Chapter 65: The “Train”

Chapter 65: The “Train”

The subway station during rush hour was always crowded enough to make one question life itself. The state of people packed shoulder to shoulder inside the carriages could even create the illusion that perhaps everyone in Boundary City was squeezing onto the subway. If possible, Song Cheng truly did not want to ride the subway at this time.

But there was no choice. Under normal circumstances, the Train would only appear reliably on the second train during the morning rush hour. There were sighting reports at other times as well, but those were uncontrollable.

The heavily built Song Cheng stood packed into the overcrowded carriage, feeling the gradual sway as the subway accelerated after leaving the station. Everywhere within his field of vision were office workers hurrying toward their companies during the morning rush. The gaps between people were filled with mingled odors.

A cage made of steel was stuffed full of compressed, stacked flesh. Deep underground, it plunged into tunnels supported by concrete and rumbled from one place to another. Artificial lights could dispel the darkness inside those “tunnels,” but in the soil beyond them, darkness and the unknown were the true face of the underground world.

Song Cheng slowly closed his eyes and repeatedly ran through this association in his mind. He imagined this steel “meat-transporting cage” burrowing through the dark earth like a grotesque and blind worm. He imagined the suffocating weight of the soil pressing toward him, carrying the scent of decay through the cold.

With his eyes closed, he slowly moved through the crowd in the carriage.

The carriage was still crowded, but everyone unconsciously stepped aside and opened a path. The tall, powerfully built Song Cheng calmly walked to the rear of the carriage before opening his eyes and taking a look.

The door was marked as the end of Carriage No. 2. Beyond it was Carriage No. 3.

In the carriage behind him, the originally noisy sounds had gradually weakened at some unknown point. Occasionally, he could still hear people talking, but it sounded as distant as if separated by a thick wall.

Without turning around, Song Cheng casually took a strip of parchment from his pocket. The parchment had already been soaked in an ointment. He stuffed it into his mouth and slowly chewed, feeling the intense, pungent coolness rush straight into his mind. Then he stepped forward.

Passing through the door of Carriage No. 2, he arrived in an entirely empty new carriage.

The previous carriage had been packed with morning commuters.

This one contained not a single person.

Several old newspapers lay on the somewhat worn seats, yet the dates printed on them showed tomorrow.

Song Cheng turned around and saw that the automatic door behind him bore the label Carriage No. 16.

The irritating taste in his mouth was gradually spreading. He turned and continued forward, passing through the door of Carriage No. 16 and entering the next section of the train.

The next carriage was covered in rust. Dirt coated the windows on both sides. Occasionally, faint glimmers flashed outside, but they did not resemble lights in a subway tunnel. Instead, they looked more like strange eyes sweeping past, watching this roaring steel worm from the darkness of the soil.

This was Carriage No. 12.

Song Cheng continued forward, checking the carriage numbers as he walked. The further he went, the stranger each carriage became.

Some were filled with plastic mannequins.

Some were overgrown with mushrooms.

Some lacked walls and a roof entirely, consisting only of a bare floor racing through an undulating, writhing tunnel of earth.

And every carriage number was randomly distributed between 1 and 21, completely out of sequence.

A warm candlelight suddenly entered his vision.

The next carriage he stepped into no longer resembled a subway carriage at all.

He had entered a large wooden horse-drawn carriage.

Several beautiful women dressed in exceptionally lavish and alluring attire sat on either side, animatedly discussing something. From time to time, they let out pleasant, crisp laughter.

Outside the carriage windows floated a thin mist. Occasionally, a streetlamp passed by, illuminating the streets of some unfamiliar city.

One alluring noblewoman noticed Song Cheng’s sudden intrusion. She stood up in surprise and approached to ask his purpose.

But Song Cheng paid her no attention whatsoever. He merely glanced back at the number on the carriage door.

Carriage No. 23.

He immediately turned around and walked back.

A “normal carriage” whose structure was completely identical to an ordinary subway carriage entered his sight.

The carriage was spacious and empty, brightly lit, with clean and orderly seats.

Only a single passenger sat near the middle, by a window.

A newspaper was held in his hands, concealing his face behind it.

Song Cheng looked back to confirm once more. Only after seeing the number 22 written on the door did he let out a breath and walk toward the lone passenger.

The man wore a pitch-black coat. Beside his feet sat an equally black briefcase, while a black umbrella hung from the railing next to the seat.

From the coat to the briefcase to the umbrella, everything possessed a strange rubber-like texture.

Song Cheng sat down beside the passenger and lightly tapped the newspaper in his hands.

The passenger finally lowered the newspaper and looked up at Song Cheng.

It was a smooth face with a slight reflective sheen.

