Chapter Text
Namping was beginning to think that higher education was a particularly elaborate scam.
Not because he disliked studying. He didn't. He quite enjoyed university, actually. The independence, the occasional freedom from parental supervision, the friends he'd made and the possibility that he would graduate with a degree he might be able to use to get a decent job.
What he didn't enjoy was the financial aspect of it.
Specifically, the part where every professor seemed to wake up each morning with a personal vendetta against his bank account.
There was always something.
A presentation that required printed materials. A project that required materials that cost considerably more than anticipated. An assignment that somehow needed a particular book. A group activity where three people conveniently forgot their wallets, leaving Namping to pay for everything.
And then there was food.
An unfortunately necessary expense.
He stared at his banking application for a solid thirty seconds.
฿247.50.
He blinked.
Closed the application.
Opened it again.
฿247.50.
"Fuck my life."
"Language."
Namping looked up.
Firstone was sitting opposite him, calmly stirring his iced coffee while Kong occupied the seat beside him, scrolling through his phone.
"What's wrong?" Kong asked without looking up.
"I'm financially deceased."
"Again?"
"Don't say it like it's a recurring hobby."
Firstone glanced at him. "Didn't your parents send you money last week?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"And I'm looking at the consequences of higher education."
Kong snorted.
Namping dropped his forehead onto the table.
He had exactly eleven days until his next allowance arrived. Eleven days to survive on two hundred and forty-seven baht, assuming no unexpected expenses arose.
Which, knowing his luck, meant something would inevitably happen.
Perhaps a professor would announce another project.
Maybe his laptop would go up in flames!
Maybe he'd start to get sick of instant noodles.
He sighed.
There had to be a better way to make money.
There had to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The opportunity came three days later.
Like most of Namping's other questionable decisions, this one started with a conversation that he should have walked away from.
He had been looking for part-time work. Something flexible, preferably something that didn't require him to stand for eight hours or smile enthusiastically at customers who couldn't distinguish between a question and a personal attack.
A friend of a friend mentioned someone who knew someone looking for a young man willing to participate in a traditional ceremony.
The compensation was generous.
Suspiciously......generous.
Namping, naturally, was interested.
"What kind of ceremony?" he'd asked.
There was a brief pause.
Then the answer came.
"A ghost marriage."
Namping stared.
Then he stared some more.
"...A what?"
"Ghost marriage. You know, marrying someone who's dead."
He had laughed.
The other person hadn't.
And that was how Namping found himself sitting in a small room two days later, listening to an elderly woman explain the arrangements, the rituals and the compensation.
The family wanted their deceased son to have a spouse.
Namping would dress as a groom, participate in the wedding ceremony and bring home some of the deceased's belongings. He would sleep beside them for three nights, following the shaman's instructions.
Once the shaman confirmed that the deceased had received his spouse and was satisfied, the marriage would be considered complete.
Namping would then be free to dispose of the belongings.
And receive his payment.
He listened carefully.
Asked a few questions.
Negotiated the compensation.
And accepted.
Because, as far as he was concerned, a dead man was probably the least demanding husband he could possibly have.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time he completed his first ghost marriage, Namping had developed a rather unconventional understanding of marital commitment.
Three nights.
That was all it took.
He had now been married six times.
Six husbands. Six ceremonies. Six completed rituals.
And six very successful divorces.
His bank account, meanwhile, had never looked healthier.
There were rules, of course. He followed them religiously, if only because the shaman had made it abundantly clear that he shouldn't treat the rituals carelessly.
He didn't particularly believe in ghosts.
But he wasn't stupid enough to tempt fate.
Besides, the money was good.
Very good.
And nobody needed to know.
Not his parents.
Not his classmates.
And certainly not Firstone and Kong.
They were already suspicious enough about his sudden improvement in lifestyle.
He had recently replaced his cracked phone, purchased a new pair of shoes and began eating foods that weren't in plastic cups.
Firstone had asked if he'd found himself a sugar daddy.
Kong had suggested cryptocurrency.
Namping had told them both to mind their own business.
His business, after all, was doing rather well.
At least, it had been.
Until the seventh offer arrived.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His phone buzzed against the table.
The Shaman.
Namping, busy with an important assignment was about to dismiss the notification when a particular phrase caught his eye.
We have a marriage arrangement I'd like to discuss with you. The deceased is a young man from a respectable family, and the compensation will be considerably higher than what you've received for your previous arrangements.
Namping straightened in his seat.
Considerably higher?
Now, that was interesting.
He unlocked his phone, only for another message to appear.
His name is Keng Harit.
Namping read the name once, then again, as though doing so might somehow reveal something about the man.
It didn't.
He knew absolutely nothing about Keng Harit. Not his age, not what he looked like, not the circumstances surrounding his death. For all he knew, the man could have been a perfectly ordinary person who had simply been unlucky enough to die young.
Not that any of that particularly mattered.
A marriage was a marriage. Three nights were three nights, and the compensation was what deserved his attention.
Namping had no way of knowing that this particular arrangement would turn out to be anything but ordinary. That husband number seven would be considerably more troublesome than the previous six, or that getting rid of him would prove to be an entirely different challenge.
For now, however, there was only one thing on Namping's mind.
The money.
After all, rent wasn't going to pay itself.