The bus door slowly creaked open. The young couple held hands and began to step off.
"Wait!" I grabbed the handrail and blocked their path.
"What's your problem?" the man said coldly, his eyes glinting with hostility.
There was no time to explain. Telling him his girlfriend was a murderous ghost would only get me laughed off the bus—or stabbed. So I opted for a more extreme approach. I planted a hand on my hip and shouted like a scorned lover, "You two think I'm invisible? Filthy cheaters!"
"Looking for trouble, psycho? Get outta the way!" the man wrapped his arm tighter around the woman—his posture screamed this is my girl.
"Shameless! Don't move!" I shoved him aside and grabbed the woman's right hand, forcing her middle finger straight. "Everyone, look at this—see the ring mark? This woman's already engaged! She's been wearing a thimble and a ring for years. Now she dares sneak around with this guy?"
I'd been observing her carefully: calluses on her palm, indents on her finger from a ring and thimble, a bit of cuff peeking from her bag. Given the last stop was a textile factory, she was probably a married worker there in life. And judging from the dream, she seduced this man and murdered him afterward. That meant they weren't a couple—just a fling.
The woman looked stunned. "I don't know him! Afeng, please believe me!"
"Still denying it after I caught you red-handed?" I snarled. "Come home now! The twins are still waiting to be nursed!"
The woman looked heartbroken, clinging to Afeng's arm. "Afeng, let's just go. He's crazy."
"Crazy?!" I screamed and kicked her off the bus. "Get home and feed your kids!"
"Motherf—! You really hit her!" The guy—Afeng—flipped. He yanked a switchblade from his pocket.
Knew it, I thought. Definitely not a good guy. I kept my eyes on the blade and wrestled with him.
"Damn, this city's got everything. Taking a bus feels like watching a live drama," one of the drunk workers in the back chuckled. None of them moved to help.
The young driver wiped sweat from his brow, tapping the steering wheel nervously and glancing at the time.
An older woman finally ambled over, scolding, "If y'all wanna fight, take it outside. Don't hold up the rest of us." She grabbed our arms, trying to haul us off the bus. The woman ghost came over too, pretending to break it up.
They want me off this bus. I yanked free and ran toward the front, shouting all the way, "That cheating bitch wants me dead? Go home and raise your kids! Tonight I'm gonna teach this pretty boy a lesson!"
Afeng lunged after me with the knife. We kept scuffling near the front of the bus.
What struck me as odd was that neither the woman nor the older lady could re-board the bus once they were out. They kept pounding on the door but couldn't get back in.
The driver ignored our fight completely, eyes fixed on the clock. Two or three minutes later, he finally pulled the lever—doors closed, and the bus rolled on.
"Shit! Stop the bus! Let me off!" Afeng screamed.
But the driver just gave him a nervous glance and mumbled, "Each stop can't go over five minutes. Otherwise… other passengers might get on."
"Other passengers?" I echoed, eyeing his strange word choice.
"Not like you. Different passengers." He didn't elaborate and just kept driving.
I turned to look outside. The woman and old lady were gone—vanished as if they'd never existed.
Afeng realized something was off too. He tucked away the blade and slumped back into his seat.
Cold wind leaked through the loose windowpanes. After that chaos, the bus felt even more eerily quiet.
At least that danger's passed. But the dream had ended here. From this point on, I had no script.
I checked my livestream. One danmu comment caught my eye:
Police Dog Loves Rice: "Streamer, you shouldn't have saved that guy. He's a fugitive—a psychotic killer."
A killer? I said nothing. Quietly, I pulled out my phone to confirm.
With the national fugitive database online, it didn't take long to find him.
Name: Yuan Feng
Alias: Afeng, "the Madman"
Age: 25 | Height: 173cm
Crime: Stabbing death of textile worker Wang Amei on May 12 in Huaxin District, Jiangcheng.
Fugitive status: Armed and dangerous. Last seen wearing a white checkered shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers.
So I saved a murderer? My stomach churned.
That red-dressed ghost had been trying to take justice into her own hands—but I got in the way.
"If I make it through tonight alive, I'll make sure he's brought to justice. The living should handle the living."
I shut off the phone and stared into the darkness outside. Then clenched my fists.
The next two stops—Martyrs' Street and Red Brick Factory—no one boarded or got off. But the driver still opened the doors at each stop, waiting exactly between three to five minutes.
"The vehicle is now departing. Please hold on. Welcome aboard Route 14, self-service fare. Exact change only. One yuan per passenger. Next stop: Qicun Women and Children's Hospital."
As soon as the bus started moving, the perm-haired woman's phone rang—its shrill tone echoed through the silent cabin.
The call connected, and a man's angry voice screamed from the other end. "Zhang Rong! Why the hell did you send our pictures to my wife?! She's pregnant, damn it!"
"She's pregnant? Then what about the child growing inside me?!" she shrieked. Her voice cracked. "You wouldn't tell her, so I did it myself. And I've got plenty more photos I took while you slept. If you don't give me an answer, I'll send them to your wife—hell, I'll print out her favorite poses and frame them for your living room!"
"Shut up! Don't say another word!"
"Why shouldn't I? Why is it always me who gets hurt?" she screamed louder. "We both carry your child, but she's sleeping on a damn memory foam mattress while I'm on a crummy bus getting harassed by thugs!"
"Zhang Rong, listen to me. I'm not getting a divorce. If you still care about what we had, get rid of that kid. I'll compensate you—"
"Bastard! Say that again?!"
Zhang Rong had hoped for comfort—but all she got was betrayal. He never saw her as anything but a disposable toy.
"Our whole relationship was a mistake. Don't make it worse. If you keep acting out, you'll only hurt yourself. I've said my piece. Do what you will."
The call ended abruptly. The cold beep-beep-beep of the busy tone stung even as a bystander.
Zhang Rong gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her makeup was smeared with tears, and her face contorted in fury.
"Fine," she growled. "I'll do it. I'll get rid of it. Don't regret this, Li Zijian."
She dug her nails into her stomach, drawing blood.
Heavy breathing. Bloody lips. Mascara and rage made her look more ghost than human.
Route 14 kept rolling through the night, jamming together strangers from different worlds—heading toward the same unknown end.
Time trickled forward in the silence, and then the next stop came:
"Ding-dong! Qicun Women and Children's Hospital. Please take all your belongings. Exit from the rear door. Watch your step."