When I was 21, I got into a fight over a girl and was sentenced to three years in prison.

The boy I fought with was from a rich family, so they bribed the judge to make the fight into an intentional injury.

So three years in prison fell on me.

Which master once said, money is also part of the strength, so I admit this matter.

The key is that the girl I fought for, seeing the other family rich and powerful, even ran out to help the boy perjury, saying that because I sexually harassed her, the boy was completely righteous, so he fought with me.

Because of her words, I was once disheartened.

Dad went around begging and looking for connections for me to get my sentence reduced, and mum was in tears every day.

At that time, I had already resigned myself to my fate, thinking that I would reform well in prison and strive for a reduction in my sentence, and then take revenge when I got out.

But to my surprise, the next morning, someone came to see me in prison.

That person is a few years older than me, about twenty-four or twenty-five years old.

The first thing he said when he saw me was: Delroy-Fischer, your grandfather asked me to take you away.

But I can't do this for free. I have to charge you $10,000 as a reward. What your grandfather means is that you made the trouble yourself, and you have to earn this money yourself.

Of course, considering you have no money, I can arrange a job for you.

A base salary of 5,000 a month. It's just that the work is a bit dirty, and you work the night shift every day.

If you agree, change your clothes and come with me.

I did not hesitate to agree, after all, no one wants to carry a conviction.

I didn't even consider how much power a man who could easily take a prisoner like me out of prison had.

His name was Quincy-Ugluek, and people called him Queen.

At the time I wondered what kind of job Quincy had for me, and then I reacted to what it meant to be a little dirty when he drove me straight to the funeral parlour.

Yes, I had to deal with corpses every day, how could it not be dirty?

Quincy told me that this funeral parlour was privately contracted and was responsible for ordering coffins, burial goods, and arranging the body and buying and selling cemeteries as well as other one-stop funeral services.

I was very reluctant at that time. Why did I have to work with corpses every day when I could earn $500 a month at any job?

What's more, I couldn't even find a girlfriend in this job.

But my dad told me since I was a kid that I should know how to repay favours.

Quincy got me out of jail, that's a big favour. I promised to work for him, so if I go back on my promise, I'll be going back on my word.

This is a job I have to do.

According to Quincy, my job is very simple, just working the night shift.

At the time, I thought, "What's the point of working the night shift in a funeral parlour? It's hard to believe that there are still people stealing corpses, isn't it?

Later I realised that a funeral parlour is not an ordinary place.

Speaking of funeral parlours, they are similar to hospitals, and you can see all kinds of life.

Some people fight for their inheritance in the funeral parlour and lose their dignity.

Some people are so cold and indifferent that they are full of relief and dislike in the face of the dead.

There are even times when the police send in some bloody corpses to the funeral parlour for disposal.

These are the unclaimed victims inside certain homicide cases, and with the end of the case, they can't stay on the police's side for long.

......

But what I couldn't imagine was that the funeral parlour at night was far more exciting than during the day.

Quincy was impatient with me, casually inducting me and casually tossing me a manual of nighttime management do's and don'ts, before heading off.

On the contrary, the funeral parlour's director was very patient and explained to me, saying that the night shift manager's job was actually quite easy, as long as I‘m bold enough.

He and I were chatting away when a cacophonous racket came from outside.

I went out and swept a glance, inside the funeral hall, a middle-aged woman in her forties was sitting on the ground howling.

I listened for a while and had figured out what was going on.

The general idea was that one's mother-in-law had died, and her husband wanted to buy a thousand-dollar urn for the coffin.

But the woman is not willing, that 100 U.S. dollars a will be enough, the family's money is already very tight, the money must be reserved for the child to go to college.

Maybe she said something a little hard to hear, refuted the man's self-esteem, so the man slapped her hard, said she is not filial.

Probably all kinds of grievances came to her head, and the woman's inner resentment exploded at once.

She said that when her mother-in-law was alive, she was not able to sleep well every night in order to take care of her, for which she even quit her job.

And her husband every day idleness, spend the day drinking, did not take care of the family half, and did not earn back a little money for the family. He didn't care about her when she was alive, but when she died, he wanted to buy an expensive urn to satisfy his vanity.

I listened to her for a while and became enraged. She should have divorced such a man long ago!

Mr Holland, the funeral parlour's director, is a man who is very smooth in his dealings. Seeing the growing number of people watching around him, he tried his best to console the woman and help her up.

I didn't bother to pay attention to these things and wanted to go to my dormitory to clean up.

As a result, someone next to me suddenly tugged on me and said, "Little brother, collecting corpses, no? 100 US dollars a piece!"

I sucked in a breath of cold air, who the hell is this?

Buying and selling corpses is illegal! How dare this guy ask me if I'll take the body?

And he even put a price on it!

Seeing my shocked face, the man laughed and said, "What are you thinking?"

"We're not in the business of dumping corpses, we don't get involved in this."

"It's just that an illegal brick factory was busted in the north of the city, and a lot of trafficked illegal labourers died inside, these are all unclaimed corpses, and they're all mentally retarded, so there's not even anyone to claim them."

"According to the usual practice, these corpses have to stay for seven days, and only after no one has claimed them will they be cremated en masse."

I understood at once, these illegal brick factories trafficked mentally challenged people to their factories without conscience, and used inhumane and cruel methods to squeeze their labour every day.

They work fifteen or sixteen hours a day, basically all the time except for eating, sleeping and going to the toilet.

And it's all heavy labour.

This is completely using people as animals.

The key is that this group of labourers are all mentally challenged and don't even have the ability to resist.

When some people died of exhaustion, they dug a hole and buried them, and when some people tried to escape, their legs were broken in public as a warning to others.

Until the police cracked the case, these people were still heartless enough to bury all the labourers alive and destroy the evidence.

After the case was solved, the suspects were naturally punished by the law, but the bodies of the poor labourers remained unclaimed.

Anyway, they were all a bunch of mentally challenged people, so I guess the family had given them up.

These corpses, as a rule, had to be parked for seven days until the end of the claiming period, and then they would be cremated en masse.

But seven days had already passed and these bodies remained unclaimed.

So this person came to the funeral parlour and asked me if I would dispose of the corpses.

I was quite puzzled and said, "I'm just a night watchman, you'll have to go to Mr Holland for that."

The man blinked and said, "I've heard that Mr Holland is in charge of the daytime and you're in charge of the nighttime."

"Aren't you, like, the night watchman?"

I froze, did the night watchman have that right?