On the second day, Han Jingru went to a funeral home in the Chinese District alone.
The boss was an elderly man with a head full of white hair and deep wrinkles were etched in his face. His frail back was curved, while he teetered on his feet like a swaying candle flame in the wind, looking like he would topple over any moment.
“Sir, when can the coffin I ordered be finished?” asked Han Jingru.
The boss replied hoarsely, “Young man, I’m already rushing it for you. The earliest would be tomorrow.”
“Can you hurry up? I need it tomorrow,” urged Han Jingru. Tomorrow, the three days which Han Xiuyuan gave him would be up. He did not want to miss the best moment.
“Young man, I’m already so old. My movements are a little slow, so I hope that you’ll understand,” said the boss.