At this point, most of the investigators in the carriage were already on their feet, staring at Sun Fatty in astonishment. Sun Fatty himself was now trembling as he stood. I was about to go over and give him a piece of my mind when someone suddenly shouted, "Old Mo! Old Mo, what's wrong with you?"
Only then did I see Old Mo collapsed on the floor, foaming at the mouth and convulsing. Ximen Lian, who shared a room with him, had already rushed over. He unbuttoned Old Mo's overcoat and shirt, fished a bottle of pills out of the breast pocket, and helped him swallow a dose before laying him flat on the floor. When Old Mo's convulsions gradually subsided, Ximen Lian finally let out a sigh of relief. "Old Mo has a heart condition. He's lucky this time. He nearly didn't make it. Next time... Dasheng, maybe a warning in advance would help."
Sun Fatty frowned down at the unconscious Old Mo, as if trying to say something but unable to find the words. I knew what was on his mind: With a heart condition, how is he even in the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation...
Seeing that Old Mo was out of danger, Sun Fatty was about to stuff the MP3 player back into his pocket. I grabbed it from him and asked, "Dasheng, when did you record this? Why didn't I know about it?"
Sun Fatty bared his teeth in a grin. "I didn't. After we got back from Tianshan, I had some time and asked Yang Jun and Ouyang Pianzuo to record it for me. Just finished yesterday, didn't get a chance to tell you. Lazi, not gonna lie, carrying this around makes me feel safer wherever I go. It's got Bluetooth too—I'll send it to you when I get a chance."
"Don't wait for a chance," I said, pulling out my phone. I transferred the recording from the MP3 to my phone. The sound of that one word—"Nyeh."—was such a tiny file that it transferred instantly. I handed the MP3 player back to Sun Fatty and pointed to the two carriages filled with paralyzed souls. "What about them?"
"They'll be fine," Sun Fatty said. "Yang Jun told me this version of the black cat's cry has been tuned way down. It can temporarily paralyze muscles, mostly targeting the souls. They'll be immobilized for a bit, but they'll recover on their own."
Then he added, almost to himself, "If we'd blasted this before departure, think how much trouble we could've avoided."
I looked at the spot where the soul I had just struck had vanished, then glanced up at the speakers and surveillance cameras on the ceiling. I called Xiao Heshang. "Old Xiao, you saw what happened just now, right? That thing we fought—what was it?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and then just one word: "Jian."
"Jian." I repeated the word. Sun Fatty, beside me, didn't understand. After I hung up, he asked, "Sword? What sword was Master Xiao talking about?"
I exhaled heavily. "When people die, they become ghosts. When a ghost dies, it becomes a Jian. A Jian is void after death. Theoretically, ghosts fear Jian a hundred times more than the living fear ghosts. I read about it in the archives. During the Tang Dynasty, talismans used to repel spirits often had the character for Jian written in seal script. They said once that talisman was posted, all specters would flee a thousand miles."
Xiong Wanyi and Ximen Lian came over as they heard me speak. Ximen glanced at me, frowning slightly. "Advisor Xiao said Jian? He must be mistaken. Jian can't tolerate yang energy. They've only been recorded in the most extreme yin regions of the underworld. Since ancient times, they've only appeared on the rarest days of absolute yin. You could count the sightings on one hand. Even in the underworld, Jian are rarer than giant pandas. No way one would appear here—let alone mixed in among these souls. Lazi, Advisor Xiao must've got it wrong. Not just the Bureau—even before liberation, the Religious Affairs Commission never had a confirmed Jian case. All such accounts are purely textual."
While Ximen spoke, I was recalling what I'd read about Jian in the archives. By the time he finished, I remembered a few specific sources. Looking at Ximen's skeptical face, I said, "Gentleman Ximen, I'm afraid what we saw was a Jian. According to The Five-Flavored Sayings from the Ming Dynasty, when a Jian appears, 'all spirits tremble in terror and descend into chaos.' That's exactly what happened earlier."
