Chapter 15

He Jinchao was mistakenly identified as his own anti-fan and was promptly blocked. The reason? He had merely commented, “He Jinchao is dead.”

“‘Merely’?” Ling Chen reminded him. “That’s one of the worst curses you can say to a celebrity.”

“Is it really that bad?” He Jinchao replied, surprised. “I thought stuff like, ‘The tax office will investigate your sister tomorrow,’ or, ‘Your brother will spend his whole life using a sewing machine,’ would be worse.”

Ling Chen: “…”

In short, He Jinchao had thoroughly blocked his own path to contacting his team via private messages on Weibo.

“Fine,” He Jinchao was quick to let it go. “I think your colleagues were just gossiping privately. They probably won’t spread it online, so there’s no need to worry too much.”

Ling Chen thought about it. Most of their colleagues were older women who barely used the internet and certainly wouldn’t create accounts just to leak information.

Compared to them, He Jinchao, who was always active online, was far more worrisome.

“What’s with your account name?” Ling Chen pointed to He Jinchao’s phone. “Your ID is really strange: @WarmFeelingCorpse. Why would you choose that?”

He Jinchao replied, “Don’t you think it’s humorous?”

“No,” Ling Chen stated firmly. “Your dark jokes are just dull.”

“Then you need to work on your sense of humor.” He Jinchao grinned. “As my fan, you need to match my standards.”

Ling Chen thought his greatest regret in life was letting He Jinchao discover he had once been a fan. That wasn’t just a black mark on his history—it was a criminal record.

Besides Weibo, He Jinchao had also registered a new, smaller WeChat account with only two contacts—Ling Chen and Hu Yizhi.

Ling Chen rarely updated his moments. His last post was from New Year’s Day when Director Song made all employees share an article titled ‘XX Funeral Center Wishes You and Your Family a Happy New Year.’ Supposedly, Song had written it himself in twenty minutes and was quite proud of it. When Ling Chen shared it, he was promptly unfriended by three relatives, two classmates, and five clients.

Hu Yizhi was the opposite. Although he was shy and stammered in real life, he was a social media whirlwind, posting seven or eight times a day. Late at night, his posts got more bizarre as he addressed anime characters as his wife, sister, mother, daughter, or his “soft, sweet little cake.” His profile picture changed every three days—from a carrot smashing the earth yesterday to the Snow King reigning supreme today.

To He Jinchao, Hu Yizhi was like a digital pet. Every time the tech wizard posted, He Jinchao was the first to like it.

“Xiao Ling, you should post more.” He Jinchao complained, “I’m bombarded with Hu Yizhi’s updates daily. My aesthetic standards are dropping.”

Ling Chen thought: With your strange username, your aesthetic standards aren’t exactly high.

He dismissed it with, “I go back and forth between my dorm and work. There’s nothing worth sharing.”

“How is that possible? Life is full of things to share. The stray cat in the yard, a new dish in the cafeteria, clouds drifting over the mountain, or—” He Jinchao framed his hands like a camera, aiming at Ling Chen. “—a selfie.”

“A selfie?”

“Of course! Good-looking people should post selfies. It’s a constitutional right.”

“Which constitution?” Ling Chen laughed at the absurdity.

“My constitution,” He Jinchao said with emphasis. “‘My’ country.”

Ling Chen: “…So, you rule your own nation. Should I be shouting, ‘Long live the Emperor’?”

“Beloved consort, you may rise,” He Jinchao chuckled. “This kingdom doesn’t have just me. You’re my fated ghost spouse, bound by red threads of destiny. Of course, you get to be the queen.”

Ling Chen had no idea how to respond to that.

Annoyed, he repeated, “He Jinchao, your jokes aren’t funny.”

—-

Ling Chen’s workload that day was light, but one case stood out: a sudden car accident had left a man dead, and the cosmetic reconstruction was challenging. Ling Chen spent over three hours restoring the deceased’s face to match the family photos. Unlike those who passed after a long illness, sudden deaths were devastating for families. Even behind thick doors, the weeping was impossible to ignore.

