At 8 o’clock on the morning of April 16, Feng Mu’s biological clock awakened him from his dreams as accurately as ever.
Although his body was two-thirds decayed, miraculously, his biological clock kept running precisely.
Feng Mu often found this absurd phenomenon puzzling: was it the corpse deceiving the biological clock, or the clock deceiving the corpse?
In the silent morning, Feng Mu’s thoughts began to drift.
He sometimes fell into strange contemplation, wondering if human souls truly vanished after death, but the corpse continued like a "zombie" in movies, would these bodies retain their habits and behaviors from life?
He imagined whether a swimming champion, after death, would instinctively soak in the water every day;
Or whether a hardworking corporate drone would still wake up habitually at 8 o’clock every morning, heading to work to clock in;
And whether a technician obsessed with work would still writhe in bed every day, becoming the best-selling health product—an inflatable doll.
These questions spun in Feng Mu’s mind, both bizarre and philosophical.
After a moment of fruitless pondering, Feng Mu got up from bed and reached for the drawer of his bedside table.
In a normal person’s bedside table, it might be filled with various items like condoms, massage wands, and little gadgets.
However, Feng Mu’s bedside table was different, neatly lined with glass syringes and needles, he was someone beyond petty amusements.
Rolling up his sleeves, he plunged the needle into a vein in his arm, feeling his muscles tense reflexively.
Feng Mu laboriously drew 200cc of blood, immediately feeling refreshed, even though at the martial arts club, he could serve as an "Iron Man Post" for Yuan Xidi and lose some blood.
But without the step of drawing blood with a needle, Feng Mu always felt uneasy, missing a touch of solemn ritual.
Just like watching "study material" in the private corner of a classroom through a phone, the difference between wearing headphones and blasting it aloud is obvious.
The former always carries a hint of guilty secrecy, the passion silently diminishing;
While the latter, each ripple of sound brings a resonance in the air, thrilling every pore, multiplying the tremor until even the soul shivers with pleasure.
The metaphor might be inappropriate, but the deep meaning contained in it, if you savor carefully, does connect.
Feng Mu gently pulled out the needle, his gaze lingering on the slightly bent syringes due to tense muscles, then without hesitation, he tossed them into the trash can.
"The syringe can still be cleaned and reused, but the needle can only be replaced."
Feng Mu sighed, now controlling Ma Bin’s wallet, he didn’t worry about small money, just found it a hassle.
Fortunately, these were just trivialities in life.
Feng Mu quietly squatted in the bathroom, carefully finishing his washing routine, an unspeakable calm and serenity swelling within.
The infamous "enemy" was no more, those secretive eyes disappeared, and the future revenge was cleverly transferred to others... everything was perfect.
At this moment, Feng Mu’s mood was like a serial killer who just committed another murder, entering a short period known as "cooling time" for sages.
Going out.
He still mounted that old bicycle that accompanied him through wind and rain, riding slowly along a familiar path to the distant crematorium.
With a week of absenteeism, Feng Mu’s salary for the month had been deducted entirely.
Taking a leave?
It was out of the question, in this world, there was no "Labor Rights Protection Law," and that the crematorium didn’t directly fire him was already beyond Feng Mu’s expectation.
Still, Feng Mu didn’t come to the crematorium for that salary.
"Unexpectedly, the crematorium is quite humane, I mean, quite corporeal~" Feng Mu thought humorously.
Wang Jian was still there, crouching on the steps, a cigarette between his fingers, exhaling smoke.
Feng Mu glanced at him, inexplicably finding Wang Jian’s honest and rustic farmer demeanor similar to someone he once met... Zhang Hao.
Of course, to Zhang Hao, the farmer’s color was just a surface disguise, but to Wang Jian, it was his truest nature.
Or so it seemed...
When he saw Feng Mu, his expression immediately brightened, undisguised joy and excitement showed plainly on his face.
Sitting beside Wang Jian was another slim young man with an unfamiliar face, a mask dangling from his ear, also smoking a cigarette in a cadenced rhythm.
When Wang Jian got up to greet him, the latter merely stood up, glanced at him expressionlessly, then took two hard puffs, tossed the cigarette butt to the ground, stomped it out with his toe, and turned back into the crematorium.
Feng Mu didn’t mind, he squeezed a slight smile at Wang Jian.
Before he could speak, Wang Jian spilled the words he’d pent up for a week like beans from a bamboo tube.
"Feng Mu, why didn’t you come to work this week?"
"I sent you messages, and you replied so slowly, did something happen at home?"
"Oh, that guy just now is the new incinerator worker hired by the factory, his name is Zhong Lei, not much of a talker."
"But don’t worry, I asked secretly, the factory has no intention of firing you, the corpse burn volume doubled recently, too much work to handle."
"..."
Facing Wang Jian’s sincere and caring eyes, Feng Mu patted his shoulder and casually replied, half-truths easing through.
"Well, something happened at home, someone was hospitalized, so I was delayed for a few days, but don’t worry, it’s all settled now."
"The workload increased again? Luckily another person was hired, or you’d be worn out, that would be my fault, sorry."
"Oh, so his name is Zhong Lei, not much of a talker, well that’s no problem, spend some time together, it’ll be fine."
Feng Mu maintained a gentle smile on his face, as warm as after a storm, his voice soothing and calm, giving Wang Jian a strange sense of trust and peace.
Feng Mu didn’t tell Wang Jian about his potential plan to resign, no rush, wait until the "job change" procedures are settled.
He actually didn’t need to come anymore, after all, as a "Blank People" resignation required no procedures, he just needed not to claim his salary, come if wanted.
But Feng Mu still planned to serve his remaining few days on duty, not for any other reason, just because he was someone who valued emotions and was a man of completion.
Watching the corpse bags on the small steel cart beside, lifting one end with Wang Jian, moving them to the cremation furnace, smelling the close stench, seeing those ugly yet harmless Calamity Corpses’ faces.
Deep inside Feng Mu’s heart, a rare sense of familiarity quietly arose, as if he found solace in this stinking air, a touch that soothes the soul deeply.
His mouth slightly curved up, speaking to Wang Jian in a relaxed and humorous tone: "Since the corpse burning doubled, did the Calamity Corpses reward you more Black Cores for your devoted send-off service?"
Wang Jian scratched his head, then carefully retrieved a heavy bag from the cabinet beside him, casually handing it to Feng Mu:
"It’s all here, the harvest from our crematorium rooms this week, all here. Luck’s been on our side, a total of 21 Black Cores, count them..."
Feng Mu took the bag, a trusting smile appearing on his face.
He wasn’t going to count them, as he always trusted friends with the greatest goodwill.
Feng Mu took out his wallet, counted a wad of cash, and handed it to Wang Jian: "The money for the Black Cores, and the debt I owed you, here, just check it."
Wang Jian wasn’t going to count the money either, as he now trusted Feng Mu as one would trust a spiritual mentor.
In the deep furnace, those once twisted and ferocious Calamity Corpses slowly melted under the high heat, the air filled with the scent of charred flesh.
Yet, in the midst of this fiery roasting, at the front of the furnace unfolded the most genuine and trusting friendship, allowing the already scorching air to warm the heart even more...