Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Man Dead for Three Years!

Tang Jingjing said, “My mom told me, when Director Zhang offers you a cigarette, it means Director Wang has acknowledged you!”

I hadn’t expected such a saying.

Unlike Tang Jingjing, I wasn’t so particular. I lit the cigarette and took a deep drag.

Li Xingchen looked at me with a forced smile. “Brother-in-law, we sure are close, huh?”

I replied, “Cut the nonsense. I’m bullying you, so what? Wanna hit me?”

Seeing Li Hong sitting upright nearby, he wasn’t about to make a move either.

Li Hong gazed at me in confusion. “Xiaoyang, what’s going on here? To be honest, I didn’t study much; I’ve always been on special missions at the border. The writing up there is so convoluted, I barely understood any of it.”

I said, “Better let Old Lin explain. I can’t articulate it clearly myself.”

Old Lin nodded, asked us all to sit, and analyzed the situation.

The beginning matched the file exactly.

The only issue lay in the latter part...

It stated that the Public Security Bureau had compared the city’s population, but found nothing. In reality, this task hadn’t been carried out, because the victim’s identity had already been confirmed!

The deceased was Liu Juncheng, a local resident living in the suburbs. He used to run a cement factory, which closed three years ago—the reason being Liu Juncheng died on Bus No. 8.

This was the city’s most infamous “Ghost Bus Case” from three years ago. Someone had used it as a gimmick to serialize a horror story on Tianya Forum, claiming that Bus No. 8 was a ghost bus, and Liu Juncheng boarded the wrong bus at the wrong place, ending up at the gates of hell.

Such legends abound across China; we paid them little mind.

But one thing was officially confirmed: Liu Juncheng really died three years ago. The materials Director Wang gave us included Liu Juncheng's death certificate from three years ago, along with reports from several major newspapers.

Li Hong immediately interrupted Old Lin, asking, “Wait, Old Lin, that’s not right. Liu Juncheng died three years ago—how did his body turn up on Bus No. 8 again after three years?”

Old Lin coughed. “That’s precisely the strange part of the case. To avoid public panic, the authorities never disclosed the victim’s identity. They announced that the identity was confirmed and the cause of death was sudden heart attack. So, any investigation we do has to be covert. In other words, our investigative group isn’t even officially recognized by the police.”

“Damn it,” Tang Jingjing was furious. “How are we supposed to investigate like this?”

I comforted Tang Jingjing, telling her not to rush—these things couldn’t be forced; just treat it as a game.

Tang Jingjing gave me a long, melancholy look. “If you want to play, play by yourself. I’m not cut out for this kind of bluff.”

I knew she was blaming me for dragging everyone into the case. I could only offer a helpless smile and ignore it.

Old Lin said, “Xiaoyang, you’re a forensic expert, so you have some professional insight. Let me ask you, is there any way to preserve a body for three years so it looks just as it did when it died?”

I shook my head. That’s impossible—it defies science.

Tang Jingjing said, “Aren’t there plenty of modern preservation techniques that keep bodies perpetually fresh? Lenin’s body is still perfectly preserved—I’ve seen photos online; he looks like he’s just sleeping.”

I replied, “Lenin’s insides were removed and replaced with preservative, then placed in a crystal coffin. That’s just a shell. To preserve a whole person exactly as they were, no matter how skilled, it’s impossible.”

“A few hours after death, body temperature drops until it matches the environment. If frozen before this happens, the exterior can indeed remain intact.”

“But actually, the human intestines are full of countless bacteria that adapt to any harsh environment. Bacillus spores and E. coli continue to grow in the organs and intestines, corroding them from within. There’s no way to eradicate all these bacteria. So, preservation techniques throughout history share one thing: the organs are removed, the bacteria eliminated, and the body kept in a sterile environment...”

“As for Liu Juncheng, the provincial bureau did a post-mortem and confirmed that all his organs were fresh, not decayed, and no preservation was found. So I think we can rule out the possibility that the body died three years ago,” I said.

“Then why did Liu Juncheng die on the bus again this time?” Tang Jingjing asked.

I gave a bitter smile. “Isn’t that exactly what we’re here to find out?”

Old Lin said, “Liu Juncheng’s body is being transported from the Public Security Bureau, hoping you’ll find some clue on it!”

I nodded. “Looks like that’s our only option.”

Because the body was a special “shipment” and had to avoid public attention, it was tricky—the higher-ups said it could be delivered no earlier than nine o’clock tomorrow morning.

Old Lin asked why it couldn’t arrive tonight—with only five or six hours’ drive.

The person in charge seemed familiar with Old Lin and replied with a wry smile, “You think every driver is that brave? Especially when the victim died in such a bizarre way.”

Old Lin was angry, but clearly had no leverage and hung up.

Police stations don’t typically have dedicated corpse transporters. When the need arises, they contact the funeral home for transportation.

But this time, Liu Juncheng’s death was so strange that even the veteran drivers at the funeral home refused the job.

We sat together, planning our next steps. Knowing our bureau’s temperament, they wouldn’t give us much time. A corpse’s first seventy-two hours are called the “golden clue period” by detectives, since key evidence often emerges, and even suspects might appear at the scene.

According to our plan, tonight Tang Jingjing and I would pose as a couple and ride Bus No. 8. Since our identities couldn’t be revealed, it had to be a covert investigation. For safety, Li Hong would come too, but he’d board one stop ahead of us.

Old Lin and Mouse would follow in a car behind the bus, watching for anyone suspicious who might be trailing us. As for Li Xingchen, I assigned him to research public speculation about the ghost bus case when it happened years ago.

Once the tasks were assigned, the sky was still bright—two or three hours remained before the bus departed. I suggested we all grab a late-night snack.

At the mention of food, Tang Jingjing’s eyes instantly widened; I could tell I was about to get fleeced again.

In the end, at Tang Jingjing’s suggestion, we went to a Korean-style BBQ buffet. It was quite cheap—sixty yuan full price, but Tang Jingjing had several ten-yuan vouchers, so it cost me less than two hundred yuan in total.

After eating, it was almost time. We split up and officially got to work.

Mouse was in charge of dropping Li Hong, Tang Jingjing, and me at our designated stops, then drove Old Lin to the main bus station to monitor Bus No. 8.

Tonight, the fog was thick—a mixed blessing. On the one hand, visibility was low, so the bus wouldn’t suspect Mouse’s car. On the other, I worried Mouse might lose the trail.

But with Li Hong along, we felt more at ease.

Tang Jingjing and I waited at the fourth stop. At that hour, few people remained—just a handful of lonely night-shift workers, gnawing on KFC, waiting for the bus. Watching them shiver in thin suits, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them.

Perhaps because Bus No. 8 had recently seen a death, or simply because it didn’t pass their homes, I noticed that before the bus arrived, the platform was deserted except for us.