him. He would rather handle ten work orders a day than sit down for a cup of tea with the boss.

He Jinchao saw right through him. “It’s definitely about me.”

Ling Chen was taken aback. “What?”

He Jinchao, confident, said, “You took a day off yesterday, so he didn’t have time to remind you. Now that you’re back at work, he’s calling you to his office to tell you to keep your mouth shut. Don’t mention the makeup you did for me to anyone, especially not your coworkers. Don’t forget, you signed a confidentiality agreement with my agency. If anyone from your office leaks the news of my passing, they’ll face huge compensation.”

Ling Chen admitted that He Jinchao’s guess was likely correct.

Knowing what Director Song wanted to talk about made Ling Chen less anxious.

Director Song’s office was on the top floor. Ling Chen originally wanted to leave He Jinchao in his office, but He Jinchao insisted on going along to watch the excitement.

He Jinchao said, “Your office is so lifeless, no one talks. It’s so boring.”

Ling Chen protested, “You, a dead person, calling us the living ‘lifeless’—that’s turning the heavens upside down.”

He Jinchao scoffed. “I’m dead, but not completely. You, on the other hand, haven’t lived smartly enough.”

—-

Knock, knock, knock.

Ling Chen knocked on the door of Director Song’s office.

A kind voice came from inside. “Is it Xiao Ling? Come right in.”

Ling Chen adjusted his clothes, pushed the door open, and walked in. He was closely followed by He Jinchao, who was never more than a step behind.

Director Song’s office wasn’t small, about a dozen square meters. One wall was lined with ten or so honor banners and several trophies, all awards like “Most Beautiful Worker,” “Advanced Unit,” “Best Party Branch,” and so on.

Taking advantage of the fact that Director Song couldn’t see him, He Jinchao drifted around the office, making loud comments.

“So many books on the shelf… Hmm, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, The Art of War, Zeng Guofan, do you think he’s actually read them?”

“Probably not, there’s dust on the books. They’re probably just for show.”

“This one doesn’t have dust! Turns out your director’s favorite is These Things About the Song Dynasty. Really fits the stereotypical middle-aged man.”

“Hey, there’s a photo for the ‘Most Beautiful Worker’ award, and that group photo is from many years ago, right? Director Song had hair back then.”

“Xiao Ling, I see a photo from your annual meeting. What performance were you doing there? Solo singing? I didn’t know you could sing.”

Xiao Ling this, Xiao Ling that—Xiao Ling’s head was buzzing.

Ling Chen shot He Jinchao a sharp look, hoping he would stay quiet for just one second.

But then Director Song, who was behind the desk, misunderstood and asked with a strange expression, “Ling Chen, why are your eyes twitching?”

Ling Chen: “…It’s been like this since I woke up this morning. Probably bumped into something unclean.”

“Something unclean?” Hearing this, Director Song frowned and reminded him, “Our unit has been rated as an excellent institution for several years. You’ve never missed a single lecture on ‘Science, New Customs, and Promoting New Funeral Culture.’ Don’t talk nonsense about superstitions.”

He Jinchao floated over to Director Song, casually leaning against the desk and mimicking his tone: “Did you hear that? Xiao Ling, no more superstitions.”

Ling Chen’s eye twitched even more—this superstitious, unscientific ghost was sitting right on Director Song’s desk, and Director Song had no idea. Truly an enviable materialistic force.

Director Song pointed to the sofa nearby, signaling Ling Chen to sit down.

He asked, “Would you like something to drink? I have tea, and I also have coffee.”

He Jinchao’s ears perked up at the mention of coffee. “Coffee!”

Ling Chen ignored him and replied, “I’m fine with just water.”

“Not even a cup of coffee? I just got a new coffee machine. Brewing a pot is quick,” Director Song said, trying to convince him. He had just gotten the new toy and was eager to share it with others, but was surprised when his subordinate wasn’t interested.

Ling Chen refused again, “I really can’t drink it. It’s too bitter.”

Seeing that Ling Chen wasn’t interested in coffee, Director Song gave up on the offer and poured him a glass of water.

He sat down on the sofa opposite Ling Chen, first asking how his work had been lately, how he was getting along with colleagues, and after a long roundabout, finally got to the point.

“Do you know about the history of our funeral home?” Director Song asked. “This used to be a village, where burial was practiced for centuries. Forty years ago, after the national push for cremation, with the help of the local government, they managed to relocate the 231 families in the village and turned it into a public funeral service unit. The original villagers were all moved to the town.”

This history was on their unit’s website, and Ling Chen had studied it when he first joined.

What confused Ling Chen, however, was why Director Song was bringing it up today.

Soon, Director Song revealed the hidden part of the story that wasn’t on the website: “In remote mountain villages like this one, they tend to be isolated and have their own beliefs and traditions. For centuries, their village leader was also their ‘Shaman.’ This Shaman helped the government mobilize the villagers to agree to the relocation. Later, this Shaman also responded to the national call, worked hard to learn, and became one of the first Party members in the village.”

Ling Chen’s mouth twitched, unable to say anything for a while.

He Jinchao, unbothered, asked the question on Ling Chen’s mind, “Can the words ‘Shaman’ and ‘Party member’ really coexist?”

“To honor the old village leader, our unit sends people to visit her during the holidays, bringing some gifts and chatting,” Director Song sighed, sipping his coffee. “But at the end of last year, the old village leader passed away. Before she died, she passed the title of Shaman to her grandson, a young man around your age. After graduating from university, he hasn’t worked and is a shut-in. Every time we visited, he wouldn’t even open the door for us, and our work has been hard to progress.”

Ling Chen had an inkling of what Director Song was getting at.

“Since the holiday season is approaching, I thought of you, Xiao Ling!” Director Song said cheerfully. “You’re a young man too! You’ll surely have some common topics to talk about. I haven’t assigned you any work today, so it’s the perfect time. Take some gifts and go visit the new Shaman.”

“…Huh?”

Ling Chen couldn’t believe it. Director Song had called him here just to send him on an errand.

He didn’t like socializing, and the thought of delivering gifts, possibly getting a cold shoulder, made his chest tighten.

Why would the boss think he had anything in common with this “Shaman”? He’d rather chat with his electric bike than with some stranger.

He instinctively wanted to refuse, but He Jinchao suddenly reached out and rested his hand on Ling Chen’s wrist.

His half-transparent palm “held” him, and even though Ling Chen couldn’t feel his warmth, he could see the excitement in his eyes.

He Jinchao said, “Xiao Ling, just agree to it.”

Ling Chen couldn’t speak and only questioned him with his eyes.

He Jinchao’s reply was firm: “Because the Shaman lives in the town, and there’s a coffee shop there.”

“…” Ling Chen’s hand shook, and the disposable cup of water he was holding was crushed, spilling water everywhere.

—Can’t the Shaman use some magic to get rid of this annoying ghost by his side?