I want you

2 Episode

Morticians have many unwritten rules, such as not handing out business cards, not attending weddings or celebratory banquets of friends and family, not proactively disclosing their profession, not shaking hands, and not saying "hello," "goodbye," or "safe journey" to visitors. This profession is relatively stigmatized both domestically and abroad, probably because its primary job is to bid farewell to the deceased.

Emily had seen the mortician her uncle hired for her parents when she was a child and remembered some of these rules. She said nothing but noticed Michael wearing a thin shirt and trousers at the mortuary entrance. The late autumn wind blew through the door crack, making both of them feel a bit cold. She hurriedly said, "Let's go inside. It's getting late."

Michael nodded and turned to lead the way. His slender and tall figure appeared ethereal in the dim light but didn't feel eerie or sinister at all.

The scent of his suit filled Emily's nose, like a warm breeze subtly permeating her skin. She shivered involuntarily and then sneezed violently.

Michael glanced back at her, his face expressionless as he turned. He handed her another clean handkerchief, this time a dark plaid one, which seemed personal. She wondered what the previous one was for.

Seeing Emily's continuous thanks and puzzled expression, Michael said lightly, "Don't worry. It wasn't for Mr. Howard."

Emily was taken aback. Michael's directness in addressing her unspoken thoughts made her feel a bit at a loss. Unexpected emotions surged in her heart, and she coughed lightly, patting her flushed cheeks. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."

Michael smiled briefly, and for a moment, it seemed as if even the light around them softened. But the smile was fleeting, and he quickly returned to his gentlemanly demeanor, indicating that he didn't mind at all.

Michael led Emily into a warmly decorated suite. The floor was covered with wooden planks. He changed his shoes and squatted to take out a new pair of slippers for her from the shoe cabinet. He then told her, "Wait a moment, I'll find you a clean set of clothes."

Emily was surprised to see him walk into the room, open a wardrobe, and take out a brand-new white shirt and trousers. He looked back at her and said in a low, gentle voice, "I'll go inside and prepare. You can change here." He placed the clothes on a nearby table, walked a few steps, and lifted a curtain to enter an inner room.

Emily didn't know why he had clothes prepared there, but it was undoubtedly out of kindness. Her current clothes were soaked, and if she continued wearing them, she'd catch a severe cold. She had to work to earn rent money, so she couldn't afford to fall ill. She quickly changed out of her wet clothes, tidied herself up in a small mirror on the wall, and softly called out at the curtain's edge, "Mr. Bo, I'm done. Can I come in now?"

"Come in," Michael's voice was as mellow and magnetic as ever, so pleasant that she couldn't help but blush again.

Emily lifted the curtain and looked inside. Michael stood straight beside a coffin leaning against the wall. Next to it was an operating table, structured with two layers—the upper one being a specially designed operating platform, the lower one resembling a bathtub for drainage but appearing as a bed. Howard lay quietly on the table, covered from head to toe with a white cloth, making it impossible to see his face.

Emily was stunned. Though she hadn't seen her uncle often, knowing he was alive had been a source of comfort, a reminder that she wasn't entirely alone in the world. Now, even that remaining pillar was gone.

Michael had heard some details about Howard from Captain Johnson and knew a bit about Emily's situation. He glanced at her and said coolly, "You can participate in the mortuary process if you don't..."

She didn't know what he intended to say, "If you don't mind," "If you're not afraid," or something else. But she only had one answer.

"I'll do it with you," she said, her voice trembling as memories of her family and the bloody scene of her parents' death flooded her mind.

Forcing herself to take deep breaths, she barely suppressed the overwhelming emotions that made her legs feel weak.

"What do I need to do?" She walked to Michael's side, staring intently at Howard's body. Suddenly, she turned away, her eyes welling with tears that threatened to fall but didn't.

Quickly regaining her composure, she turned back, seeming calmer.

"Clean yourself up over there," Michael pointed to a washing area in the corner. Emily nodded repeatedly and hurried over to clean herself thoroughly.

Emily was undeniably beautiful. When silent, she had a somewhat aloof aura, accentuated by a charming mole beneath her left eye. Her damp hair clung to her cheeks, her sharp chin, lips, and nose outlining an enchanting profile.

Michael discreetly averted his gaze and continued his work. Shortly after, he sensed her presence beside him again. Emily's voice followed, "I'm done."

The small room had no windows, and the girl's voice, accompanied by the night wind, whispered in his ear. Michael's lips curved slightly. "Let's begin."

Emily was somewhat nervous. Although she had seen the mortician her uncle hired for her parents, she was too young to remember the details vividly. She was merely familiar with the process.

As the white cloth was lifted, an unpleasant odor hit her. Although her uncle's body had undergone preliminary treatment, making it not as gruesome, it still made Emily gasp and turn away, feeling as if needles pricked her heart.

Turning away, she noticed that Michael showed no reaction as if he hadn't smelled anything. Curiously, she observed him. His profile was exceptionally handsome, evoking an inexplicable urge to somehow possess him at first sight.

Michael's expression softened the moment the white cloth was lifted, especially his eyes, which were filled with obvious tenderness and respect. The embalming process seemed sacred to him.

Rational, sincere, composed, and humble, his careful movements showed no aversion or fear common among people towards corpses. Instead, he appeared more gentle towards the dead than the living.

Emily was captivated by his graceful movements, realizing too late that she hadn't helped at all. Embarrassed, she withdrew her hands and lowered her head in shame. "Sorry."

Michael glanced at her, his scholarly features exuding an intriguing aura. He said softly, "Miss Fang is very polite. It's rare to see such courtesy from a family member, either thanking or apologizing to me."

Emily knew that being a mortician wasn't a popular job. She felt awkward about her nervousness and instinctively touched her nose, pondering how to respond when Michael said, "Let's do this together."

She looked at him, seeing him at the head of the bed, indicating for her to help lift her uncle into the coffin.

Emily immediately moved to the other end and, under his guidance, helped lift her uncle's body into the coffin using a specific method. Her uncle's features, once difficult to look at, were now restored to his peaceful, living appearance. Lying quietly in the coffin with his eyes closed, he seemed to be merely asleep.

Tears finally fell, and Emily's voice was hoarse as she sincerely said, "Thank you."

Michael looked up slightly, a more prolonged smile appearing on his face. His eyes curved gently, like spring water melting ice, clear and warm.

Unfortunately, most of Emily's attention was on her silent farewell to her uncle. By the time she noticed the smile, it was already fading, his seemingly inadvertent glance making her heart flutter.