Chapter One: A Dream on the Bus

I once came across a saying: loneliness is the fate of mankind. Every person is just a passerby in this world, coming from nothing, and returning to nothing. No one can change this destiny, so from the moment we are born, we must begin to learn how to face death.

My name is Zhang Xiaobei. I’m twenty years old this year. My nickname is Tie, because I was frail and sickly as a child. My parents feared I wouldn’t survive, so they gave me this name, hoping to “tie” me firmly to this world.

But from an early age, many strange things happened to me. Some people even said I wouldn’t live past twenty. If I did, it would be by borrowing my parents’ lives, meaning that after my twentieth birthday, my parents would die instead.

So I’m terrified, because my twentieth birthday is just over two months away.

That’s why I’ve been on edge recently. I doubt anyone isn’t afraid of death. People say we should learn to face it, but I’m only twenty—I really haven’t figured out how.

To keep myself from thinking too much, I’ve been taking every overtime shift at the factory, which means I finish work extremely late every night. Especially tonight—when I finally remembered to clock out, it was already 12:20 a.m. The last bus had already stopped running, but I went to the stop anyway, still holding onto a sliver of hope.

To my surprise, I didn’t wait long before the final 321 bus appeared. Normally, the last bus would pass by around 12:10, but tonight it was almost half past twelve.

I didn’t think much of it—maybe there was a mechanical problem, causing the delay.

When I boarded, I found the bus completely empty. Of course, it was so late—who would be out at this hour? If I weren’t deliberately working overtime, I wouldn’t be here either.

I glanced at the empty seats, then chose one by the window near the back.

But almost immediately after sitting down, I began to feel incredibly sleepy—an uncontrollable urge to sleep. I panicked for a moment. I’ve been an insomniac for ages; there’s no reason I should feel this drowsy.

Then, suddenly, someone coughed behind me. I jolted awake, my heart pounding with terror, staring rigidly ahead, not daring to move.

It had barely been ten minutes since I boarded. Even though I’d been drowsy, I was sure no one had gotten on and walked past me to sit behind.

“Tie, is that you?” a voice asked.

My hair stood on end. I didn’t dare turn around. Since childhood, I’d been taught that if someone calls you from behind late at night and you’re not sure anyone is there, you must never turn around.

I swallowed hard and decided, as soon as the bus stopped, I’d bolt out the door.

But as we approached the next stop, the driver made no move to pull over. Panic rose in me, and I called out, “Driver, can you stop at the next station?”

No response. I grew frantic, rushing to the front, complaining, “Driver, I asked you to stop—didn’t you hear me? You…”

I was about to lose my temper when I saw, reflected in the rearview mirror, that the driver’s seat was empty—the bus was operating itself. Terror froze my limbs and cold sweat poured down my back.

What should I do? Call the police? Hands trembling, I fumbled for my phone and dialed emergency services.

But at that crucial moment, my battery died.

I can’t describe the fury that surged in me—only that terror pushed me past fear into anger. I frantically tried to restart my phone, cursing under my breath.

But it was no use. The phone powered off again after just three seconds.

“Tie…” The voice called again, just as I was losing my mind.

Anger overcame me—I spun around and shouted, “Stop calling me! If you have something to say, spit it out!”

I’d expected to see someone, but it was so dark I saw nothing. My heart skipped a beat.

“Tie, calm down. I can save you!” the voice said again.

I didn’t believe him for a second and kept shouting, “Who the hell are you? You say you can save me—then make this damned bus stop!”

“Tie, do you remember a guest who visited your family in 2003? I’m his friend.”

Of course, I didn’t remember. Even if I did, how could I recall who he meant? I was too frightened to think about events from years ago.

“Calm down. If you remember, come find me on this bus—same time, same place.” With that, the voice fell silent.

Suddenly, my whole body jerked and I snapped my eyes open, finding myself still in the same seat, as if I’d never moved.

There were other people on the bus now—not many, but obviously just ordinary, exhausted people, the kind you’d expect at this hour.

What had just happened? Was it all a dream? But why did it feel so real? I pulled out my phone to check—it was off, the battery dead, just as I’d experienced.

I even went to the front to check—the driver was there.

What was going on? I returned to my seat, watching the drizzle begin to fall outside, and recalled what the voice had said: a guest had come to our house in 2003—did I remember?

How could I? Back then, my family owned plenty of farmland. Each year we harvested tons of crops, and there were always many people coming to collect the grain. How could I know whom he meant?

But from a certain year onward, our family’s fortunes declined. Whatever we planted failed. We gradually fell into hardship, but I can’t remember exactly when it started.

“Shanghe Station!” the driver’s voice called from the front.

I snapped back to reality, glanced at the stop sign, and hurried off the bus.

Back at my rented room, I plugged in my phone to charge, then logged onto QQ to message my neighbor’s older sister from my hometown. Her name is He Yanran, two years my senior. I thought she might remember when things began to go wrong for my family.

She was likely asleep at this hour, so I left a message, planning to check her reply in the morning. I showered, then lay in bed, wide awake as usual, replaying the events on the bus. It really didn’t feel like a dream, but I had no way to prove it.

Wait—if it wasn’t a dream, shouldn’t there be a record of my call to the police in my phone log?

Nervously, I checked my call history.

When I saw the emergency call listed first, a chill swept over me. I quickly put down my phone and pulled the blanket over my head, trying to sleep.

The next morning, I received a reply from He Yanran: “Why are you asking about this?”

I replied at once: “Just suddenly thought of it. Can you help me remember?”

She took a while, then answered: “I think it was 2004. That year, wild boars destroyed most of your family’s corn crop. Your grandmother was furious and bedridden for days.”

So, our family’s decline began in 2004, but in 2003 a guest had visited. Could there be a connection? Who was that guest?

I wanted to call my mother and ask, but if I did, she’d worry about me—so I decided against it.

Just then, He Yanran messaged again: “Xiaobei, actually, the adults all talk about it behind your backs—they say your family’s misfortune is connected to a local spirit who visited your home years ago.”

A local spirit? The term was unfamiliar. I asked her: “What’s a local spirit?”

She replied: “I’m not really sure. But do you remember? In 2003, someone came to your house—a man who looked like a beggar. He stayed for more than three months.”

A beggar? Her reminder jogged my memory. There had indeed been someone like that, but he stayed in the cowshed at the edge of our yard. Was he really a local spirit? And the person who spoke to me on the bus last night—was he that man’s friend?

It all felt muddled. I thanked He Yanran and got ready for work.

After a busy day at the factory, just as I was getting off, a thought struck me: that person on the bus last night said he could save me. Did he mean he could help me survive past twenty? But if I did survive, what would happen to my parents? Could I trust him?

I checked the time—11:30 p.m. I decided to wait. He said if I remembered, I could find him again, same time, same place. Now that I remembered, I’d go. After all, I’d already experienced it once.

As the minutes ticked by, at 12:10 a.m. I headed to the bus stop. Last night, I’d boarded at 12:30, so when other buses came by, I didn’t get on. Finally, at half past midnight, the empty 321 stopped. My heart pounding, I climbed aboard.

The same driver as last night gave me a brief smile. I nodded stiffly, paid my fare, and went to my previous seat.

Nerves and fear made me break out in a cold sweat; my heart was racing.

Once the bus started, I soon felt the same overwhelming drowsiness as before. This time, I didn’t fight it—I let myself drift off.

“Tie, have you remembered?” Suddenly, the voice came again, jolting me awake. I held my breath, too frightened to speak.