Like rubber.

The appearance was that of a gaunt middle-aged man wearing an old-fashioned black top hat that seemed completely out of place in the modern era.

“Hello,” the strange-looking passenger nodded to Song Cheng. His voice quivered and wavered out of tune, yet his attitude was quite polite. “What would you like to talk about today?”

An entity, Passenger 22, generated within the Other Domain known as the Train. It usually remained inside Carriage No. 22. It possessed intelligence, could communicate, and would occasionally even help outsiders escape an Other Domain.

But under certain conditions, it could also become hostile.

Today, he was friendly.

“Have you heard of an address called Wutong Road 66?” Song Cheng asked as casually as if chatting with an ordinary person. “A person named Yu Sheng lives there.”

The rubber-like passenger shook his head.

“The Train has no such stop.”

Song Cheng’s expression instantly became serious.

Passenger 22 knew a vast amount of information related to “locations.” Unless a place was exceptionally bizarre or secretive, as long as the question was sufficiently specific, he could provide basic information about almost any Other Domain, even one millions of light-years away.

At the very least, he would indicate whether the Other Domain mentioned actually existed and whether it was located within the Boundary Zone.

But now he had said that the Train had no such stop.

In fact, the train truly went nowhere, but when Passenger 22 said, “The Train has no such stop,” it meant he possessed no information about that location.

Since the Special Operations Bureau first documented Passenger 22, records of such an answer could be counted on one hand.

After a moment of silence, Song Cheng asked again, “Then what about a person named Yu Sheng? Have you heard that name during your travels?”

“If the information concerns a person, you should ask the Storyteller. He knows many things about people. He’s in the park, telling stories to children there. Do you need directions? I can tell you when the park is.”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I know where the park is,” Song Cheng said, shaking his head.

He could feel the ointment’s effect gradually weakening in his mouth, so he hurriedly asked his next question.

“Has there been any news from Nightfall Valley lately?”

“Nightfall Valley... Ah, a traveler left there. But I don’t know the details,” Passenger 22 said unhurriedly. “If you wish to learn what happened afterward, I’m afraid I can’t help.”

“Why not?”

“Because that stop has been canceled.”

Passenger 22 placed the newspaper on his lap and spoke calmly through that rubber-like face.

Song Cheng’s eyes widened as he sat frozen in astonishment.

This answer had never appeared before.

“The Train has no such stop” was at least a documented response in the archives.

But “that stop has been canceled”...

He was certain this was the first time.

“Why was it canceled?!” he blurted out, unable to hide his urgency.

“Who knows?” Passenger 22 shrugged in a remarkably human manner. “I only know things along the railway. As for what happens beyond the line... I have no idea.”

Song Cheng blinked.

The ointment’s effect was weakening further. Faint human voices had already begun reaching his ears.

He still had several questions he wanted to ask, but at that moment, the corner of his eye suddenly noticed the newspaper resting on Passenger 22′s lap.

It was the only thing on the entity’s person that lacked the rubber-like texture.

It was truly just a newspaper.

A large black-and-white illustration occupied the front page.

In an age when even the cheapest roadside tabloids used color printing, the black-and-white image appeared especially old-fashioned.

The image itself was blurred, abstract, and distorted.

Rather than a photograph taken on location, it looked more like a crude sketch painted by an inept artist based on secondhand rumors.

A desolate valley.

A gigantic eye floating above it.

Slowly drifting away.

Beneath the illustration was the headline:

“After the Feast.”

“We’re about to arrive.”

Passenger 22′s voice suddenly came from beside him, pulling Song Cheng out of his distraction.

Song Cheng abruptly raised his head and saw Passenger 22 staring intently at him.

The intelligent entity had already reached for the umbrella hanging from the railing. As he stood, he asked casually, as if by chance:

“How’s the weather today?”

Song Cheng immediately gathered his thoughts and carefully observed the entity before him.

Passenger 22 had brought an umbrella today.

But the umbrella was dry.

“Today is overcast...” Song Cheng began.

But at that moment, he suddenly noticed a trace of moisture on Passenger 22′s briefcase, as though invisible rain had just fallen upon it.

“But the rain has already started,” Song Cheng immediately added. “Bringing an umbrella was the right decision.”

“Indeed,” Passenger 22 smiled.

The rubber face produced a faint tearing, rubbing sound.

”Creak.”

“Have a pleasant journey. Be careful when getting off.”

“Have a pleasant journey.”

Song Cheng let out a breath and replied with a smile.

Noisy sounds rose from all around him.

The warmth of human bodies filled the crowded carriage.

The heavily built Song Cheng stood packed among the crush of passengers, feeling the gradual sway as the subway slowed while entering the station.