“Their expressions were normal, showing no desire to attack the living. When they appeared, they didn't cause people nearby to unconsciously fall into a state of panic, and only I, a Ring術士, could observe them... They aren't evil spirits, just souls unwilling to depart.”
Xia De silently summarized in his mind, but on the surface, he remained expressionless, looking at the old woman behind the church's small pulpit, who was reminiscing about her past life.
There are many reasons why souls do not leave after the death of the body. In this world where the extraordinary and mysticism exist, relics, the power of gods, the power of strange evil objects, unfortunate death locations, coincidental birth dates and death times, peculiar ways of dying, and the characteristics of the soul itself, among many other reasons, can all cause this phenomenon.
Attacks by evil spirits on ordinary people are actually the most common supernatural incidents handled by the Orthodox Church in the Steam City, and also one of the most harmful incidents to ordinary people.
The reason is simple: the soul bodies in this world have the characteristic of being “completely immune to physical attacks.” This means that if an ordinary person is truly attacked by an evil spirit, unless they are a devout believer wearing a holy emblem, they can basically only run for their lives; otherwise, even being covered in steam bombs would be useless.
However, the one beside Xia De was not an evil spirit, but merely a soul lingering in the world of the living; otherwise, it would have been eliminated by the church's power long ago. As for the reason for its appearance, Xia De didn't know, nor did he want to know, as it hadn't caused any negative effects.
“This is probably Mr. Watson’s soul, and it will disappear after the funeral.”
This was a hopeful expectation for the current scene, but unfortunately, he was wrong.
Pretending not to see the soul beside him, he kept his gaze forward for five minutes, then another cold aura appeared to his left, and at the same time, a second man's voice emerged:
“How interesting, I can actually see my own funeral with my own eyes.”
Xia De's eyes darted to the left again, and sure enough, a second soul appeared.
Both souls appeared to be middle-aged men in their forties, standing side by side on the carpeted aisle leading from the church entrance to the pulpit. They practically blocked the church entrance, and neither seemed to notice someone quietly watching them.
From the words spoken by the second soul when he appeared, he was the deceased, Mr. Watson.
“I didn’t expect you to die too, Mason.”
Mr. Watson said, and Xia De's ears twitched. Mason seemed to be Mrs. Worsent's maiden name, meaning it was the surname of the person who killed Mr. Watson.
Xia De focused his attention, becoming somewhat interested in the conversation that followed. After all, compared to a boring stranger's funeral, a conversation between two souls would surely be more exciting.
“Yes, fifteen years later than you. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Mr. Mason said. Both souls remained looking forward, not at each other, as if this was just a casual chat during a funeral.
“I don’t know why I’m here, I just heard her crying, so I came. The aging Greta is still so pretty, I really wish I could have lived to see this.”
Mr. Watson sighed.
“I also wish I could have lived to see my sister grow old, but alas…”
Mr. Mason sighed. Xia De hadn't expected a soul to be able to make such a gesture:
“When you appeared here, did you harbor any resentment?”
Mr. Mason asked again in a casual tone, and Mr. Watson replied:
“That was over thirty years ago. What good would resenting her do?”
“Her? Why resent Mrs. Worsent? Shouldn’t it be Mr. Mason?”
Xia De wondered inwardly, but his expression remained unchanged, afraid that if he were discovered eavesdropping, he wouldn't be able to hear the entire conversation.
“Yes, thirty years. I still remember that rainy night when I delivered red wine to your house. Sister Greta, who opened the door, was drunk, smelling of alcohol and blood…”
Mr. Mason paused:
“I always knew you two had deep conflicts. I didn’t expect her to kill you.”
Xia De blinked. He didn't really care what he was looking at; he was more interested in the conversation between the two ghosts. Mr. Watson seemed to have been killed not by his wife's brother, but by his own wife.
“That day she drank a lot, and then asked me about Miss Emma… You know I couldn’t explain.”
Mr. Watson’s tone was complex. Xia De wasn’t the kind of person who could analyze seven or eight emotions from a single sentence, but at least he knew that this soul was currently helpless, annoyed, and regretful.
“Yes, you couldn’t explain, after all, that woman was pregnant with your child. Look, that middle-aged man in the third row is 32 years old this year.”
Mr. Mason prompted, so the conversation paused for a while. Mr. Watson’s soul looked up for a long time:
“Greta didn’t make things difficult for them? I had already admitted it before I died.”
“She drank too much that night; the next day she didn’t remember what she heard or what she did. It was I who moved your body that rainy night and cleaned up the traces. Sister Greta only remembered that you two had a big fight, and then you left the house in a huff.”
