Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Mysterious Bus

Tang Jingjing cursed under her breath and kept her eyes glued to the bus stop sign. She seemed so tense—nothing like a couple out for a late ride with me. Wanting to lighten the mood, I offered to tell her a joke.

She shot me a sidelong glance. “You’re a joke yourself. Why don’t you talk about your own life instead?”

Her deadpan seriousness made me laugh, which eased her nerves a bit too. At least she agreed to let me hold her hand when we got on the bus.

At ten thirty sharp, the Number Eight bus finally arrived. I took the chance to examine it closely from the outside. The bus was already quite old—though spotlessly clean, the peeling red paint at the front betrayed its years.

Our city isn’t exactly prosperous, but even here, buses this dilapidated should have been retired years ago.

Once we got on, I was startled to find the bus completely empty. Not a single passenger. Li Hong hadn’t boarded either.

Regret struck me at once; I wanted to get off. But Tang Jingjing, oblivious as ever, plopped down on the seat by the door without a care.

I couldn’t just shout at her to get off, so I sat beside her quietly.

Trying to act casual and not arouse suspicion from the driver, I joked, “Honey, how about we go to Haidilao for hot pot later?”

Tang Jingjing glared at me. “Hot pot, my foot. With your three-thousand-yuan salary this month, how many times do you think you can afford Haidilao? We’ll have instant noodles at home.”

Her retort left me speechless, and I swallowed my words.

Meanwhile, I stole a glance at the last row of seats.

Liu Juncheng, the deceased, had died on the last row, still lying down when he was found. There’d been white powder—lime—on the floor, used to mark the body’s position. Other than that, there were no clues.

My mind was tangled with thoughts about Li Hong, so I discreetly sent him a message: “Why didn’t you get on the bus?”

He replied quickly, probably not used to texting: “The bus didn’t stop at my station.”

It didn’t stop? I was stunned and showed the message to Tang Jingjing. She frowned, then texted Old Lin: “Old Lin, the bus didn’t stop at Li Hong’s station. Are you still following us?”

Old Lin replied soon after: “We’re right behind. Don’t worry.”

I breathed a little easier.

At the next stop, someone else got on—probably a local worker. As soon as he boarded, his shifty eyes swept the last row, his face pale with fear. When his gaze settled on us, the fear eased a bit.

“Xiao Wang, working late again tonight?”

The driver greeted him.

Xiao Wang seemed to know the driver well and started to complain. From his tone, they were clearly acquainted, so I quickly ruled him out as a suspect.

At the following stops, more people boarded—probably because we’d reached a busier area. They all seemed familiar with the driver, exchanging greetings before settling in with their phones.

Trying to find the killer among this crowd was like searching for a needle in a haystack. I started to feel lost.

Bored out of my mind, I noted that Tang Jingjing was nearly nodding off. I considered getting off early to avoid any suspicion.

At the next stop, just as I was about to leave, a drunk staggered in through the back door, reeking of alcohol. A younger man followed, scolding him, “Don’t get on the bus.”

The drunk declared, “I don’t believe in ghosts. Tonight, I’ll see for myself!”

Sensing something was off, I decided to stay and watch.

The drunk stumbled to the back row and collapsed onto the seat. His boldness made everyone turn to look; I did too.

He promptly fell into a loud snore. The young man who’d come with him called him a fool and sat down right behind me.

Curious about their story, I forced myself not to stare, not wanting to draw attention.

A few stops later, the drunk was still snoring at the back. I glanced at Tang Jingjing—she had nodded off against my shoulder.

Just as I was about to wake her, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Old Lin: “Get off the bus. Now!”

A chill shot through me. Old Lin must have noticed something wrong. I didn’t even dare ask why—at the next stop, I quickly supported Tang Jingjing as we got off.

Before leaving, I glanced back at the bus. Everyone looked half-asleep. I didn’t dwell on it—my mind was full of Old Lin’s warning.

For Old Lin to urge us off in that tone, the bus definitely wasn’t normal.

Outside, a few others waited at the bus stop, which made me feel a little safer.

I found a quiet corner and called Old Lin. “What did that message mean?”

He said, “We lost you.”

“Lost us? How is that possible?” I replied. “Even Mouse’s driving isn’t that bad.”

Old Lin sounded anxious. “It’s hard to explain right now. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

I checked the sign. “We’re at Tuan Tuan Appliances on Huangsong Road.”

Old Lin was surprised. “That’s not right. The Number Eight bus doesn’t go past there.”

His tone unsettled me. “Old Lin, you’d better hurry and pick us up.”

He hung up to send Mouse.

Soon after, Old Lin and Mouse arrived. I got in quickly—Li Hong was there too.

Li Hong looked apologetic. “Sorry. The bus never stopped at my station. I chased after it for a while, but it just kept going.”

I told him not to worry. At least we had a useful lead.

I asked Mouse how they lost the bus.

Mouse gave a helpless laugh. “I don’t know. I suddenly got so drowsy while driving, kept wanting to sleep. The fog was so thick. When I snapped out of it, the bus was gone. We tried to follow the Number Eight route, but after searching several sections, we never saw the bus again. Old Lin was worried you were in danger, so he texted you right away.”

Puzzled, I wondered why the Number Eight bus hadn’t stopped at Li Hong’s station, or stuck to its usual route.

We questioned Old Lin, but he had no answers—instead, he focused on something else.

Why had Mouse felt drowsy while driving? For an experienced driver, that was nearly impossible, especially since Mouse had been sleeping well lately.

Mouse shook his head, baffled. He’d never had such a problem before.

Then I remembered, just before getting off, that everyone on the bus had seemed drowsy—Tang Jingjing had fallen asleep too. Was there a connection?

Though it seemed like a flimsy theory, I told Old Lin everything.

Old Mo, lighting a cigarette, said, “It’s hard to say, but that might be a clue. Let’s note it down.”

Old Lin asked Tang Jingjing if she’d noticed any external factor making her sleepy on the bus.

She shook her head vigorously. “I don’t know. I always get sleepy on buses—it’s an old habit.”

Old Lin took out his notebook and jotted that down too.

He asked if I’d noticed any other suspicious clues. I went over everything in my mind, and realized only the drunk man stood out, though I couldn’t be sure.

But these days, having a drunk board a bus was hardly unusual.

Still, Old Lin dutifully took note. I couldn’t help thinking he was being a bit too meticulous…