"This talisman's ritual method is unknown, so under no circumstances should it be used recklessly—otherwise, disaster will strike in full force."
"Are all red-paper talismans ominous?" I didn't expect that among the six talismans I randomly redeemed, one would actually bring misfortune.
"Not all red-paper talismans are evil. But yours is particularly sinister. The paper and ink are ordinary, but the person who drew it is no good—each stroke drips with resentment. Listen to me: don't show this talisman to anyone lightly, and don't use it randomly."
I folded the six talismans and put them in my pocket, bowing slightly toward Liu the Blind. "Thanks for your guidance, bro. I've caused you trouble before. If I survive tonight, I'll come pay my respects properly."
"You sound like you're already settling your affairs. Where are you headed tonight?" Liu's fingers flicked, his blindfolded eyes seeming to see through me.
"I can't say. But I have to go, and I must go alone." I packed all my livestream gear into a black suitcase, lighting a cigarette. Two hours until midnight.
"Looks like your mind is made up. I won't stop you. But I just cast a divination—it's vague but very ominous."
"Oh? What does the divination say?" It was the first time I'd asked someone to read my fortune; before, I never believed in such things.
Liu shook his head. "Horse won't walk, carriage won't run. Wherever you go tonight, it's best to go on foot. You were born in winter, favoring warmth and fire. Your life's geography is southward—don't go north tonight. Lastly, avoid straight paths. Take the winding road, the hidden path. It seems far but is actually near—that's how you'll get where you want."
After saying this, Liu coughed twice and left, carrying his shoulder pole.
"No car, no north, no straight path—that's quite the list." I remembered his words carefully, then turned on my computer to quickly research Jiangcheng's Route 14 bus.
What I found shocked me: there were eleven reported accidents on Route 14 alone, big and small, many fatal.
All incidents shared one detail—the victims were always on the last bus.
No matter who drove that last run, even the most experienced drivers inexplicably made rookie mistakes that ended tragically.
Netizens speculated wildly. Some blamed the route's remoteness and poor road conditions, urging authorities to act.
Others said Route 14 still used outdated Minsheng brand buses, long overdue for retirement, but the company stubbornly kept them running.
Those two theories made up about 20% of opinions. The other 80% claimed the last Route 14 bus wasn't carrying living people—but lost wandering spirits.
That wasn't entirely baseless. The route's final stop is Jiangcheng's No. 3 Bridge Crematorium.
Every year during the Zhongyuan and Shangyuan festivals, the bus company runs an empty midnight bus along the route—no passengers, just the vehicle completing its circuit.
This strange rule baffled many citizens, and the company never publicly explained it, fueling rumors that the last Route 14 bus was a hearse for the dead.
As a Jiangcheng native, I'd heard the rumors but never taken them seriously—just small talk for passing time like most people.
"If I'd known, I'd have gone to the bus company to ask earlier." The Netherworld Live Show missions drop with just four hours' notice—too short to prepare.
After a brief online study, I packed my suitcase and left.
Following Liu the Blind's advice, I didn't take a taxi but walked to Miyun Mansion in the city outskirts.
"Why start at Miyun Mansion? There must be a reason." I reviewed the Route 14 map repeatedly. Miyun Mansion isn't the start or end, just a quiet stop.
After an hour and a half of walking, I arrived five minutes before midnight.
The place was more desolate than I imagined.
Overgrown weeds choked the half-built resort like a gutted patient lying on the wasteland.
The main building was incomplete, piles of unused sand and hardened concrete littered the ground, and the Miyun Mansion sign was half buried.
"Construction began years ago. It was once advertised as South China's top resort—made TV news. Yet it's still unfinished after all this time."
No one was around for hundreds of meters; distant farmhouses showed faint lights.
I circled until I found the bus stop—a lonely metal sign with only the Route 14 map.
"There's only one bus? That's rough." Checking the time, five minutes to midnight, I set my black suitcase down, sat on the curb, and lit a cigarette.
"Will the bus even come? At midnight, it should be off duty."
Minutes later, the farmhouse lights went out; only my cigarette's glow pierced the endless night.
"No matter. It's almost midnight—time to start the livestream!"
I opened the suitcase. Planning to broadcast on the bus, I didn't use my camera, only my big-screen phone with a mobile encoder, and launched The Netherworld Live Show.
"Acquiring video…"
"Connecting danmu (chat)…"
"Data stable. Start streaming?"
"Yes."
"Welcome Teletubby Murdered to the livestream, welcome Tieling Bro, welcome—"
As soon as the stream started, viewers surged to fifty, familiar IDs flashing by. But I couldn't feel happy.
Officer Huang of Class 3-2 and Handsome & Skilled Girl had died because of The Netherworld Live Show; in other words, the viewers in my room might be watching with their last breaths.
"First, welcome to the Super Thriller Livestream. Before we start, I have to warn you: not everyone can see this stream. From my observations, everyone who has watched might face mortal danger. Please be careful, friends!"
I warned viewers out of concern for their safety. I didn't mention the full story behind Officer Huang or Huang Guanxing's deaths—I wanted to survive myself.
For the stream to run, it needs watchers. Death will never stop.
"Streamer's bluffing again. Who are you trying to scare? Less gimmicks, more honesty, please."
"This bullshit started out of nowhere, no build-up, just forced bravado. Dislike!"
Teletubby Murdered tipped 99 nether coins: "Don't talk smack about the streamer! I've watched twice. The acting is on point, rivaling Japanese adult film leads!"
"Why's the video fuzzy today? Is my eyesight going bad from too much masturbation?"
"Nonsense. Biology teacher says eyes and masturbation aren't related. Too much just makes your palms pregnant!"
"Aha, learned something new. Next time I'll wear gloves!"
"66666!"
The chat flew by; no one cared about my warnings. I smiled bitterly and pointed the phone camera at the bus stop.
"Today, your experienced driver will take you on Route 14's last run."
"OMG, streamer's racing! Buckle up! New drivers, pay fare!"
"Beep! Student card!"
"Beep! Senior card!"
"Beep! Your face is too handsome to be recognized by this machine!"
"Quiet, everyone. This bus isn't ordinary." I hurried to stop the playful viewers and began explaining Route 14's midnight bus.
At that moment, a 60–70-year-old woman carrying an iron basin and a bag of joss paper sat across the street.
She faced my spot—right at the Route 14 return bus stop.
"Where did she come from?" At first, I ignored her.
But within minutes, she was burning joss paper in the street, crying miserably.