Chapter Thirty-One: Suspicions About the Bus Uncle

“Dead!”
My heart jolted, and I instinctively turned to the bus uncle, asking, “Was it the ghost woman who killed them all?”
The bus uncle’s expression was clouded, shifting between rage and uncertainty. He stared at the corpses floating on the water for a long time, then walked into each of the tents, as if searching for something.
I had no idea what the bus uncle wanted. I just stood where I was, unmoving. When he entered the tent with the large fish tank, someone suddenly clamped a hand over my mouth from behind.
The person was clearly afraid I’d make a sound, pressing his hand tightly against my mouth and trying to drag me away. He wasn’t strong; I easily broke free.
“Who’s there?”
I spun around, shocked to see Professor Liu Huaidong, disheveled and exhausted. I was about to speak, but he hurriedly gestured for silence, then signaled for me to follow him toward the parked pickup truck not far away.
Judging from his anxious expression, I guessed he had something urgent to tell me. Seeing him so battered and aged, I wasn’t worried he’d cause me trouble.
Without further thought, I followed Professor Liu.
He moved cautiously, as though terrified of disturbing something nearby. When we neared the pickup, he immediately opened the door and climbed inside.
He then opened the passenger side, beckoning me to get in.
I stood rooted in confusion and asked, “What are you trying to do?”
His voice was hoarse and trembling, as if he’d endured a terrible fright. “Young man, hurry, leave this place at once. The person who came with you is not human!”
My mind exploded, staring at Professor Liu in disbelief. What nonsense was he spouting? Who wasn’t human?
“Go, now! Leave this place, he’s not human.” Professor Liu was nearly incoherent. “Everyone here, he killed them all!”
I scoffed. That was impossible—how could the bus uncle kill everyone here? Last night, he entered the Dead Village with me. How could he then turn around and murder the survey team?
But then my heart sank. Wait! The bus uncle did enter Dead Village with me last night, but soon after, he disappeared. When he found me this morning, I asked where he’d gone. His face was strange, and he claimed he’d searched for me all night.
Suddenly, everything seemed suspicious. Even if he searched every house three times, he should have found me long before dawn.
I hurriedly asked Professor Liu what happened last night. Why was he so sure the bus uncle had killed them, and why did he insist he wasn’t human?
Professor Liu’s face was drawn with terror. “The accordion music, that haunting sound—it was played by that person. When we heard it, a deep sadness overwhelmed us, as if life itself was meaningless. One after another, we walked into the reservoir. I’m hard of hearing, so just as I was about to jump, the music stopped and I snapped out of it.”
Images flashed through my mind of the mysterious accordion melody from the Dead Village, the feelings Professor Liu described matching exactly what I’d experienced in the vision from twenty years ago.
My certainty began to waver, though the scales in my heart still tipped toward the bus uncle. After all, I’d spent so much time with him. I couldn’t believe Professor Liu’s words alone, that he’d come here to harm me.
But then Professor Liu uttered something that sent chills through every bone in my body.
He said that just an hour ago, the man stood atop the dam, holding an accordion and playing that eerie music. He wasn’t dressed as he was now—he wore a red turtleneck sweater and tight bell-bottom jeans.
My mind exploded again, and I looked at Professor Liu in horror. “Are you telling the truth?”
Professor Liu was losing patience. “Are you coming or not? If not, I’m leaving.”
He started the pickup, and seeing me still hesitate, he didn’t wait. He floored the accelerator and sped toward the dam.
Barely three seconds later, a scream erupted from the pickup, and it flipped violently into the reservoir.
At that moment, the bus uncle stood right where the pickup had crashed, staring at me with an eerie expression.
My heart plunged. I still didn’t want to believe the bus uncle was behind it all, but as he began walking toward me step by step, I instinctively retreated.
“What are you doing? Do you really believe Professor Liu’s nonsense?” the bus uncle’s voice was brimming with anger.
“You were in the tent just now—how did you know Professor Liu was badmouthing you?” I glared at him and shouted, “Don’t come any closer! Stand there and give me a reasonable explanation. And last night—why did you suddenly disappear? Where did you go, and what did you do?”
“Wu Dao, calm down.”
“I want an explanation!”
The bus uncle stopped advancing. He didn’t seem inclined to explain, just stood there, frowning. “So now, you suspect me?”
“Yes, I do,” I replied. “I even suspect you’re in league with the ghost woman.”
“You shouldn’t doubt me.” He shook his head. “Wu Dao, anyone in this world could harm you—but I wouldn’t.”
I scoffed, nerves stretched taut to breaking point. At this moment, true despair washed over me. One by one, everyone around me vanished, leaving only the bus uncle, who had always stayed by my side and helped me. I’d come to treat him as my anchor.
But now, everything had flipped. All evidence seemed to point at the bus uncle. Thinking carefully, it was as if he’d orchestrated everything—the disappearance of Wang Feiyang, Yang Li’s death, even that photograph. On the surface, it seemed the ghost woman was responsible, but in truth, the bus driver could have arranged it all, drawing me step by step into his trap.
“You say you won’t hurt me—ha! If that’s so, then tell me: Who are you, and why do you know everything that’s happened?”
The bus uncle fell silent, apparently lost in thought, expressionless.
Just then, a figure burst from one of the tents. When I saw who it was, I was stunned.
It was Wang Feiyang, gripping a bamboo knife, charging at the bus uncle. Without hesitation, he brought the blade down hard on the back of the bus uncle’s head.
But the bus uncle reacted instantly, dodging the blow. He turned and, seeing Wang Feiyang, a flicker of surprise crossed his face.
“Wang Feiyang,” I called instinctively, excitement flooding my voice.
But Wang Feiyang ignored me, swinging his knife wildly at the bus uncle, each strike deftly evaded.
Eventually, Wang Feiyang drove the bus uncle to desperation. The bus uncle grabbed his wrist and shouted angrily, “What are you doing, kid?”
Wang Feiyang’s eyes were bloodshot as he spat out two words, each syllable seething with hatred:
“Vengeance!”