There were only seven stops between the departure station and the paper mill, but the trip took an hour. In our line of work, we called that a short long-distance route.
If Old Tang hadn't told me all that over dinner, I wouldn't have had any misgivings.
But he had looked far too serious to be joking. More importantly, there was a mandatory stop by the reservoir called Tangwazi.
Over a decade ago, a rich local villager had used the reservoir to run a fishing park. Later, for some unknown reason, he'd lost money and skipped town, and the reservoir had been abandoned ever since.
The reservoir was another half kilometer from Tang Hollow Village.
There were only a handful of scattered households here. All I hoped was that nobody would be boarding at the reservoir stop, so I could just hit the gas and cruise right past.
Before I'd gone far from the main station, large numbers of villagers began boarding one group after another. They came in groups of three or five, carrying baskets of unsold vegetables on shoulder poles, chatting and laughing happily.
That eased my nerves considerably. I thought I'd made the right choice taking the paper mill route after all.
These villagers had been selling vegetables until this late hour. Without a bus back to their villages, they'd have to spend the night in town.
When I thought about it, a whole day's earnings from selling vegetables wouldn't even cover a hotel room. They might only be able to find an empty corner by a wall and make do for the night.
Once we left town, nobody else boarded.
The villagers were probably tired from spending all day at the market, and the bus gradually quieted down.
Sitting across from me beside the driver's seat was an old man well into his sixties, with deeply tanned skin and a dirty white towel wrapped around his head.
Although it was already eleven thirty at night, the old man still looked full of energy. He pulled out a tobacco pipe, glanced up at me, and asked:
"Young man, mind if I have a smoke?"
I glanced at him and said, "Sure, sir. You're by the window, so smoke if you like."
The old man nodded, took out some matches, and lit his pipe. He took a puff and said:
"Young man, you seem like a decent fellow. How'd you end up doing this job? Didn't study hard in school?"
His words rubbed me the wrong way, and I replied quietly:
"What's wrong with my job? It's pretty good."
The old man exhaled a mouthful of smoke and gave two dry chuckles.
"Pretty good? What's good about it? You sit around all day without moving, risk your life, and barely earn anything!"
A lot of people saw driving a bus as a dead-end job, and that was a sore spot for me.
Because of my job, several women a matchmaker had introduced me to had looked down on what I did, and things had fallen through every time.
Thinking about that made me a little impatient, and I said:
"That's not fair, sir. If I weren't driving, wouldn't you be sleeping under a bridge tonight?"
The old man seemed to notice my tone. He said nothing for a while, lowering his head and taking several puffs. Then he held his pipe out the window, tapped out the ash, and said:
"Young man, we're almost at the reservoir. Slow down."
Actually, he didn't need to tell me. I'd started slowing down a long way off. I didn't dare forget what Old Tang had told me.
There was a stop right beside the road at the reservoir. Seeing nobody beneath the bus stop sign, I drove past without stopping.
As the headlights swept over the Tangwazi road sign, a chill ran down my back.
I thought I could use this opening to ask about what Old Tang had mentioned.
"Sir, a coworker told me something happened around this reservoir before. Is that true?"
The old man seemed to have expected the question. He nodded and said unhurriedly:
"Yes, something happened. A driver drove a whole busload of people into the reservoir."
That was exactly what Old Tang had said, but hearing it again from this old man instantly made me nervous.
But curiosity drove me to keep asking.
"How'd that happen? This road looks fine, and there's hardly any traffic. How could there have been an accident?"
"He ran into a ghost."
The moment the old man said that, I was so frightened I nearly slammed the brake pedal to the floor.
The bus lurched sharply, jolting awake many villagers dozing in the back. Several of them, confused and half-asleep, asked in the local dialect:
"Good heavens, what happened?"
Forcing down my nerves, I turned and shouted toward the back:
"Sorry, folks! Bad road. I was dodging a puddle!"
The villagers seemed furious, and some simply started cursing:
"What's wrong with this driver? Something wrong with his head? Why doesn't he get himself checked at a hospital?"
Those were nasty words. In daylight, I would've snapped right back, but it was late at night, and they were just some uneducated villagers. I couldn't be bothered arguing with them.
For the next stretch, I wasn't in the mood to chat with the old man anymore. Once I reached the terminus, I'd still have to drive back alone. There was no need to scare myself.
I glanced sideways at the old man. He didn't seem interested in talking either and just kept his head down, smoking. He'd been smoking that pipe ever since he boarded, yet somehow he still hadn't finished it.
At exactly midnight, the bus finally reached the paper mill terminus without incident. The villagers filed off. I stretched and was just about to turn the bus around for the return trip.
