Chapter 61: Boarding Midway

At moments like this, I couldn't help but feel as though everyone was deliberately watching me, as if anyone around could be tailing me. Yet, when I looked again, it seemed everyone was minding their own business—none of them looked like a stalker. Could it be that everything I've been through lately has left me wound too tight, my nerves stretched to their limits?

After a quick restroom break, I got back on the bus. As it pulled away, fatigue washed over me; my eyelids grew heavy and soon I drifted into sleep. I don't know how much time had passed when the bus suddenly screeched to a halt. Startled, the passengers cried out, many bumping their heads against the seats in front of them.

I hit my head too, though not badly. Amid the commotion, I heard the driver cursing—his words indistinct, but it seemed someone had stepped out in front of the bus, trying to flag it down. The driver shouted at the man, "Are you out of your mind? Why can't you pull over to stop a bus? What if I hit you?"

The driver's tone was actually quite polite, and he still opened the door for the man. A young man in a high-collared trench coat boarded; his face was obscured, age indeterminate but likely not old. He grinned apologetically, saying, "Sorry, really sorry, I was in a hurry and didn't want you to miss me. I'll be more careful next time."

Long-distance buses rarely pick up passengers outside stations—rules forbid it, but rules are dead and people are alive; most drivers aren't about to miss a chance to make a little extra money. As the conductor issued him a ticket, the man made his way to an empty seat. I paid him no mind until he passed me and, whether deliberately or not, glanced in my direction. Already on edge, I noticed immediately. But I didn't recognize him, and if he were following me, wouldn't he have gotten on at the start? Boarding midway would be too conspicuous.

The bus resumed its journey and I let it go, chalking up my suspicion to nerves. Soon, I fell asleep again and didn't wake until four or five in the morning, when the sky was turning pale. I realized the bus had left the highway, likely because the driver wanted to avoid tolls or take a shortcut—such things were common enough. We stopped at a gas station, and everyone got off to stretch their legs. The girl who'd been sitting beside me looked uncomfortable, so I asked, "Are you alright? Not feeling well?"

She nodded shyly, "Just a bit of a stomachache."

There was no pharmacy at the gas station, nor did I have any medicine. As I was racking my brain for a solution, the man who'd boarded midway approached and handed her a packet of pills. "Try these," he said. He wore sunglasses, looked quite young, and had a perpetual smile on his face. The girl thanked him and, to my surprise, he gave me a packet too. "You should keep some as well. You never know when you'll need it."

His words were odd, and before I could respond, he pressed the medicine into my hand and walked away. I frowned, watching his retreating figure, a sense of unease settling over me.

The bus started up again, taking the winding mountain road. The driver told us this route would save over an hour. Most passengers were in a hurry, so no one objected. But by three in the afternoon, the bus broke down. Both drivers got out to fix it, but after half an hour, it was clear something was seriously wrong. One driver said a part needed replacing, but we were in the middle of nowhere, and there was no cell signal. The mountain road was deserted. The only option was for one driver to hike to the nearest town for help, while the conductor tried to calm the increasingly anxious passengers. Hours passed, and night fell. The driver still hadn't returned. We should have arrived by five; now it was past seven and pitch dark. But walking wasn't an option. We had no choice but to wait.

The girl beside me asked timidly, "Would you go with me outside? I need the restroom and I'm a bit scared." The mountains loomed outside, the darkness was real, and I could hardly blame her for being afraid. I nodded and agreed. As I stepped off the bus with her, the man who'd boarded midway followed us out. I felt an inexplicable aversion toward him, even though he was a stranger.

The girl found a spot behind a large rock, and I stepped away to give her privacy. The man stood beside me, unbuckling his belt as if to relieve himself. I frowned, "Be careful, don't splash on me."

He was annoyingly close, but he just grinned, "Relax, I'm very precise. Not a drop will get on you."

I turned to move elsewhere when he muttered under his breath, "You're here to meet someone, aren't you?"

My heart jolted. I tensed immediately—I'd suspected something, but his words still caught me off guard. As I spun around, he was suddenly right behind me. He slammed his fist into my abdomen. It felt like he was wearing some kind of knuckle-duster, solid and metallic, and he struck with a brutal, practiced force. Agony exploded in my gut, and the taste of blood rose in my throat.

I staggered back, doubled over, unable to catch my breath. He watched me with a grin, cocking his head. "That’s all it took? What a letdown. By the way, I gave you that stomach medicine earlier—don’t forget to take it if you’re feeling unwell."

My vision blurred, and I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva, glaring at him. I was about to retaliate when the girl's timid voice called out, "Sorry, my stomach was just a bit upset, so... so it took a while..."

I guessed she meant she’d been delayed, but right now I had no time for her. I nodded, telling her I’d stay below to smoke a cigarette. The man smiled and said, "Perfect—give me one too."

When the girl got back on the bus, I checked myself. The pain had eased a little. I lit a cigarette, held it out to the man. "Didn’t you want a smoke? Here."

As I spoke, I flicked the lit cigarette at him. He blocked it with his hand, sparks scattering. In that instant, I lunged, closed the distance between us, and slammed my fist into his chest. As he staggered back, I spun in place and kicked him. He was quick—he caught himself with one hand on the ground, slid upright again, though he looked rattled. He grinned, "Not bad. Let's go another round."

Just then, the driver who’d gone for help returned, bringing a jeep with a mechanic. I glanced at the man. He shrugged and headed back to the bus. I stared after him; he was clearly the one tailing me. My whereabouts must have been exposed, but I’d expected that—my adversaries had vast resources. What puzzled me was his brazenness. He didn’t sneak around; instead, he followed openly. Despite his high collar, I’d noticed he was about my age, with excellent fighting skills.

The bus was quickly repaired and we set off again, finally arriving in Datong around nine that night. I said goodbye to the girl who’d sat beside me, then headed toward some small inns near the station.

The man trailed behind, unhurried. As I walked, irritation gnawed at me, growing more intense with each step. When I reached a quiet corner, I stopped, quickly drew the pistol hidden under my clothes, turned, and aimed it at him.

"Take one more step and I’ll blow your head off. Believe me?"

He froze, clearly surprised—not expecting me to be armed, nor for me to be so direct. He dropped his smile, his tone shifting. "Put that thing away. You’re going to scare someone."

His voice, his manner—something about it felt oddly familiar. Could someone really change their voice and speech so easily?

As I stood there, stunned, he began to peel at his own face, applying liquid from a small bottle as he rubbed, bit by bit, revealing—