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Chapter 649: One ticket
Wen Jianyan took one last look back at the charred ruins behind him, then withdrew his gaze:
“Let’s go.”
The wreckage of the orphanage was left behind.
The shadows of the past receded bit by bit, until they could no longer be seen.
Ahead of the orphanage lay a crooked path leading straight into the depths of darkness.
This man-made path wasn’t long, and they soon reached the end. What appeared before him was an endless, dim graveyard. Looking out, there was not a trace of life; a cold aura loomed overhead, giving an infinite sense of oppression.
Previously, they had found this place mainly relying on Bai Xue’s guidance, but this time, that option was obviously no longer applicable.
“Can you sense the location of the station?” Wen Jianyan turned his head to look at Wu Zhu.
Wu Zhu looked puzzled: “Station?”
Right, as a god who had been sliced up, lost all memories, and repeatedly used as an instance furnace core, he obviously had no concept of man-made existences like “stations.”
“It’s a place where trains stop… no, if you don’t know what a station is, you probably don’t know what a train is either…” Wen Jianyan found himself in the predicament of not knowing how to explain what a station was to a non-human for the first time. “Uh, it’s roughly a not-too-large semi-open building, with iron tracks connecting to the distance inside, and a few rows of seats for waiting for the train…”
He tried hard to describe the station in simple terms, then looked expectantly at Wu Zhu:
“Did you understand?”
Wu Zhu shook his head, the expression on his face unchanging: “No.”
Wen Jianyan: “…”
“But it should be over there.” Wu Zhu turned his head, looking in a certain direction ahead. “In this area, only that direction seems to have human creations.”
Wen Jianyan: “…”
That works too.
At least the goal was achieved.
“Alright, you lead the way.”
Soon, the solitary station appeared not far away. In this dark, desolate world, it looked so out of place and distinct.
“This is it.” Wen Jianyan took a deep breath.
He stepped onto the platform.
Wu Zhu followed him up, looking around.
As an existence who could only move within instances, all this was very novel to him.
“What next?” he asked.
“Wait.” Wen Jianyan said.
If he remembered correctly, the train should arrive very soon.
Sure enough, before they had stayed there long, the ground beneath their feet began to vibrate. Accompanied by the roar of metal friction and mechanical operation, the vibration gradually intensified. A train whistled out of the darkness, its headlights emitting blinding white light, illuminating the platform.
“Hiss—”
The train slowed down and stopped bit by bit in front of them.
The doors opened automatically.
“Let’s go, get on.” Wen Jianyan said.
Soon, the train lights would awaken the fierce ghosts buried in the mud, attracting them to board the train. Waiting until then to board would become very dangerous.
After walking forward a few steps, Wen Jianyan suddenly realized Wu Zhu hadn’t followed.
He paused and turned to look.
Wu Zhu stood on the platform, staring expressionlessly at the train in front of him, his golden eyes deep and cold—Wen Jianyan was very familiar with that look; it was exactly the expression Wu Zhu had when looking at those oil paintings on the seventh basement level of the Lucky Cruise.
Humanity was stripped away, leaving only cruel, ferocious beast-like emotions.
It was an intense hatred.
“Hey.” Wen Jianyan paused, then actively extended his hand to him. “Get on the train.”
After pulling Wu Zhu onto the train, Wen Jianyan skillfully found a safer carriage and carefully closed the carriage door—cold, heavy footsteps came from outside the door. Obviously, the “passengers” who should take this train were boarding one after another—although the carriage door’s defensive effect wasn’t great, it was at least a psychological comfort.
Now, what needed consideration was the ticket issue.
“We can start getting tickets after the train starts,” having scammed seven tickets last time, Wen Jianyan was already familiar with this task. “This time, if any ‘passengers’ come to me for an explanation, I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Of course, he was equally adept at “using the tiger’s might.”
“First, need to dismantle the light…” Wen Jianyan muttered, his gaze falling on the copper ceiling lamp overhead, emitting weak light. He pulled his hand—couldn’t pull it out.
“…”
Wen Jianyan turned to look at Wu Zhu.
“Let go.”
“No.” Wu Zhu refused easily.
Cold, slender fingertips separated Wen Jianyan’s fingers, went deep into the gaps, and then tightened their grip.
“You were the one who pulled my hand.” Under the dim light, those golden eyes were focused and captivating. “How can you go back on your word?”
Wen Jianyan: “…”
If I’d known earlier, I shouldn’t have been so sympathetic just now!
He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth: “But if you don’t let go, how can I scam money from the passengers!”
Speaking of which, Wen Jianyan seemed to suddenly think of something. He paused, studying Wu Zhu: “By the way, should I steal some for you too…?”
Although Wu Zhu wasn’t human, the problem was that the passengers on this train weren’t human either—according to this rule, Wu Zhu should also need a ticket.
“Money?” Wu Zhu looked at him, then extended his hand: “This?”
