Chapter 8#
Next Stop: Arrival#
“Ning Weichen, you should ask your doctor sometime — besides your personality disorder, do you have something mentally wrong with you too?”
Ye Sheng took a deep breath, reached out, and pushed Ning Weichen’s shoulder to create some distance between them. But Ning Weichen’s reaction just now had told him he’d guessed wrong.
Ye Sheng raised the silver needle in his hand, holding it straight upright between the two of them. The coldness in the young man’s pupils was as solid as a glacier, and as thin as a blade.
The more danger there was, the more that viciousness Ye Sheng had forcibly suppressed in his early childhood showed itself — like thorns growing wildly. His true nature had never been gentle or kind.
Growing up in Yinshan, where bandits and killers were everywhere, suspicion, vigilance, and malicious assumptions had long since become instinct, fused into his blood.
But this was wrong.
It was not right.
Ye Sheng closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “After I touched this needle, I could sense the aura of things it had sewn. I discovered that Elder Sister is alive inside the corpse-sewer’s belly — she didn’t die.”
“I thought you were lying to me. To make me send Little Sister into the womb so Elder Sister could devour her and complete your mission.”
“Mission?”
Ning Weichen’s lips were stained with fresh blood, vivid as peach blossoms, captivating and soul-stirring. He let out a cold laugh.
“Do I care about a mission?”
“I know you don’t. That’s why I said I was wrong.”
Ye Sheng looked away, tucked the long silver needle away, and made to stand up.
Ning Weichen said coolly, “That’s all you have to say?”
Ye Sheng looked up. “What?”
Ning Weichen spoke each word lightly yet viciously: “Ye Sheng, you suspected me, hurt me, and all you can give me is one breezy ‘I was wrong’?”
“…Oh.” Ye Sheng was very quick on the uptake, and graciously replied: “I’m sorry.”
Ning Weichen pressed his index and middle fingers together and touched his bloodied lips. He lowered his eyes and said nothing. After a long silence, he suddenly smiled — and lazily wiped the blood from his fingertips across Ye Sheng’s face.
A pale red smear opened like a decadent kiss.
“And what if I don’t accept it?”
Ye Sheng forced a stiff twitch of the corners of his mouth and was just about to speak when a dark shadow suddenly fell over him. He froze. Without knowing when, Xiaofang had walked away from the mirror and was standing right behind them. When he looked up, he met Xiaofang’s eyes — entirely white, suffused with red.
Xiaofang’s belly was huge, her two braids hanging over her embroidered shirt, and her once simple and naive face now carried a trace of distortion and fear.
Strange. Something was very strange about her now.
Every muscle in Ye Sheng’s body went taut.
Xiaofang opened her mouth, her expression sorrowful and afraid — that was the signal she was sending him, asking for help. Her enormous body swayed as if about to collapse, as if enduring a pain she could barely contain.
The next second. Drip, drip.
Thick, eerie, pitch-black blood began seeping out, drop by drop, along the seam across her belly.
Ye Sheng’s pupils contracted sharply.
Then.
A deafening wail erupted from inside her belly!
The crying tore through the long night!
Sharp, frenzied, piercing — filled to the brim with hatred!
The cry seemed to have physical form, sending powerful and ghostly sound waves through the air, and a mist of blood instantly filled the entire restroom.
Just before those sound waves hit, Ye Sheng acted almost simultaneously — lunging forward on his own, grabbing Ning Weichen’s shoulder, and yanking him to the side.
“Move!”
Ning Weichen’s expression was hidden in the shadows and difficult to read, his dark red lips pressed into a thin line. Everything about him radiated danger and aggression — yet when Ye Sheng drew close, there was not a trace of resistance. He was quiet in a way that was almost uncanny.
The wailing grew more intense, as if the monsters sleeping beneath the train were all slowly waking.
This slow train numbered 1444, originating from Yinshan, had never known peace — thieves, bandits, traffickers; pickpockets, criminals, killers. It had traveled its entire route through bloodshed.
And those innocents who had been threatened and hacked apart by villains — now they were stitched together by the corpse-sewer, awakened by the wailing of the womb-girl.
The womb-girl’s cries were mournful and agonized, as if someone were forcing her to use her last breath to release a power capable of destroying heaven and earth.
“— Give me back my little sister!”
“Give her back!”
“Give her to me!!”
Through the layer of skin, the womb-girl’s nails scraped and clawed endlessly, and in her extreme fury she began slamming heavily against the barrier in front of her.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
Xiaofang was in too much pain. She clutched her belly and crouched down in misery, great drops of bloody tears falling to the floor, her choked sobs like those of a child who had been wronged.
Beyond that, the corpse-creatures began creaking back to life.
The damp, thick smell of blood was choking — impossible to breathe.
A face faintly materialized on the surface of Xiaofang’s belly — it was Elder Sister, twisted beyond recognition.
She opened her mouth, shrieking orders at her “collections” with the fury of someone who wanted to flay Ye Sheng down to the bone.
“Kill him! Kill him!!”
Every corpse-creature on the entire train converged on Car 44, awakening.
Things had spiraled completely out of control.
— It was as if some unseen hand, in the shadows, had taken an ending that should have settled into dust, and pushed it back into the abyss.
