Chapter 29: The Funeral Car Incident

After returning, it was already close to midnight. I contacted Li Xingchen and asked what he was doing.

He replied that he was working.

I cursed, “Nonsense, do you think I’ve never played Battle Royale? The sounds in the background are clearly off.”

Li Xingchen answered helplessly that he’d finished gathering all the materials, so with nothing else to do, he just started a game. He’d only just opened it and hadn’t even begun to play.

I told him to wait—we’d come over and take a look at the information he’d collected.

Of course, Li Xingchen was working from his computer. Chief Wang had declared during the day that Li Xingchen could only work in the forensics department, but that was just venting; with Li Xingchen’s nerves, if he really had to work in forensics, he’d be scared to death. Even though there weren’t any corpses in the lab at the moment, just thinking about how countless dead bodies had once lain on the autopsy table was enough to send chills down your spine. Working in that environment was simply inefficient.

Too many people would only get in the way, so I had Li Hong and Mouse go back. I’d thought to send Tang Jingjing home too, but she pinched me and reminded me of my own position—as a mere forensic intern, I had no right to order her around.

With someone like that, it was best to endure when possible.

Li Xingchen had already organized and printed the materials he’d found—three copies, one for each of us. We all began reading carefully.

Meanwhile, Li Xingchen continued dodging the toxic zone in his game. Tang Jingjing was furious; she rolled up the documents and smacked him hard on the head. Li Xingchen wailed, asking to finish his round first, promising he wouldn’t complain no matter what happened afterward.

I ignored the two of them and focused on reading the materials.

Most of the information came from posts written by netizens three years ago, with some wild speculation added after the incident. Some even claimed the bus was haunted by a den of ghosts—such absurdities weren’t worth mentioning. The only data of note was about the so-called “ghost bus.”

The rumors of the bus being haunted began three years ago, when Liu Juncheng died on Route Eight. According to people online, the trouble started after the bus ran over a pregnant woman. After that, passengers began to hear the sound of children crying, seemingly from nowhere. Some said that while half-asleep on the bus, they’d see a white shadow flash by. Liu Juncheng’s death was interpreted as him being taken by the ghost of the pregnant woman to serve as a substitute.

There were also many warnings: never ride this bus after midnight, no matter how urgent your business. That was when the ghosts started boarding, headed straight for the gates of the underworld. As for the other passengers, they weren’t human at all.

Some netizens claimed personal experience. One person said he lost track of time, fell asleep on the bus after midnight, and woke to find his wallet gone. As he opened his eyes, he saw a white figure grinning at him through the window. Afterward, he caught a cold that wouldn’t go away for over a month, eventually developing into pneumonia that put him in the hospital for two weeks. He swore never to ride Route Eight again.

All of this was essentially meaningless. Though labeled as “personal experiences,” the exaggerations were obvious and not at all credible.

I kept reading for a while but couldn’t stand it any longer—these were nothing but ghost stories, with some comments turning into serialized fiction, even dragging in Taoist priests from Mount Mao.

Rubbing my tired eyes, I glanced at Tang Jingjing, who seemed utterly absorbed. I asked if she’d found any clues. She only wondered aloud who wrote these stories—they were bloody brilliant.

I looked over at Old Lin and saw him marking up the pages with a red pen, making notes with great seriousness. I left him to it and told Li Xingchen to quit his game and keep looking for more information about Route Eight.

Li Xingchen protested that any further searching would only yield more horror stories. The material he’d found was already the most credible, and since it involved real people and places, most had already been deleted by moderators. He’d had to hack the admin account just to copy these files.

Seeing the dark circles under his eyes, I knew how hard he’d worked to gather them.

After a while, Old Lin suddenly called me over. He’d highlighted a particular comment in red:

“Liu Juncheng was the veteran driver of Route Eight. The pregnant woman—she was killed by his driving.”

I said it was probably just a prank, nothing meaningful.

Old Lin replied, “That’s a careless thing to say. We have very few leads—any possible clue might be the key to solving the case.”

Tang Jingjing added, “If we want to know whether Liu Juncheng ever drove Route Eight, that’s simple—just ask the bus company.”

Old Lin shook his head. We couldn’t ask directly, or we’d alert the culprit. The victim had died twice on the same bus, and perhaps the perpetrator had close ties to the company. Our only advantage was acting in secret; if we exposed ourselves, we’d lose even that.

Li Xingchen suddenly laughed. “Why ask me? Isn’t this easy? I’ll just hack into the bus company’s website and check.”

I slapped my forehead. “Right, do it now.”

Li Xingchen agreed, saying it shouldn’t be difficult since bus companies rarely have strong site security.

He opened the website and browsed a bit, then told me it wasn’t possible just yet—the site admin was online. If he hacked in now, he’d be discovered and kicked out, making it much harder to get back in later.

We couldn’t rush things, so I told him to try again soon.

Afterward, I asked Old Lin what our next step should be.

He said, “Get some sleep first. In the morning, with a clear mind, we’ll sort through our thoughts.”

I nodded in agreement.

I drove Tang Jingjing home. She asked if I wanted to come in and get to know her place. I immediately said yes.

Before I could move, she kicked the car door shut in my face. “Keep dreaming, you toad!”

Speechless, I drove off, cursing her in my heart for making me look like some kind of creep.

The next morning at the station, I ran into Li Xingchen coming out of the restroom and asked if he’d managed to hack in.

He said he had.

I asked what he’d found. He told me it was too complicated to explain in a few words and to wait for him in the computer room—he needed to relieve himself first.

After a while, Tang Jingjing and Li Xingchen arrived together. Li Xingchen sat down and showed us a screenshot. “Damn it—after all that work, there’s no driver file for Route Eight in their personnel records!”

I checked and sure enough, there really was no record for Route Eight. That was odd—why wasn’t there any documentation for that route?

Could there really be something wrong with Route Eight?

It was worth discussing.

As usual, we went to report to Chief Wang. Though Old Lin hadn’t been well lately, he still showed up on time, with Mouse as his personal driver.

Li Hong was a bit late and looked exhausted. I asked where he’d been. He said he’d spent the night checking all the stops on Route Eight, hoping to spot anything suspicious.

I asked if he’d found any clues. He said no, but noted that many of the bus stops were now abandoned, and the last few had already been marked for demolition.

That probably explained why Route Eight didn’t follow its designated path anymore.