I once heard that every industry has its busiest season, and now, at the end of the year, is the busiest season for death.
What does it mean when Death is busy? I believe many people understand. When Death becomes busy, it means that many people are about to die.
Once Han Jing thought about it, he couldn't return to his part-time job in a good mood. His part-time job was different from a regular job; he couldn't just quit whenever he wanted. From that day on, he no longer had the right to choose.
Changing my perspective, I realize it's alright; I'm glad it's just a part-time job. I only need to come back to work at specific times, and most of the time I can focus wholeheartedly on my main job.
With a sigh, Han Jing couldn't help but despise himself in his heart. Whether it was death or humanity, he was only a half-baked expert, and the feeling of not being able to do well in either field made him very discouraged.
Anxiety was creeping in, and I felt as if there was an unknown pressure constantly squeezing my brain, and as if a heavy object was pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Then, feeling uneasy that his room might be broken into at any moment, Han Jing got up in a slightly flustered manner and checked whether the doors and windows were locked.
The room wasn't big, and the check was completed in just a few minutes. My anxiety lessened slightly, but I still felt uneasy and uncomfortable.
He bowed, apologized, and hurriedly left the scene. He didn't even have time to get a clear look at the man's face.
Han Jing had no courage to pay attention to how many strange looks his actions attracted.
Sitting in the taxi, Han Duan wiped away the sweat that had trickled down his face from nervousness. He glanced at his watch; thankfully, he hadn't been delayed for too long. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart, and silently repeated seven times, "No one will get hurt... no one will hurt me." Only then did he gradually calm down.
There's really nothing I can do; I thought I'd encountered this situation less often lately.
After a short distance, the taxi stopped in front of a house that looked rather grand.
The gateposts bore the name Kawaguchi, and a notice about the taboo was hanging on a straw board beside the open gate. A middle-aged man who looked old was already waiting to the side, seemingly waiting for Han Jing to enter the house with him.
After paying his respects to the family, Han Jing politely inquired whether it was permissible to offer incense before the encoffining.
The deceased was an 87-year-old man who passed away in his sleep. He was discovered by his granddaughter.
After offering incense, the assistant placed the toolbox to the side, waiting for Han Jing to carry out the encoffining ceremony.
This is Han Jing's profession: mortician.
After the ceremony began, Han Jing fell silent, each touch on the deceased filled with solemn reverence. He covered the deceased with a white blanket, deftly removed the deceased's clothes, covered the body with the garment, and then removed the white blanket.
Soak a cotton cloth in disinfectant, wring it out, and then wipe the body.
Under the cover of clothing, Han Jing carefully wiped the deceased's body clean with a cotton cloth, and then prepared to change the deceased into the clothes that would accompany him on his final journey.
The entire process was smooth and seamless, without a single unnecessary movement. Even if the person in question (the deceased) stood by and watched the entire encoffining ceremony, it wouldn't affect Han Jing's ability to perfectly complete his work.
Long ago, for reasons Han Jing was unwilling to reveal, he developed a unique ability to see ghosts and spirits. However, as a professional mortician, he had to keep his eyes fixed straight ahead and calmly complete his work.
Even if the spirit of the deceased repeatedly bows and thanks you, you must not respond casually, after all, you are currently at work.
After finally finishing my work, I expressed my condolences to the deceased's family and went to the door with my assistant to leave.
"President, I just received a call. There's another job waiting for me. Please come with me." The middle-aged man's name was Kobayashi, also an embalmer. He had worked at the same funeral home as Han Jing for many years and was considered Han Jing's senior. Occasionally, he would also act as Han Jing's assistant.
Han Jing's uncle founded Sen Funeral Parlor. After his mother passed away, Han Jing learned about the work of the funeral parlor from his uncle, as well as how to become a professional mortician. After his uncle passed away, leaving behind the funeral parlor, Han Jing naturally became the president of Sen Funeral Parlor.
Every year, as the year draws to a close, Han Jing is incredibly busy with both his part-time job and his main job, juggling both. Fortunately, he is the company president; otherwise, his elusive whereabouts would indeed be difficult to explain to others.
After finally finishing up, Han Jing dragged his tired body back to his apartment. As he passed the mailbox downstairs, he picked up the mail and walked towards his room while reading it.
Utility bills, advertising letters, tax reminders, bank letters... my eyes were immediately drawn to a flyer featuring a delicious bento box.
The order form says "Ochi Home Bento," and delivery service is available.
I took out my key, opened the door, took off my shoes, and turned on the light. Only then did I realize that I had been busy all day and hadn't eaten much. I felt a dull pain in my stomach. After hesitating for a while, I took out my phone and dialed the number on the flyer.
A gentle baritone voice answered, "Ochi Bento. Hello."
"Ah... what's on the menu today?" He reached into his backpack, took out some coins, and sat down on the bed. Listening to the clicking of the coins in the bag, Han Jing's body, which had been busy all day, relaxed slightly.
Today we have braised beef rice boxes, fried rice with sweet and sour meatballs, and piping hot Chinese stewed rice. Whichever you order, it comes with fruit and miso soup.
Hearing that gentle voice, even the cold weather seemed to warm up. "Okay... please give me a steaming bowl of Chinese stew."
"No problem, may I ask for your name and delivery address?"
"Okay, please copy it down." After hanging up the phone, Han Jing laid on the bed to rest for a while, trying to suppress the urge to count coins and check if the doors and windows were locked. He was very hungry and tired. He felt nauseous.
It turns out that death isn't the end of everything. He was young and naive, and made a pact with death, which led to his current predicament. Han Jing really wanted to punch himself to vent his anger.
Looking back, it doesn't work. If I hit myself, I'd only hurt myself. Forget it. This is a classic case of reaping what you sow.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but about 20 minutes later, the doorbell rang. Perhaps the food had been delivered. Han Jing got up and glanced through the peephole.
A kind-looking man with a headscarf and a lunchbox was standing at the door. He must have been delivering lunch.
"Hello, are you Mr. Han?"
"I am."
"Thank you for ordering the Ochi lunchbox. This is your Chinese stew rice; the total is 580 yen."
When Ochi Maho received the call, she vaguely heard the sound of a coin being shaken on the other end of the line. She suddenly remembered the man she had bumped into that morning and wondered if it was just a coincidence.
I never expected that the person who ordered the lunchbox was the same man from this morning.
I'm really sorry, it's all my fault for being so busy counting money that I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and bumped into him. My impression of that man was that he was dressed seriously, wore glasses, and looked very polite; maybe he was a white-collar worker? He seemed to be under a lot of pressure.
The man smelled faintly of incense. He had looked somewhat flustered in the morning, but now he seemed more relaxed, perhaps because he was off work.
Taking the 1000 yen from Han Jing, Ochi naturally reached into his purse and said, "Here's your 1000 yen, change: 420 yen."
"No need." Han Jing took the food, looking a little nervous.
"That won't do!"
"Really, it's not necessary."
Looking at Han Jing, Ochi recalled how Han Jing had been engrossed in counting coins that morning, and suddenly seemed to understand. "Thank you for your patronage. Please order Ochi lunchboxes again next time."
Seeing Han Jing's seemingly relieved expression, Ochi felt a strange sense of unease.
I hope this guest will enjoy my lunchbox. Ochi thought to himself.