115: Chapter 115 The First Bus at Night

One minute before midnight, the thirty-six return tickets in Jiangbei grew hot simultaneously.

Not everyone was in a Safe House.

Some people kept their tickets under their pillows, some hid them in their wallets, and others tucked them behind photos of their late wives. The tickets first became damp, then grew hot, and finally felt like a piece of charcoal pressed against their palms. No matter where they had been discarded, they would reappear the next second in the place closest to their owners.

On the Grey Net map, twelve red dots lit up almost simultaneously.

The community activity room, the People's Hospital, outside Liuqiao Old Station, two old residential complexes, near the North City logistics warehouse, the river embankment, the back gate of the school, the temporary shelter for families of the missing...

Next to each red dot, a yellow line appeared.

It was as if an invisible hand had carved out twelve boarding stations across Jiangbei.

"All Lamp-Keeping Zones, report status." Tang Zhiwei's voice came through the channel, so fast there was almost no pause.

"East District activity room, lamp stable," Zheng Xiang said.

"Hospital temporary ward, three people have lost emotional control, but they haven't crossed the line," Xu Minglan said.

"Liu Bridge perimeter, the yellow line has extended two meters," Lin Zhao said.

"Old Station entrance, the bronze bell is reacting," Shen Qinghe said.

"North City logistics warehouse, no one there for now," Bai Ya said.

Zhao Ye charged out of the Spark Post Road, his shoe soles kicking up sparks as he stepped on a segment of the yellow line upon landing. He didn't stop, turning immediately to rush toward the next red dot. The post road had opened three times tonight, and every time he passed that non-existent platform, the man in the ticket-checking hat would lift his head from a closer distance.

Zhao Ye ignored him.

The fourth time he passed, the man was already standing in the middle of the road.

"Passenger, please show your ticket."

The spot behind Zhao Ye's shoulder where the fire tail had been clipped away began to turn cold again.

He raised his hand and punched the ground, sparks exploding from beneath his feet, forcefully scattering the figure.

In reality, the sound of a bus engine started up outside the East District activity room.

Through the glass door, Zheng Xiang saw Liang Cheng's sister stand up.

She didn't know when she had gripped the ticket in her hand again, her face pale, muttering that her younger brother hadn't eaten, and that her brother was terrified of being hungry.

Just as Zheng Xiang was about to go over, Old Qin stood up first.

The old man who had been sitting on the threshold all this time, refusing to drink his porridge, shoved his black ticket into Zheng Xiang's hand and blocked the way in front of Liang Cheng's sister.

"Child," Old Qin's voice was hoarse, "the one on the bus isn't your brother."

Liang Cheng's sister shook her head, crying, "He looked at me."

"My son looked at me, too," Old Qin said, "but he's been dead for sixteen years."

After he finished saying this, the porridge in his hand had finally gone completely cold.

Outside the Lamp-Keeping Zone, the bus door opened a little wider.

Liang Cheng was still sitting in the front row, the lid of the thermal container slightly ajar, the fried rice inside already unrecognizable.

Liang Cheng's sister took a step forward.

Old Qin didn't pull her back, only shoved the porridge bowl into her arms.

"If he really returns, let him take a smell."

"Smell what?"

"See if he can smell the porridge you cooked."

Liang Cheng's sister froze.

She looked down and saw two slivers of ginger floating in the bowl. Liang Cheng had never eaten ginger since he was a child; every time she cooked porridge, she would pick them out first. This detail was too small—so small that the anomaly had never heard of it, and so small that only those who had truly lived together would remember it.

She suddenly squatted down, clutching the bowl and wailing.

The ticket in her hand was soaked by her tears, its edges beginning to curl.

Inside the bus, Liang Cheng's face slowly blurred.

Zheng Xiang took the opportunity to pull her into the Guardian Lamp.

But not every place had such an opportunity.

