A month before I died, I hired an undertaker online. The reviews said he was a pro—full-service, handled everything. From corpse cleanup to the final shovel of dirt, it was the perfect "one-stop shop" for someone like me, who had no one to collect my body. But when we met, my luck ran out. The undertaker was my ex-boyfriend, the one I dumped five years ago. Enemies on sight. He took one look at me in the hospital bed and waved his hand dismissively. "I don't care who you are. I'm not burying you." I scrambled out of bed to block the door before he could leave. "It's a misunderstanding! I booked it for my grandma!" He stared at me, face like a thundercloud, hesitated for a solid minute, then finally snatched the credit card from my hand with a frown. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. He took the money. He signed the contract. When I die, he can't back out now. 1 I was lying in the hospital bed, waiting to die, when old Mrs. Zhou in the next bed nudged me. "Add this guy on WeChat," she whispered conspiratorially. "He's amazing." "He handled my husband's funeral. From picking up the body to the burial, he does everything. Even throws in the burial shoes and shroud for free." "Don't underestimate a good send-off," she added. "Get it right, and you'll have good karma in the next life." Everyone in our ward was waiting to die. But I was the youngest. When I first arrived, the uncles and aunties pitied me. "So young," they'd say. "You shouldn't be here." But as time passed, they realized I wasn't sad. So, death became just another topic of conversation. I thought about it and added the contact Mrs. Zhou recommended. I wasn't counting on karma for the next life. But for this one? Yeah, I needed help. My parents were gone. My grandma had been bedridden for years—she couldn't even get out of bed, let alone bury me. Funerals are complicated. I tried to plan it myself, but I just didn't have the energy. I was dying, and I hadn't even bought an urn. I had some savings left. A full-service package seemed like the way to go. I sent the friend request. Ten minutes later, no response. Finally, a message popped up. Not in the chat, but in the friend request verification box: "What for?" 2 I blinked, double-checking I had the right person. I typed back, explaining I needed a full funeral package. This time, it took him thirty minutes to reply. "?" Still didn't accept my request. I frowned. I showed my phone to Mrs. Zhou. "Does he not add strangers?" She looked confused. "That's weird. In his line of work, he adds strangers all the time." She grabbed her own phone and sent a voice message. "He's probably just busy. Let me book him for you." I was getting sleepier by the day. I thanked her and drifted off. I slept fitfully until evening. Snores from the uncles filled the room. I checked my phone—almost 8 PM. Guess he wasn't coming. My nose felt hot. I touched it—blood. I woke up instantly, grabbing tissues from the nightstand and stumbling to the bathroom. It wasn't the first time. I was used to it. Apply pressure. Plug with cotton balls. Wait. After a few rounds of soaked cotton, the bleeding stopped. I washed the blood off my hands and neck in the mirror. The ward was quiet. No one saw. Good. If they saw, they'd feel bad for me. And when they felt bad, I felt bad. I leaned against the sink, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Tomorrow, I needed to ask the doctor about discharge. Grandma was alone at home. With whatever time I had left, I wanted to be with her. Once the vertigo faded, I opened the bathroom door. Knock, knock. The doctor's rounds. I opened the ward door without looking, turning back toward my bed, using the wall for support. But no footsteps followed. I stopped and looked back. A man stood in the doorway. The room was dim, lit only by the nightlight. Maybe it was the shadows, maybe my vision was failing. I couldn't see his face clearly. 3 I rubbed my eyes. He stood still. Only his eyes moved—cold, disgusted, indifferent—scanning my face. Maybe I was sicker than I thought. I was hallucinating Liam. He looked at me just like he did five years ago. Calm. Detached. Back then, I said, "Let's break up." He said, "Okay." Flat. No emotion. The silence was suffocating. After a while, I realized it wasn't a hallucination. There were other patients in the room, after all. My palms started sweating. Why did I feel guilty? I forced a smile. "What a... coincidence. Who are you looking for?" My eyes burned. Thank god for the dim lighting. He probably couldn't see my tears. Five years ago, breaking up hurt. But I never imagined our reunion would be on my deathbed. The indifference on his face vanished, replaced by a flat, professional mask. "Someone booked a funeral service. I'm here to sign the contract." I froze. Right. Mrs. Zhou's recommendation. "You... you're Liam?" Liam stared at me. He didn't speak. But his eyes screamed: Is this a joke? My brain really was rotting. How slow could I be? Liam hadn't even changed his WeChat profile picture. It was still the Patrick Star I chose for him years ago. Mrs. Zhou had told me, "This is Liam, the funeral guy." But I didn't connect the dots until now. The awkwardness was thick enough to choke on. I stammered, "Sorry... I booked it. I forgot. And... I didn't know it was you." Liam let out a cold laugh. "I'm surprised you're not too good for my services now." He turned to leave. I pushed off the wall and chased him. "You're already here! Just sign the contract!" I only had a month. Finding someone else would be a hassle. I didn't have the energy. Liam probably thought I booked him on purpose. That I was shameless. He stopped at the door, turning back. The hate in his eyes was undisguised now. "Ms. Lin, you flatter me. But unfortunately..." He paused, his voice dropping. "I'll bury anyone. But I won't bury you." 4 That stung. Even dying, I was getting rejected. It hurt more than I expected. I looked down at the contract in his hand. My brain was mush. I babbled, "Business is business. You can't pick and choose customers." I couldn't look up. I didn't want to see his face. Silence stretched on. Finally, he took the bank card I was holding out. "Don't contact me for anything other than funeral arrangements," he said coldly. He turned to leave. I remembered he still hadn't accepted my friend request. I opened my mouth to call him back. Black spots danced in my vision. I reached out to steady myself and accidentally grabbed his hand. His hand was cold. Or maybe I was burning up again. I noticed a ring on his left ring finger. Five years ago, three months after we broke up, he posted his new girlfriend on social media. Married? Engaged? It wouldn't be surprising. I felt... something. I didn't know what. I let go of his hand like it burned me. He seemed to flinch. When he looked back, his face was dark with disgust. "Sorry," I apologized quickly. "Um... accept the request? So we can coordinate later." Liam scoffed. "No need. Just pass messages through her." He meant Mrs. Zhou. I couldn't speak. I watched him walk away. He wiped the hand I touched on his suit jacket. I bit my lip and looked away. It was just a touch. Was I that disgusting?
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