The broadcast rang out once again—Route 14 had arrived.
That ghostly-looking woman with the permed hair staggered up from her seat. Her lips were clenched, nails digging into the flesh of her belly, as she headed toward the bus door.
"Excuse me, please exit from the rear door," the driver reminded her softly.
But the woman didn't reply. She was near the front door anyway and took only a few steps to reach it.
"Hee-hee—"
As the front doors creaked open, the sound of children laughing echoed from outside. I leaned forward to look—several tiny black shadows had thrown a vegetable basket onto the step before skipping away into the Women and Children's Hospital.
"Whose little brats are still out playing this late?"
The woman in high heels stomped forward. Heartbroken and disoriented, she didn't even bother to avoid the basket—her stiletto was about to stab straight down.
"Wait!"
Just before her sharp heel landed inside the basket, a baby's cry came from within.
Her foot stopped midair—its pointed tip only a few centimeters from delicate newborn skin. The baby inside even reached out a tiny hand, grasping toward her leg.
She had nearly crushed a newborn child.
The sheer horror of what she almost did snapped her out of her rage—if only slightly.
"Mama..." The baby's tearful wails clearly formed the word "Mama."
Squatting beside the door, the permed woman froze for over a minute. Then, abruptly, she changed her mind.
She didn't get off the bus. Instead, she picked up the basket and carried it back to her seat.
"What the hell is this lunatic trying to pull now?" I thought. Whether ghost or human, as long as she got off the bus, she'd be no threat to me. But not only did she stay—she brought a baby onboard.
It's not that I lack empathy. It's just... something about that baby is deeply wrong.
A remote stop like this, in the dead of night—who the hell abandons a baby at a bus station at this hour?
This wasn't just abandonment. This was murder.
The woman clung to the basket, making no effort to comfort the crying infant. Instead, she opened her handbag, pulled out a makeup case, and started applying makeup with disturbing focus.
"She's insane," I muttered, pointing my phone camera at her. The livestream chat lit up instantly:
"What the actual hell is that?"
"Confirmed: with enough effort, humans are scarier than ghosts."
"Y'all are too focused on the obvious. Didn't anyone notice the most horrifying part?"
"Wait, what?! Spill!"
"It's clearly tights season... and she's wearing pantyhose."
"Bro what the f—"
After retouching her cracked foundation and applying bright red lipstick, she turned to the baby wailing beside her.
"My first child... if I hadn't aborted it, it would've been about your age now."
Her smile cracked like peeling paint—utterly nauseating. Even I started to feel bad for the poor thing in the basket.
She picked him up and gently pinched his swollen little cheeks.
"You look just like him... that lying bastard."
Oddly, once the baby was in her arms, his crying softened. His plump cheeks wore an expression far beyond his age—complicated, almost aware.
"Nobody wants you? Then I'll be your mama." She raised her phone. "Let's call Daddy."
She dialed a familiar number—but as expected, it went unanswered. She tried several more. Still nothing.
"Fine. You did this, Li Zijian!" she snapped, squeezing the baby tighter until he whimpered in pain. She didn't even notice.
After scrolling for a while, she finally found the right contact. She started a video call and held the phone up so that both her face and the baby's were on screen.
A few moments later, the call connected.
The woman who appeared on the other end had a gentle face—soft-spoken, introverted, wearing pajamas and heavily pregnant. Her eyes were red, as if she'd just cried herself out.
"Who are you? How did you get my WeChat?" she asked gently. Her voice was calm—completely unlike the permed woman's.
"Who am I? You saw those photos in your inbox, didn't you?"
"You're the bitch who seduced my husband!"
"Seduced?" the permed woman laughed bitterly. "Let's be honest. Your husband's 'overtime' was spent memorizing every inch of my body."
"Shut up! Slut!"
"And you think you're better than me? You stole him from me! I'm the real wife. Look—this is his son!"
She shoved the baby's face toward the camera, even manipulating his tiny arms like props.
"You... you—!" The pregnant woman suddenly doubled over in pain, crying out.
A man rushed in from the living room, panicked. "Rou Rou! Yang Rou!"