In his palm lay several blood-red paper bills.
“?!” Wen Jianyan’s pupils contracted, staring in astonishment at the paper money in the other’s hand. Now, he didn’t care whether his hand was being held tightly by the other, and took a sharp step forward. “Wait, where did you get this?!”
“It appeared in my hand when I got on the train.” Wu Zhu answered while handing the money to Wen Jianyan.
Wen Jianyan took the paper money and carefully examined the bills under the weak light.
The four characters “Heaven and Earth Bank” were printed on the blood-red currency, and the dead person’s face in the center was pale and blurry—except for the color being blackish-red, the other details looked exactly the same as in memory.
These were indeed the paper bills that would appear in the ‘Changsheng Building’.
The shock of seeing the paper money gradually dissipated. Wen Jianyan stared fixedly at these bills, falling into thought.
He finally knew now how those paper bills circulating in Changsheng Building came from, and why these “passengers” possessed paper money that obviously came from human hands.
The moment they got on the train, some rule was activated, and the “train” would give the “passengers” currency according to such rules.
The color of the currency was very likely closely related to the “passenger’s” terror level.
White currency meant normal specifications, while red indicated a higher terror level—this had already been verified in the Changsheng Building instance. All guests who gave red currency would bring doubly terrible and doubly fatal crises.
And since Wu Zhu wasn’t human, naturally, the moment he got on the train, the train gave him the corresponding specification of currency according to the rules.
“Hiss—” From outside the carriage came the sound of doors closing.
Accompanied by roaring and vibration, the train started again, following the tracks into the darkness ahead.
After figuring everything out, Wen Jianyan took a deep breath and handed the currency back to Wu Zhu.
“What?” Wu Zhu asked.
“You can use it to buy a ticket, but I can’t.” Wen Jianyan said.
Not only couldn’t he, but he couldn’t even use the previous method.
Unlike what he initially thought, these currencies were not independent items but had owners. Therefore, the destination printed on the tickets bought with these currencies was the ‘Changsheng Building’, which ghosts were supposed to enter.
Wen Jianyan hadn’t figured out before why the train stopped at an unknown station and only started moving again after they left.
Now it seemed it was probably because they broke the rules, used currency that didn’t belong to them, and bought tickets that didn’t belong to them, so the train didn’t continue running.
If he tried the same trick this time, the result would likely be the same.
—The train would stop early, unable to reach the Changsheng Building.
This rule was set too rigidly, leaving almost no room for exploitation.
Wen Jianyan frowned tightly, momentarily at a loss.
“It’s not impossible.” Hearing Wen Jianyan finish, Wu Zhu’s eyes flashed, and he said.
Wen Jianyan froze: “…What?”
What other way could there be?
Just then, stiff, heavy footsteps came from outside the carriage door.
Wen Jianyan shivered and turned to look toward where the sound came from.
Hearing someone walking after the train started only meant one possibility—the ticket inspector was coming.
“So what method did you think of, say it quickly…” Wen Jianyan lowered his voice, speaking urgently.
Before he could finish, his waist was suddenly pulled.
“Ugh!”
Wen Jianyan was startled, lost his balance, and fell directly into Wu Zhu’s arms.
He pressed his hands against the other’s chest: “What are you do—”
Accompanied by the gradually approaching footsteps, cold shadows wrapped around his ankles, climbed up his calves and thighs, tightening like snakes, pulling him into a deadly entanglement like death itself.
Shadows like tide water submerged him, covering him tightly without revealing a fraction.
Wen Jianyan quickly realized the awkwardness of this position.
He was gathered entirely in the other’s arms, his thighs bent, bound by shadows, forced to straddle the other’s lean waist. His body was squeezed against the other’s without any gap, shadows wrapping them, the two intimate as if one body.
No, this is too close…
It’s really too close!
Through the thin clothing, he could clearly perceive every rise and fall of the other’s chest, even the temperature of the other’s skin, and even more…
“W-wait…” He lowered his voice, saying nervously.
“Shh.” Wu Zhu put one arm across his lower back, fixing all of Wen Jianyan’s struggles. He lowered his head, his lips touching Wen Jianyan’s ear, whispering, “It’s here.”
In the darkness, the cold footsteps were already close at hand.
Wen Jianyan stiffened and stopped moving.
He buried his head in the hollow of the other’s neck, his warm, rapid breath quickly warming that small patch of skin.
Holding an oil lamp, wearing a rigid smile, the ticket inspector stopped beside the seat. Its dull gray-white eyes fell on the figure in the shadow-covered corner of the seat, seeming to wait for something.
Wu Zhu tightened his arms. In his embrace was the youth’s warm, tense body, the other’s heartbeat accelerated by nervousness, transmitting flesh to flesh.
He happily raised his hand, offering a blood-red bill to the ticket inspector.
“One ticket.”