At the school's back gate, a man who had lost his daughter crossed the yellow line. At the hospital side gate, an old woman walked into the rain clutching an old photo. By the river embankment, two black tickets lit up simultaneously; there weren't enough people in the Lamp-Keeping Zone, and when Lin Zhao arrived with Chen Jue, they were only in time to pull back one.

The other person didn't run.

He just stood inside the yellow line, reaching his hand out into the air.

As if someone had truly come to pick him up.

Chen Jue almost rushed over.

Lin Zhao pressed down on his shoulder.

"Don't cross."

"He hasn't gotten on the bus yet!"

"The moment you cross, there will be one more ticket on the yellow line."

Chen Jue gritted his teeth until it hurt.

The old woman holding her husband's portrait looked back at him. She seemed to have heard something, and a faint smile even appeared on her face.

"He's come to pick me up."

Chen Jue's throat tightened.

He wanted to say it was fake.

But he saw the old photograph in the old woman's hand, saw the two people standing at the entrance of a vegetable market in the photo, the man carrying a bag of greens, smiling foolishly. He suddenly couldn't say a word.

In the end, he only pressed the Fire Seal in his hand outside the yellow line.

The firelight flared, illuminating a small patch of the real road surface by the old woman's feet.

"Grandma," Chen Jue's voice trembled, "is your home on the other side of the river?"

The old woman paused.

"Is your grandson having an exam tomorrow?"

Her smile slowly froze.

Chen Jue didn't dare look at Lin Zhao, only stared at her: "If you get on the bus, who's going to buy him breakfast?"

The sound of the rain was loud.

The old woman stood for a long time, then finally covered her face and squatted down.

Only then did Lin Zhao drag her back to the safety line.

Chen Jue collapsed onto the ground, drenched in sweat.

He didn't feel he had done anything remarkable.

He just suddenly understood that to make someone let go of the deceased, you couldn't call her stupid, nor could you force her to forget. You had to grab the end of her life that was still living and pull it back hard.

The Grey Net numbers kept jumping.

Ticket holders: thirty-six.

Crossed the yellow line: seven.

Unconfirmed missing: two.

A muffled sound came from beneath Liu Bridge, like an engine that hadn't been started in decades finally coughing once.

The Fate-Illuminating Bronze Bell in Shen Qinghe's hand vibrated with a low hum.

Her expression changed.

"the first bus has ignited."

Beneath the foundation of the Old Station, two headlights lit up in the darkness.

They didn't shine forward.

Instead, they first shone toward everyone in the city of Jiangbei who was still holding a return ticket.

Bai Ya kept zooming in and out on the temporary command screen. The twelve boarding points were like twelve thorns stuck in the night of Jiangbei. Whenever a Guardian Lamp weakened, the sound of the first bus's engine would get a little closer.

"Someone is opening the door at the North City logistics warehouse," he suddenly said.

The screen cut over; three ticket holders were standing in front of the warehouse door, all families of the local missing persons cases. They didn't charge at the barricades, just stood quietly in a line, as if they were really waiting for a night shift freight truck. Chen Fu arrived with two collaborators, not daring to drag the people away directly.

He carried an emergency light out from the warehouse, placed it by the door, and had someone open the registration book.

"Who still has something at home waiting to be signed for?" Chen Fu asked.

No one answered.

"Who still has a package they haven't picked up?"

A middle-aged man suddenly looked up: "My son bought me a pair of shoes."

"What's the shoe size?"

The man froze.

Chen Fu didn't rush him, standing there waiting. After a while, the man said forty-two. After saying it, as if he suddenly remembered the way the old shoes on his son's feet were coming apart at the soles, his body bent down bit by bit.

The yellow line outside the warehouse door didn't disappear, but it retreated by half an inch.

Chen Fu panted into the channel: "Don't just stare at the bus. When people want to leave, it's not always for the sake of the dead."

Hearing this, Shen Qinghe raised her hand to press down on the bronze bell. The sound of the engine underground had changed from "ignition" to a slow turning.

On the steps of the Old Station, the first headlight shone even whiter.

Outside the twelve boarding points, the sound of air valves opening rang out simultaneously.