Zhang Rong's attitude took a complete 180—not because her conscience awakened, but because something had changed.
Using the camera feature on the Netherworld Live Show app, I was the only one on the bus—besides the livestream viewers—who could see it.
A woman in blood-red clothes with long, drooping hair stood up from the seat behind Zhang Rong. Her pale hands gently kneaded Zhang Rong's face. Her blood-matted black hair slowly wound itself around Zhang Rong's neck.
This woman in red—the same one from my dreams—had never left. She had been following Zhang Rong all along.
The full story was finally clear to me: Zhang Rong had falsely accused the first wife, Yang Rou, of cheating, then took her place and got together with Li Zijian.
Crushed by the betrayal, Yang Rou, heavily pregnant, had gone alone to the hospital for a checkup. As soon as she left her community gate, she was hit by Route 14's bus.
Her grievances turned to monstrous hatred. Even in death, she couldn't pass on—her soul lingered, attaching itself to the already cursed Route 14.
The phone call at midnight urging Zhang Rong to abort her child, the earlier video call—all of it had been the work of Yang Rou's vengeful ghost.
"No wonder the woman in red clung so tightly to Zhang Rong in my dream. She followed her everywhere—her grudge couldn't be resolved."
Thinking back carefully, her red garment looked oversized. The first time I saw her, I thought she was just wearing a big red coat.
But it was actually a blood-soaked maternity dress.
The child she had carried had already died. That's why it hung so loosely.
Now the baby from the basket was crawling up Zhang Rong's leg. Her eyes bulged in terror as her neck stretched unnaturally. Her head looked like a radish being slowly pulled from the ground.
"Help... help me," Zhang Rong gasped. But the ghost seemed to be taking its time, torturing her slowly, drawing out the process of death.
I sat motionless, watching everything through my phone. Her screams echoed in my ears, but I had no intention of helping.
"Deserved," I muttered. "She brought this on herself."
Whether it was Yuan Feng or Zhang Rong, both had been targeted by ghosts because of their own sins.
Saving Yuan Feng had been an accident—at least I could wait until morning to hand him over to the law.
But Zhang Rong was different. Her actions weren't criminal. At most, she'd suffer some public condemnation. She and Li Zijian could still happily spend the insurance payout from Yang Rou's death.
But some justice never sees the light of day.
If Zhang Rong's death could satisfy the ghost's grudge... to me, that felt fair.
"Auntie, she—" Liu Yiyi started to speak, but I stopped her immediately. I'd spent enough time in this world to know when to stay out of something. Now was not the time to challenge a vengeful spirit.
But even the best-laid plans can go awry. The three drunken workers and Yuan Feng were walking over.
Zhang Rong looked so strange now, it was impossible not to attract attention.
"Help me..." she whimpered.
Four men, full of life and Yang energy, surrounded her. The ghost's movements slowed.
"What's wrong with her? Having a seizure?"
"Looks like asthma. Big-city smog—lots of people get it."
"You two morons don't know anything," Wang Chunfu grunted, clearly still tipsy. He stared at Zhang Rong's terrified eyes. "This is where you gotta do chest compressions. And mouth-to-mouth. Out of the way, keep the air flowing."
He was clearly thinking with the wrong organ. I couldn't stand to watch the farce unfold, but I also couldn't interrupt—not until I figured out who these guys really were.
"Watch closely, boys. This is basic first aid." Wang Chunfu sounded confident, but the look on his face was disgusting.
He tore open Zhang Rong's collar, placed his hands on her chest, and theatrically inhaled before pressing his lips to hers.
"Feeling better, sweetheart?"
With the burst of Yang energy, Zhang Rong seemed to regain a bit of warmth. The black hair around her neck loosened slightly. She nodded quickly. "Help me... please help me..."
"Of course! I'm a soft-hearted guy. Could never watch someone die."
He leaned in again. But without noticing, a faint pallor crept into his drunkenly flushed cheeks.