He remembered his first case—an accident victim. Guided by a senior colleague, he pieced together the body and covered the sunken skull with a wig and makeup. He couldn’t recall how he managed it; he only remembered retching in the bathroom afterward—not from disgust but sorrow.

In the three years since, he had grown skilled and composed, mastering a task that seemed insurmountable to most.

When he finished, he stepped outside. The family rushed in, wailing around the casket.

The deceased’s daughter offered Ling Chen a cigarette. He accepted it.

“Thank you for letting my father leave with dignity,” she said, eyes bloodshot. Her trembling hands took several tries to light the cigarette for him.

“Please accept my condolences,” Ling Chen murmured, holding the cigarette as smoke curled into the air.

He sat by a small garden pond. The tranquil surroundings of their workplace were fed by mountain streams, where winter frost formed a thin crust and summer brought darting fish.

He Jinchao drifted over and sat beside him. “Are you upset?”

“No.” Ling Chen twirled the cigarette. “Just tired.”

He pulled down his mask and inhaled the crisp mountain air. The scent of cosmetics and faint blood clung to him, soon to be overtaken by disinfectant.

He Jinchao fell silent.

After a while, he asked, “I’ve always wondered—why did you choose this job?”

Many had asked the same. When he was accepted, his family cursed, teachers questioned, and classmates gossiped. Yet, he’d marched forward with his simple luggage.

“A job is a job,” Ling Chen flicked ash from the cigarette. “It pays well and doesn’t involve complicated socializing. At least, life was good before you showed up.”

“Sorry,” He Jinchao said softly. “I became your unexpected plot twist.”

Ling Chen glanced at him. “As long as you know.”

He Jinchao knew that Ling Chen’s words were just perfunctory. He often felt that Ling Chen was a distant and mysterious person, guarding himself with an invisible protective shell and never forming deep connections with anyone. During the past few days, He Jinchao had followed him almost twenty-four hours a day, yet he had never seen him chat much with any colleagues, nor had he seen him contact any family or friends.

Lingchen always seemed lonely, as though no one could truly reach his heart.

It wasn’t until the cigarette between his fingers burned out entirely, turning to ashes on the ground, that Ling Chen prepared to get up and leave.

Just then, a tortoiseshell cat suddenly darted out of nowhere. With lightning speed, it leapt onto Ling Chen’s lap, its paws kneading his legs as if making dough before it finally curled up, content, into a tight ball.

Lingchen: stiff.jpg

He Jinchao leaned in with a grin. “Didn’t know you were so popular with animals, Xiao Ling. First, the Great Witch’s hamster ran straight for your feet, and now a cat’s taken a liking to you.”

Their workplace was full of stray cats in all sorts of colors. They often prowled the woods, hunting at their leisure, and occasionally paraded down the streets proudly carrying plump rats in their mouths.

These cats had no fear of humans. They often randomly chose a lucky spectator and boldly sprawled across their laps.

To be fair, it was quite a clever trick.

Whenever there was a funeral, the cats would line up to “haunt” the bereaved families. Some relatives, being superstitious, believed that the cats were messengers guided by the deceased. The soft-hearted ones would often take one home to adopt.

Of course, the grieving families probably knew deep down that the cats had nothing to do with their loved ones.

But a brief moment of emotional solace was still better than a heart burdened with endless sorrow.

Lingchen nudged the cat on his lap and murmured softly, “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not family, and I’m not adopting you.”

He Jinchao, fond of animals, reached out to poke the cat’s ear. The cat twitched its ear in response and then flipped onto its back on Lingchen’s lap, opening its eyes and staring directly at He Jinchao with slit pupils.

“…It can see me,” He Jinchao muttered, cautiously floating to the side. The cat’s gaze followed his movement exactly.