As Mr. Mason's soul recounted the past, Xia De also had a question. Of course, he didn't intend to voice it; he didn't want to lose his right to listen to the story by interrupting.
“Later you ‘disappeared,’ and my sister was very sad. I persuaded her to travel out of town, and during that time, I transported your body back and hid it in your house’s basement, sealed behind a brick wall.”
“So, she wasn’t questioned by the police and could continue to live a respectable life?”
Mr. Watson concluded.
“Yes, I was suspected of murdering you, so I turned myself in. Later, I spent a very unforgettable time in prison, developed a chronic illness, and passed away not long after being released. I didn’t tell them what happened that night, after all, it wasn’t her fault.”
As the two men discussed these past events, neither showed much emotion, as if they were just chatting with an old friend.
Xia De, who was eavesdropping, was already thinking of telling Miss Louisa about what he had heard today; this would probably make excellent writing material. He had originally taken on this commission simply to relax before a big battle and incidentally to see Mr. Sparrow. Now, having heard such an interesting story, the time spent this afternoon was not wasted at all.
The conversation between Mr. Watson and Mr. Mason temporarily ended there. They stood side by side, watching Mr. Watson's friends from his lifetime bid their farewells one by one. The two souls only occasionally commented on the aged appearance of their old friends, and said little else.
And when the final pastor took the stage to praise Mr. Watson's life, Mr. Mason scoffed at the comment about his “loyalty in love,” and when he heard “he was naturally generous and benevolent,” he even openly ridiculed Mr. Watson beside him.
The latter didn't get angry, merely calmly explained his life. Xia De listened to Mr. Watson's confession in its entirety. If what he said was true, then he was likely a typical middle-aged businessman who was lecherous and greedy.
He wasn't a great villain, but he was certainly not a good person either.
At the end of the church funeral service, everyone stood up and prayed for Mr. Watson with the pastor. Xia De also stood up, repeating the words of blessing along with the voice of the elderly pastor.
The two souls did not speak along with everyone else. Only when everyone was seated and the pastor announced that the coffin could be moved to the underground crypt, Mr. Watson suddenly raised a question, which was also the question Xia De had while listening to the story:
“You said… did Greta truly forget what happened that rainy night? Or was it merely…”
“…unwilling to bear the guilt of killing her husband, ultimately leading her own brother to lifelong imprisonment.”
Mr. Mason completed the latter half of the sentence.
Hearing this, Xia De quickly glanced at the two souls again, worried that they might suddenly turn into evil spirits. But fortunately, they only raised the question, and their emotions remained calm.
Everyone stood up. The four professional pallbearers of the church lifted the coffin, which had been placed on a stand in the aisle. The pastor, Mrs. Worsent, Xia De, and Johns Wotsent, Mr. Watson’s brother, left the church first, followed closely by the lifted coffin, and finally by the relatives and friends who came to bid farewell.
The two souls did not leave, nor did they remain in the church, but advanced with the procession, happening to stay by Xia De's side.
Xia De continued to listen to the conversation between the two souls while watching Mrs. Worsent, supported by a middle-aged bodyguard, shedding tears.
They proceeded along the flagstone path connecting the small lecture hall, walking a hundred steps forward before turning left. Placing coffins in underground crypts is a more upscale burial method; large families can even own an entire underground crypt, allowing every generation of the family to rest together after death.
Of course, the expensiveness and high-end nature weren't due to the crypt's lavish decor, but simply because it was the tradition of the people.
“Now that you mention it, I also really want to know if she truly forgot, or if she deliberately chose not to remember.”
Mr. Mason said softly. Xia De glimpsed his soul looking at Mrs. Worsent ahead.
“Although the past is in the past, I also want to know. After all, her forgetting this matter resulted in me not being buried until thirty years later.”
Mr. Watson also said this.
“Then why not ask her directly?”
“Do you know how to make her see us?”
“No.”
“I don’t know either.”
The souls' conversation was monotonous. Xia De understood that what the book said was true: unprotected mortal souls cannot remain intact in the world. The two souls beside him were probably just fragments, only slightly stronger than the soul phantoms Xia De summoned with a Soul Echo.
Even without interference, they would likely dissipate very soon.
In Summer, the cemetery's wild grass and trees grew lush, but the diligent gravedigger kept his managed area very tidy. In the cracks of the flagstone path, the wild grass was only as high as the steps, and in the gaps between neat graves, large trees cast mottled shadows of the sun on the tombstones.