"Bro Chunfu, let us help too."
"Sure, sure. Just press hard when you go down."
The three men shared a smile and took turns helping.
The two younger guys, Jianbang and Jianye, had even stronger Yang energy than Chunfu. Through the Netherworld Live Show app, I could see the ghost's black hair entangling all four of them—but the grudge was now spread out. None of them were in immediate danger.
The bus rolled forward slowly. As always, the driver remained uninvolved, silently doing his job.
We passed a crumbling old rose garden. Then a giant billboard advertising investment opportunities loomed into view, and the next station was announced over the intercom.
Ding-dong! "Garden Community. Please take your belongings and exit from the rear door. Have a safe journey."
This was where Yang Rou had died in the crash. Based on what I'd seen with the mourning passengers earlier, it was clear—vengeful spirits had to disembark at the place of their death.
Which meant... the ghost in red was getting off here.
"Zhang Rong's luck is freakishly good," I thought. "She might actually survive."
The doors opened at both ends of the bus. I kept my eyes locked on the ghost's movement through my phone screen.
She couldn't kill all four at once. Her blood-drenched dress fluttered, hair writhing like waves.
A minute passed. Then two. Then three.
The baby, who had been clinging to Zhang Rong, darkened in color and slumped back into the basket.
And then, like a magic trick, a white cat with hollow eye sockets leapt from the basket and bolted off the bus.
No new passengers boarded from the front. The driver pulled the lever to close the doors.
"Vehicle departing. Please hold on. Next stop: Duanwang Tower."
The front doors shut, but the rear doors only closed halfway—something was blocking them.
"Driver! The back door's stuck!" Yuan Feng banged on it.
The driver glanced back nervously but didn't leave his seat.
"Maybe it's just a mechanical issue. Try pulling it by hand?"
"What a piece of junk," Yuan Feng grumbled. He kicked the door, then yanked it hard until it clicked shut. "There. Go on!"
I broke into a cold sweat.
Only I knew why that door wouldn't close.
It wasn't mechanical failure.
It was the ghost in red, jammed in the doorway. Her target hadn't died. Her grudge hadn't been satisfied.
Through the livestream, I saw her—still pressed against the door, her face hidden behind swaying black hair, skull banging rhythmically against the glass.
The bus began to move again.
I thought we were finally in the clear.
But the real nightmare was only just beginning.
We hadn't even left the station before the bus lurched to a stop again.
Passengers murmured in confusion: "Why aren't we going? Let's go already!"
The driver shakily stood up, face pale as chalk, and looked outside.
"What is it?" I rushed to the front door—and froze.
Lying just inches in front of the bus's front wheels... was a pregnant woman.
No. More accurately, a pregnant corpse.
Her pale yellow maternity dress was soaked in blood. Her dead eyes were wide open, unblinking, staring diagonally toward the bus.
"Goddamn... you hit someone!" one of the drunken workers shouted, the shock sobering them instantly.
The permed woman—Zhang Rong—only had to take one look before screaming and sprinting to the back.
"Yang Rou! I didn't kill you! It wasn't me! It wasn't my fault!"
"I didn't hit her either!" the driver stammered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I thought it was a log or something—couldn't see clearly from far away!"
Yuan Feng, the driver, and the three workers stood around, completely lost.
"Her face is swollen, blood pooled... she's been dead for hours," I said calmly, holding my phone. "We need to move the bus. Can we steer around her?"
"She's too close. This old bus always rolls a bit when starting—it'll crush the body for sure," the driver muttered, palms slick with sweat. "And there's one more thing..."
He hesitated.
"The veteran driver who handed me this route told me... never stop at any one station for more than five minutes."
"Why?" Yuan Feng and I asked in unison.
"I don't know," he said. "That's what he told me—on the phone. Right before he died last night."
I frowned.
Not good.
We couldn't leave because of the corpse. But if we stayed too long...
"We're already past four minutes! Somebody think of something—fast!"