Lingchen was surprised but quickly made sense of it. “Animals are spiritual beings. Living in a funeral home, it’s no wonder they might see things ordinary people can’t.”

He Jinchao scratched the cat’s chin, and it nuzzled into his hand, rubbing its furry head against his palm affectionately. He Jinchao beamed with delight. “I’ll reward it! Lavishly! I’ll buy cat treats, cat food, a cat bed, a scratching post…”

“Save it,” Lingchen reminded him dryly. “You’re a ghost, not a person. Even if you buy all those things, what happens when you disappear in three months? If you can’t give it a home, don’t give it hope.”

“Xiao Ling,” He Jinchao disagreed. “Just because I’ll disappear in three months doesn’t mean our encounter is meaningless. Even a short companionship is better than walking past each other indifferently.”

“…”

This was where their philosophies differed.

Ling Chen firmly believed that if there was no “future,” there should be no “beginning.” But He Jinchao believed that without starting, how would you ever know what the future could be?

Neither could convince the other, so they both fell silent. The carefree cat, oblivious to their debate (or perhaps too lazy to care), rolled onto its back again, exposing its soft belly.

He Jinchao was incredulous. How could Ling Chen be so coldhearted? The cat had shown him its belly, and he still resisted petting it!

Had he kicked a habit from a past life?

While they remained silent, neither noticed the graceful figure that quietly approached Lingchen.

“Excuse me,” a sudden female voice startled him. “May I ask…”

Lingchen jumped in surprise. He hadn’t noticed the woman’s approach and had no idea if she’d overheard his “conversation” with He Jinchao. If she had, he’d have to pretend it was just him talking to himself.

Caught off guard, his reflexive jolt disturbed the cat, which rolled off his lap in a disgruntled heap.

The cat bared its teeth, hissing at the young woman who had appeared out of nowhere. Its eyes widened, and all its fur stood on end.

“Ah!” The woman took a step back instinctively.

The cat hissed once more, backing away slowly until it reached the bushes, then darted off in a flash.

The woman apologized quickly, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare your cat.”

“It’s not mine; it’s a stray from the grounds,” Lingchen replied, looking up at her. But when he finally saw her face, his words caught in his throat.

It was late, and the sun was nearly set. Yet the woman wore a wide-brimmed sunhat and dark sunglasses, as though deliberately trying to hide her identity.

She was tall, with fair skin, and the lower half of her face was small and delicate—clearly a beauty.

Lingchen felt she looked familiar and stared a moment longer than he should have.

Sensing his gaze, the woman awkwardly adjusted her sunglasses and asked, pretending to be calm, “I noticed your uniform. Are you a staff member here?”

Ling Chen forced himself to look away. “…Yes. Can I help you?”

“I’m here to collect ashes. Could you tell me where to go?”

“You need the columbarium,” Lingchen explained, standing up to point the way. “You’re heading in the wrong direction. This area is for farewell ceremonies. Head that way until you see a white building with several chimneys. Go in through the side entrance.”

“Thank you.”

After a brief exchange, she turned to leave. She wore a black dress, and as she walked, her skirt swayed like a flower blooming in the shadows. When passing others, she lowered her hat to avoid their gaze.

Ling Chen watched her silently.

He Jinchao suddenly spoke. “I didn’t expect her to be the one collecting the ashes—Zheng Linlin.”

Ling Chen was startled. “You know her?”

“Of course I do,” He Jinchao reminded him. “And so do you. Remember that family brawl at the memorial hall? She’s the deceased’s grandniece—and one of our agency’s newest actresses. We even worked together on a film.”

Now that acting was mentioned, Ling Chen recalled seeing her in He Jinchao’s recent movie.

But there was a more pressing matter on his mind—

“Did I see it wrong, or can you also see…” Ling Chen pointed to the actress’s back. “That child on her shoulders—isn’t it a ghost?”