Suddenly, a pale-faced old woman appeared outside the window and bang, bang, bang, slapped her hand against the glass.
I broke into a cold sweat. The villagers had all gotten off ages ago. Where had this old woman come from?
Gritting my teeth, I bent down, took a wrench from the repair box, and gripped it tightly. Then I opened the door and shouted:
"What do you want?"
The wrinkles on the old woman's face overlapped so much that if she aged any further, it looked as though you wouldn't be able to make out her features.
She pulled the door open, climbed slowly aboard, glanced at me, and said quietly:
"Oh dear, left my basket on the bus."
I looked back. Sure enough, a vegetable basket had been left on a back seat. Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief.
The old woman retrieved her basket. With one foot already off the bus, she slowly turned back and said:
"Young fellow, you're so young, and you seem nice enough. How come you're not right in the head?"
Completely baffled, I asked:
"What's wrong, ma'am? Just because I braked hard and jolted you a little, you're all going to keep insulting me?"
The old woman shook her head with difficulty and pointed at the window seat across from me.
"The whole way here, you kept looking at that seat and talking to yourself. It was frightening."
Fuck, the moment I heard that, cold sweat broke out all over my back. Even my hands on the steering wheel began to shake.
I turned to look at that seat. After a moment, I stammered:
"W-what do you mean, talking to myself? I was chatting with the old man sitting there smoking the whole time. Is your eyesight bad, ma'am?"
The old woman looked very angry. Pointing at me, she said:
"My eyesight's perfectly fine! That seat's been empty ever since I got on. Why are you lying? You're sick in the head."
With that, she picked up her vegetable basket and slowly walked away, muttering insults at me.
I panicked completely. I'd spent the whole fucking trip talking to that old man, and now she was telling me I'd been talking to myself?
The countryside was extraordinarily quiet this late at night, and extraordinarily dark. Beyond the small patch lit by the headlights, I couldn't see a thing.
Cold sweat kept pouring off me, soaking the back of my shirt in no time.
I checked my watch. Twelve ten. It would take another hour to get back to the station. I really wanted to call a tow truck and have it haul both me and the bus back.
Just then, the piercing ringtone of "The Hottest Ethnic Style" rang out. I nearly jumped out of the driver's seat in fright. It was Old Tang. I hurriedly answered.
"How's it going, buddy? You've arrived, right? Heading back yet?"
I felt as if I didn't even have the strength to speak. Quietly, I said:
"Brother Tang, I just got here. I'm so fucking scared I don't even have the strength to shift gears!"
Hearing that something was wrong, Old Tang hurried on:
"What's wrong, buddy? Nothing happened, did it? Don't go scaring yourself. I just had a master fortune-teller read your fortune. Your eight characters are incredibly strong. He said with a fate like yours, you could dig up graves at night and be perfectly fine!"
Hearing that, I suddenly felt as happy as if I'd won five million. I hurriedly asked:
"Holy shit, really? He really said that?"
"Of course! He said all your five elements fall under yang water. There's not a trace of yin deficiency in your fate. Even ghosts have to steer clear of you!"
Suddenly, the whole world seemed full of light, and I couldn't help laughing aloud.
"Holy shit, he really said that?"
"Listen to you, you coward. A fate like that is wasted on you. All right, hurry back. I've bought drinks and have them ready in the dorm. We'll have some when you get back."
With that, Old Tang hung up.
That call was truly a lifeline for me. I now felt strength filling my entire body.
It was as if, in that instant, I'd become the ruler of all the darkness in the world.
I shifted into gear, started the bus, and shouted:
"Come on, you little ghosts! Your daddy's here! Come on!"
The return trip really flew by. Humming a tune, I made it safely back to the station.
Everyone in the dorm was asleep. Only Old Tang was waiting in my room, with food and drinks laid out. The moment I entered, I gave him a huge hug.
Old Tang didn't seem particularly happy to see me. He only said quietly:
"Buddy, you're finally back!"
Something sounded wrong, and I asked:
"What's wrong, brother? With a fate like mine, wouldn't I be fine coming back anytime?"
Old Tang sighed and said:
"Buddy, I was afraid you'd scare yourself too badly to come back, so I made up that fortune-teller. Don't be mad!"
At his words, the smile froze on my face. So I didn't have a fate that made ghosts steer clear of me after all?
I suddenly remembered that old man and felt a cold draft across my back.
Before I could recover, Old Tang put a hand on my shoulder and said:
"Buddy, I asked around for you during the day. Ten years ago, before those three drivers had their accidents, every one of them had carried an old woman who left her vegetable basket on the bus. You didn't run into her today, did you?"
After hearing that, I didn't just feel a cold draft across my back. I felt as though even the soles of my feet were sweating!