Chapter 76: Don’t Even Think About Dodging the Fare

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Midnight. The intersection. New Rising Video Hall.

At the counter by the entrance, a middle-aged man yawned as he pulled out the drawer beneath, took out a wad of cash, spat in his palm, and began counting it.

That bastard Old Hei, daring to mess with my turf—bringing a few punks around to stir up trouble. If I don’t show my teeth, he’ll think I’m easy prey. I’ll find a chance to teach him a lesson he won’t forget.

Muttering curses under his breath, the man tucked the money into his shirt. His mouth was dry from all the swearing, and just as he reached for his teacup, another urge to use the bathroom hit him. Swaying slightly, he headed toward the restroom inside the hall.

Drip. Drip.

The shabby restroom had fallen into disrepair—there was no door, only a half-torn curtain hanging at the entrance, so filthy it was impossible to tell whether it was once white or gray.

The middle-aged man stood by the urinal, a cigarette dangling from his lips, grimacing with discomfort. The plumbing, like everything else, seemed ancient and barely worked, water dribbling in fits and starts.

The mottled walls were thick with dust.

The stench of low-quality tobacco mixed with the acrid smell of urine, making the air unbearable.

Suddenly, a pair of mud-caked leather shoes appeared at the threshold. A shadow loomed behind the curtain, its outline incomplete and distorted.

The man turned his head and caught sight of the figure standing behind the curtain. He started violently; what little urge he’d managed to muster evaporated in a flash.

He glanced at the shoes beneath the curtain and let out a breath of relief, quickly pulling up his trousers and grumbling,

“Hey, pal, you nearly scared me out of my skin. At least make a sound—who walks without a single footstep?”

The shadow remained silent and unmoving.

Growing irritable, the man snapped, “Hey, I’m talking to you! Did you buy a ticket? The midnight show costs extra—don’t think you can sneak in for free.”

The shoes shifted slightly. The shadow turned as if to leave but still said nothing.

“What the hell, is everyone out to cause trouble tonight? Trying to dodge the ticket, are you? Stay right there!” The man, seeing the figure about to run, forgot all about fastening his belt. He flung aside the curtain and reached out, grabbing the person’s shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going!” he barked, stepping out and seizing the intruder’s shoulder with his right hand.

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Huh?

The man hesitated. The dim bulb hung naked from the ceiling, swaying with the night breeze sneaking in through the window.

“What… what the hell is this?” he muttered, brow furrowing in shock.

Though his hand was gripping the stranger’s shoulder, where the head should have been, at the top of the shoulder, there was nothing—just a bloody, gaping hole, raw with torn flesh.

Stunned into silence, the man’s cigarette butt tumbled to the floor.

Thinking it was the smoke stinging his eyes, he rubbed them and looked again, more closely this time. The stranger’s shoulder was indeed empty—a headless body.

As for those shoes, they weren’t caked with mud at all, but with dried, blackened blood.

At that moment, the figure whose shoulder he was clutching slowly turned, twisting around to face him.

A head, barely attached by scraps of flesh, hung at a grotesque angle from the belly, the ashen, swollen face set with two lifeless gray eyes, the mouth endlessly chewing.

“You bastard, that’s no person—that’s a ghost!”

A sudden loosening in his groin, and a wet warmth spread across his trousers—now, at least, the urge was gone, with no trouble at all.

Those dead gray eyes stared at him as the mouth gurgled and muttered.

“Help! Somebody help!” A piercing scream shattered the silence of the night, echoing from the restroom, raw and desperate.

Dawn broke in a rush, the night fleeing with haste.

Cui Yue was still half-asleep, barely savoring the comfort of morning, when from the next room came a chorus of belching and farting, followed by a chemical attack of sorts as the air filled with the stench of rotten chives.

He leapt from his bed, flung open the door, and ran.

“Da Zhuang, damn it, you’re going to gas us all to death…” Only Da Zhuang remained on his bed, grinning foolishly; the rest had all fled.

Once the smell faded, everyone returned to wash up and get ready for the day.

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They lazed about the inn for several more days, aimless, not daring even to use the bathroom alone at night. But nothing happened, and the terror that had gripped their hearts gradually eased.

Qingquan had important matters to attend to and, after urging them to be careful, left ahead. Only then did the others remember, vaguely, that they were supposed to be at work. Cui Yue had at least been suspended for reflection; Da Zhuang and Zhang Hao, on the other hand, were full-on skipping work.

Outside the fertilizer plant gates.

Zhang Hu stood with hands on hips, watching as three sneaky figures crept toward the entrance. With a loud shout, he stopped them.

“Hold it right there!”

The trio froze, tense and speechless.

Zhang Hu strode over, eyeing them up and down, and snorted coldly.

“Well, well! A few days away and you’ve all forgotten yourselves—no notice, no work, is that it?”

The three looked uneasy, hearts pounding.

“So, where’ve you been hiding out? Gotten into a fight, or stirring up trouble somewhere?”

Before Cui Yue could reply, Zhang Hao’s eyes rolled; he jumped in first.

“Chief Zhang, your insight is truly unmatched, but this time you’ve wronged us. Really—we didn’t cause any trouble. That day, passing Victory Intersection, we saw some hooligans harassing a good woman. We couldn’t stand by and watch—broad daylight, no law at all! So, without hesitation, we stepped in, drew our knives, and rescued the people from danger…”

He didn’t even finish before Zhang Hu cuffed him hard on the head.

“Keep going, keep making up stories! You, saving people? If you’re not out there harassing women yourself, the public’s already lucky. Two days to rescue someone—couldn’t you come up with a better excuse?”

Zhang Hu’s glare made them all shrink and hold their breath.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Cui Yue darted off toward Workshop One, leaving Zhang Hao and Da Zhuang to face the music.

No sooner had Cui Yue reached his station, still panting, than he was dragged into the office by Zhang Dehua for a stern lecture: a good young man, how could his sense of responsibility be so weak? Was he resisting the organization’s disciplinary measures? Faced with a setback, why couldn’t he channel it into motivation for improvement?