I tapped the window frame of the carriage, covered densely in yin-gathering sigils. "This train and its cars were modified with a lot of yin-attracting enhancements. You saw it—the souls that boarded looked way too solid. Now, even without the Heavenly Eye, anyone with slightly heightened senses can see them. This train is practically an artificial extreme-yin zone."
Ximen fell silent, clearly reconsidering. He didn't argue further, but I could tell he still wasn't fully convinced. A while later, the surrounding souls began to recover. Those who had been violently thrashing now stood obediently with their heads down.
Since most of the souls in Old Mo's section had vanished, and we'd suffered some losses ourselves, we rearranged things. All remaining souls were relocated to our carriage. The now-empty one was left to Old Mo, with a fellow investigator who was close to him staying behind to care for him.
The other two investigators joined us. Both were from the same division as Xiong Wanyi and Ximen Lian, so the four gathered together. Sun Fatty and I took our posts at the other end, surrounding the group of souls in between us. The train continued its slow journey for another hour. During that time, Xiao Heshang came to check in. The souls he had brought with him were apparently locked away in another carriage.
Xiao Heshang asked us about the Jian incident in detail, but when we turned the question around—asking why a Jian would show up among the souls—he frowned and said, "We can't worry about the Nyeh right now. Let's complete this mission first. When it's over, Director Gao will give you all an explanation."
He didn't stay long. Before I could even ask about the soul he had brought aboard, he had already hurried back. Clearly, he was uneasy about leaving it alone.
After he left, we dug out the rations stored in the carriage—bread, sausages, pickled mustard. The bread's wrapping wasn't sealed tightly, and it had gone a bit dry and tough. We made do with bottled water. Sun Fatty ate with a constant frown. In the Bureau, when it came to being particular about food, only Director Gao and Xiao Heshang could match him.
"Not gonna lie," Sun Fatty muttered, swallowing the last mouthful of bread. "If I'd known it'd be like this, I'd have brought my own food. Anything's better than dry bread and pickles."
I glanced at him. "At least we've got something to eat. Look at them. If they want to eat something like this, they'll have to wait for the next life."
Sun Fatty glared at me. "What, you comparing me to them? What's the point of that?"
Just when we were full and starting to feel bored, the door behind us was yanked open. Sun Fatty and I assumed it was the investigator from the front carriage coming to switch shifts with the one looking after Old Mo, so we didn't pay it any mind. But Xiong Wanyi and the others froze, staring past us in shock. That's when Sun Fatty and I realized something was wrong. We turned around—only to find the cold, dark barrels of two guns pointed right at our heads. Standing behind us were three people: two teenage punks, each holding a five-shot hunting rifle, and in front, a middle-aged man with yellow, crooked teeth grinning while aiming a knockoff Type 54 pistol at us.
"Nobody move! We're only here for the money, not lives. Cooperate, and I guarantee not a hair on your heads will be harmed. But if you want to be martyrs, I won't stop you—one bullet each, and you're done. Before you go all heroic on me, think about your parents, your wives and kids. Is dying for a bit of cash really worth it?"
After his little speech, the older man tapped the barrel of his gun against Sun Fatty's head. "You first, chubby. Hand over anything valuable, and don't make this hard. We're just after the cash—don't throw your life away."
Sun Fatty stared down the barrel and sighed. Muttering under his breath, he said, "Can't tell if it's your unlucky day or ours…"
The punk behind him jabbed him hard in the back with his gun. "The hell you mumbling for? I said fork it over! Try anything and I'll put a hole in your back!"
Only then did Sun Fatty's expression change. After years in the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation, he'd gotten used to brushing with death. But getting a hunting rifle jammed into your spine is a different kind of wake-up call—we were still human, after all. Get shot, and you bleed just like anyone else.
"It's just money, right? Sure, take it. Emergency needs—I get it." As he rambled, Sun Fatty's hand moved under his jacket, clearly aiming for the handgun at his waist. I took advantage of the distraction, subtly shifting my posture so the barrel behind me no longer aligned with any vital organs. My right hand slipped under my coat, nearly touching my own gun—
But just then, the older man pressed his pistol directly to Sun Fatty's temple. "Hands out. Now."
