Chapter 23: Death in the Restroom

My pupils contracted violently. I replayed the video several times, again and again, before I finally couldn’t hold back any longer and turned to the bus uncle, demanding, “What is going on here? Didn’t you say Yang Li was still alive? Then why is she now showing up here, taking Wang Feiyang away?”

My emotions were in turmoil. The series of bizarre events was pushing me to the brink of collapse. People who should be dead are alive, and the living are turning into ghosts—what on earth is happening?

The bus uncle was silent for a few seconds before telling me to calm down.

Although I couldn’t guess his true identity, something in my heart had always made me treat him as an elder and show him respect. But now, I lost my temper. I jabbed my finger toward his nose. “You’d better give me an explanation, or I swear you won’t leave this funeral shop today.”

He stood up, his tone turning agitated as well. “Wu Dao, you need to calm down. The real Yang Li is definitely not dead. The one in the video isn’t her.”

“If it’s not her, then who is it?”

“That’s the female ghost,” he replied. Then his face changed, as if talking to himself: “She took Wang Feiyang away disguised as Yang Li—what could she be after?”

“Not good!”

The next moment, the bus uncle suddenly shouted and dragged me toward the door.

I hurriedly asked where we were going. He said to the county hospital’s staff apartments—something must have happened to Yang Li.

We rushed to the 104 bus and the bus uncle drove us swiftly toward the staff apartments. On the way, I kept hearing strange scraping sounds from the upper deck. A chill crept into my heart.

Noticing my tension, the bus uncle said, “Don’t overthink it. The upper deck is filled with dismantled seats that haven’t been dealt with yet. That’s why you hear odd sounds while driving.”

I muttered an “oh,” then, shivering, asked if he could turn on the air conditioning.

“The AC’s broken,” he replied. “A technician won’t be here until next week. If you’re cold, close the windows at the back seats.”

I glanced at the empty seats behind us. For some reason, dread prickled at my heart. I didn’t dare close the windows. All I could do was wrap my clothes tighter around myself.

Soon, we arrived at the staff apartments and hurried straight to Yang Li’s home.

At this hour, the security door to her apartment was surely locked. I knocked hard a few times, but even after over a minute, there was no response.

I looked back at the bus uncle. “Maybe Yang Li isn’t home? What if no one’s inside?”

At this, he pulled out a piece of wire from somewhere, slipped it into the keyhole, and with a twist, the security door popped open. As the door swung wide, a pungent, acrid smell assaulted us. I frowned, uneasy, and stepped inside.

It was a small one-bedroom apartment, just over thirty square meters, but everything was tidy. On the dining table were two dishes, a soup, and half a bowl of rice—probably Yang Li’s dinner, now stone cold.

“This looks like she left suddenly during her meal,” I said, confused. “She didn’t even clear the dishes. But… why are there no chopsticks on the table?”

The bus uncle shook his head and called Yang Li’s name twice, but there was no answer. He darted into the bedroom, but it was empty.

Sensing something was wrong, I went to the kitchen—still no sign of Yang Li. But I noticed something odd: the utensil container held the soup ladle and forks, but no chopsticks.

Scratching my head, I left the kitchen and pushed the bathroom door open. The moment I did, a wave of blood stench hit me.

I instinctively looked inside—and froze in horror.

Blood was smeared all over the bathroom floor. Yang Li, now with a head of white hair, was slumped by the toilet. A chopstick was jammed into each of her mouth, nostrils, eyes, and ears. She’d been dead for some time.

My stomach churned violently. The bus uncle ran over, and at the sight of Yang Li propped by the toilet, he reflexively clamped a hand over his own mouth.

He pulled me from the bathroom door into the living room, then slammed the bathroom door shut with force.

It took me a long while to recover. Panic-stricken, I turned to the bus uncle, “What do we do now?”

He frowned deeply. “We’re still too late. I warned her to run, but she wouldn’t listen.” He began searching the living room feverishly, as if looking for something.

I asked him what he was searching for. “Yang Li is dead—what should we do? Should we call the police?”

He took out his phone and called someone, giving them the address and describing what had happened. He added that it was the same as the last incident at the Chen family’s shroud shop and told them to send a crematorium vehicle directly.

After hanging up, he continued searching the apartment.

I asked who he’d called, but he didn’t answer. “Someone will come soon to handle this. What we need to do now is find Wang Feiyang.”

I hesitated, “You think Wang Feiyang is hidden here?”

“No,” the bus uncle replied. “But since the female ghost lured us here and killed Yang Li, there must be a clue about Wang Feiyang’s disappearance hidden somewhere.”

I agreed it made sense, so I joined him in searching. We turned the apartment upside down, but found nothing of value.

The longer we searched, the more anxious and irritable I became. I even suspected the female ghost was toying with us—leading us here not to reveal clues about Wang Feiyang, but simply to tell us she had killed the Ziwei-fated Yang Li years ago.

I voiced my suspicion, but the bus uncle was adamant. “Impossible. There must be a clue here.”

At last, his gaze shifted to the bathroom, his face turning grave. I shivered. “Uncle, don’t tell me you think the clue is in there?”

The horrifying image of Yang Li’s orifices stuffed with chopsticks flashed through my mind. I swore I never wanted to see it again.

“That’s the only place left,” he muttered, then resolutely pushed open the bathroom door. The stench of blood wafted out once more. I didn’t dare follow, nerves taut as a wire.

Soon, the bus uncle called me in to help. Hesitant, I entered, only to see him prying open Yang Li’s mouth with one hand, while the other rummaged inside.

The sight made my skin crawl. As I entered, he urged me to help hold her mouth open.

Turning my face aside, I forced myself to clamp Yang Li’s mouth with trembling hands. Strangely, even in death, her jaws fought to stay shut. It took all my strength to keep them pried apart.

Soon, the bus uncle seemed to pull something from her mouth and immediately rushed to the sink to wash it off. Only then did I realize it was a photograph.

I strained to see—and when I glimpsed the scene in the photo, I was dumbfounded. Wang Feiyang was right there, in the picture!