Blood bloomed across the woman's white pajamas. She collapsed, writhing on the floor. The man fumbled for his phone, dialing emergency services.
The entire scene played out in real time through the phone's camera.
Back on the bus, the baby screamed again—but the permed woman only smiled wider.
"Serves you right."
She gently set the baby back in the basket like it was used luggage, then kicked the basket to the side, completely ignoring the infant's cries.
Liu Yiyi, sitting nearby, couldn't bear it anymore. She instinctively reached toward the child, but I grabbed her shoulder.
"Sit down," I said quietly. "This isn't something you want to get involved in."
The bus engine rumbled, and the broadcast chimed again. Three more stops came and went in eerie silence. It had been nearly forty minutes.
"Not many stops left before the end," I muttered, my legs bouncing. The quiet was unnerving—too quiet, compared to what happened at New Hu High.
Ding-dong! "Qingtu Temple. Please take your belongings and exit from the rear door."
The front and rear doors opened.
About a minute passed before the rhythmic jingling of bronze bells rang from outside—low, resonant tones like cattle bells from my childhood village.
"What the hell's boarding this time?"
The sound grew closer.
The baby in the basket went silent.
The passengers looked around nervously.
Then five people in mourning linen rose in unison from the back row, their faces pale and stiff.
They moved as one, silently queuing at the back door. Only when they turned did I notice something chilling—each of them had a red talisman stuck to the back of their head.
"Talisman on the nape?"
I rose to record it—then spotted someone else: an old Daoist in a teal robe, standing just under the bus.
In one hand he held a bronze bell. In the other, a willow switch. His lips moved in constant murmuring.
"Could it be... a corpse herder?" I whispered. I stepped toward the rear door to film, but the old Daoist suddenly stiffened, turning his head—right at me.
"You're—" I started to speak, but he cut me off with a gesture: a finger to his lips.
He tucked the willow switch into his belt, pulled out a yellow paper, and quickly scrawled something on it.
Then, eyes closed, he boarded the bus—never looking at anyone—and stuffed the yellow slip into my palm.
Without a word, he stepped back off and left, leading the five mourners into the dark.
I didn't open the paper yet. I just stood there, watching them vanish.
"Vehicle departing. Please hold on. Welcome aboard Route 14. Exact fare is one yuan. Please move toward the rear after boarding. Next stop: Garden Community."
As the broadcast ended, the permed woman's phone rang again. She glanced at the caller ID and gave a twisted smile.
"Hello? Li Zijian, how's your precious wife doing?"
"Rongrong, what are you saying? You're my one and only. That old hag won't be bothering us anymore."
Same voice, same tone as before—but his words were... completely different.
"You... who the hell are you?"
"It's me, Zijian! I've got good news—we can finally be together! For real!"
"You got a divorce?"
"Even better," he chuckled gleefully. "She died in a car accident! No messy legal stuff, no alimony—I'll even get a huge insurance payout! It's fate! Heaven wants us together!"
His voice was bubbling, like a kid proud of a prank.
"Cut the crap!" she snapped. "You called me earlier, told me to abort the baby! You piece of shit!"
"Abort? Rongrong, are you dreaming? I never called you! That's my kid—we'd never do that."
"If you don't believe me, check the news."
I had been watching closely. The story had taken a strange turn, so I quickly pulled out my phone to search.
"Around 5 p.m. today, a major traffic collision occurred near Garden Community in Jiangcheng. A private car and a Route 14 bus were involved. Two dead, one injured. Among the deceased was a high-risk pregnant woman, identified as Yang Rou."
The report included several photos. One showed a woman in a red maternity dress, blurred for privacy.
Zhang Rong must have seen the article too. Her hand trembled as she clutched her phone.
"You see? I wasn't lying."
"Zijian..." she rasped, as if her throat were closing up. "I'm sorry. I lied. Your wife never cheated. The child... it's yours."
Her head turned unnaturally, eyes locking onto the baby that had somehow climbed out of the basket.
She stared at its face and whispered, "Look... doesn't he look just like you?"