Sun Fatty had no choice. He slowly withdrew his hand. The punk behind me, catching on, pressed the barrel back into my spine. I cursed silently. I might have been ex-special forces, but close-quarters disarming wasn't my strong suit. I froze, letting my hand fall still.
The older man glanced at Sun Fatty's hands, then barked, "Er Dumbass, this fat one's playing tricks. You grab his stuff."
Er Dumbass responded with a grunt and reached into Sun Fatty's coat. First, he pulled out a wallet. But on the second try, his face changed. His eyes widened as he pulled out the handgun tucked in Sun Fatty's waistband. "Uncle—he's got a gun!"
That startled the old man. He'd expected a small blade, maybe a fruit knife—not a real firearm. He quickly grabbed the pistol from his nephew and pointed both weapons—one at me, one at Sun Fatty. "Bangs, search him!" he barked.
Bangs hesitated, but eventually reached out and patted me down over my coat. Didn't take long to find the gun at my back. "Uncle, he's got one too!" he said, lifting the edge of my coat to show the handgun at my waist.
Bangs' face went pale. "Uncle, they've got guns. Maybe we should back off?"
"Back off, my ass!" the old man snapped, kicking him. "We've got guns too! Take his weapon!"
Bangs, still trembling, pulled the gun off me. "Now what?"
"Stash it!" the old man barked again, giving him another swift kick. "I told your mom not to let you come out with me. You're nothing but trouble. Next time she begs me, I swear I won't bring you along. Hell, if I do, you're the uncle!"
Originally, the old man had planned to hold the situation down himself while letting the two punks do the robbing. But things had gone sideways from the start.
He was a local from a nearby village, and more than a decade ago, he'd pulled over a dozen similar jobs in other provinces. Then came the nationwide crackdown on railway bandits. With the heat closing in, he slipped back to his hometown. By then, all the loot he'd made had been burned through on booze, gambling, and hookers. He came back with nothing but an old Type 54 he'd stashed years ago, and the clothes on his back.
Thanks to the help of his two older sisters, he managed to open a small convenience stall in the village. It gave him some stability—until he lost the shop in a poker game to a villager known as Two-Idiot.
A few days ago, workers from the railway bureau came by to inspect a track that hadn't been used in years. The old man noticed. A line this old getting checked meant one thing: trains would be rolling through again soon. Smelling opportunity, he borrowed a motorcycle and rode the tracks several times, picking out a good spot. But realizing he couldn't pull it off solo, he called in his two nephews.
When the train rolled in that night, it was moving ridiculously slow—you could jog up and hop on. He thought Heaven had opened its gates and was handing him a jackpot. But it turns out, the heavens were off duty that night.
"You two—what do you even do for a living?" the old man asked, still pointing guns at our heads.
Sun Fatty smiled. "We're in the same line, honestly. We were planning to act up front. Didn't expect to get scooped. But hey—on this turf, we play by the rule of first come, first served, right?"
Before he could finish, Er Dumbass slapped him across the neck. "Who told you it's first come, first served? Keep talking and I'll send you to the Hell Realm early!"
As soon as those words left his mouth, every Soul in the carriage lifted its head and turned to stare at him in unison.
"Quit yapping," the old man snapped. "Doesn't matter if they're in the business or not. Search him again. See what else he's hiding."
Er Dumbass reached into Sun Fatty's pockets again and pulled out the same MP3 player from before.
"This looks nice. What's on it?" he muttered to himself, fumbling for the play button. Everyone else in the carriage—including the Souls and Xiong Wanyi's team—instinctively raised their hands to cover their ears.
Fortunately, Er Dumbass didn't manage to turn it on. After fiddling around for a bit, he just gave up and shoved it into his pocket.
The old man snapped, "Can't you try it at home? Would it kill you? We've got a whole train of people to rob and you're standing there like a fool!"