Ye Sheng’s legs were a little numb from crouching so long; he braced against the wall and stood. Sound waves and blood-red light illuminated the young man’s cold, pale profile. He clenched his jaw, the line of it tight, pupils dark as an abyss — and in that extreme contrast of black and white, there emerged a kind of absurd, maddened quality.
Ning Weichen also rose slowly from the shadows, leaning his long legs against the wall, expression slightly grave, his gaze traveling through the restroom window toward some distant point — casual and ice-cold.
Ye Sheng turned his head. “What’s going on?”
He hadn’t forgotten that Ning Weichen had been sent by the Bureau of Unnatural Affairs, and his information was always more complete. The current situation was clearly out of control.
Ning Weichen heard him and looked up, saying lightly, “How would I know.”
Ye Sheng: “Isn’t this your mission?”
Ning Weichen let his smile settle at the corners of his lips, a casual hook. “It is. But I’ve already failed the mission — do you want me to say it a third time?”
Ye Sheng held back his anger. “Ning Weichen, this train hasn’t reached the station yet. There are several thousand people on board.”
Ning Weichen raised an eyebrow, unmoved. He even turned a brilliant smile on Ye Sheng, saying sweetly, “You see, even heaven wants you to be the hero, big brother.”
Ye Sheng: “…”
Damn.
He should have known from the first day that this person was a lunatic.
After speaking, Ning Weichen gave a cold laugh and returned to his indifferent expression. He was like the most accomplished actor — within a single second, he could switch flawlessly between any expression, posture, gaze, or tone. Every movement since boarding the train had been graceful and natural, utterly impeccable. Cheerful and uninhibited, as if he were born for people’s eyes to fall on him.
Only now, this actor’s face held not a single emotion. That strikingly beautiful face was bathed in cold moonlight, his voice utterly flat as he said:
“Ye Sheng, I’m angry.”
Cold and simple and childish — like a small child demanding to be coaxed and held.
Ye Sheng was truly done.
“…”
He had no interest in soothing children, and no further expectations of him. Before the corpse-creatures could take shape and surround them, he walked quickly forward toward Xiaofang.
Ye Sheng had always been a very calm person.
He could feel afraid, confused, frightened. But he never let any of that affect his analysis, his judgment, or his choices.
Like that first night, when he analyzed Xiaofang’s morality and occupation.
The second night, when he analyzed the reason for the womb-girl’s incompleteness.
And now, analyzing the womb-girl’s abilities.
He moved quickly, needle in hand, and crouched in front of Xiaofang, who was weeping in pain.
He took a deep breath, steadied his emotions. Behind him was a grasping, fanged hell of corpse-creatures and bloodshed. Ye Sheng’s gaze was dark as he stared directly at the face floating on the surface of the belly.
“Your little sister is with me. If I give her to you, will you let me go?”
Sensing her little sister’s aura, the womb-girl’s expression grew more ferocious. The hunger, the craving, the viciousness sent her into a frenzy of excitement.
But she had already been tricked by Ye Sheng once — she wasn’t going to trust him so easily again. She shrieked: “Take her out! Give her to me!”
Ye Sheng said, “If I give her to you, how will you eat her?”
The womb-girl cried urgently, “Just give her to me!!”
Ye Sheng said, “How about this — what if I feed her to you?”
The womb-girl watched him with wary suspicion.
Ye Sheng’s acting ability was essentially zero, so he gave up on any pretense of a warm smile — he couldn’t manage one anyway.
He reached out and pressed his hand to the seam, fingers touching the topmost knot. His voice was ice-cold: “I’m afraid that if you come out, you’ll kill me. Your little sister is so small — how about I undo just a little opening and pass her in to you?”
The womb-girl shot him a poisonous glare. The skin on Xiaofang’s belly was thin enough that her blood-colored silhouette seemed to shimmer through that layer, half-visible.
But she went silent and said nothing more.
In her current incomplete state, the womb-girl couldn’t tear the seam open herself. But once she devoured her little sister and regained her full power, she would absolutely, absolutely bite this person in front of her to death, piece by piece.
The womb-girl opened her mouth — packed with three rows of teeth — and a jade-pale, blood-colored palm patted against the inner skin of the belly, as if in agreement.
Once Elder Sister quieted down, Xiaofang’s pain eased as well. She sat dazed, head bowed, wiping her tears.
Ye Sheng’s fingernails were thin and sharp; he broke the tight knot with ease.
He used the silver needle to lift the thread embedded in flesh and blood.
The corpse-sewer’s Class C rating perhaps came entirely from this embroidery needle. He controlled his force carefully, drawing the thread out little by little, and stopped the moment a gap appeared in the skin large enough to pass Little Sister through.
Elder Sister, behind that layer of bluish belly skin, breathed more heavily, her gaze hungry and greedy.
Ye Sheng reached into his pocket and took out Little Sister, who had immediately resumed playing dead the moment she sensed Elder Sister’s presence.
Little Sister was trembling with fear, all four limbs shaking, pressing herself against Ye Sheng’s palm in a flattering way, as if begging him not to hand her over.
Ye Sheng felt no mercy whatsoever. He picked up Little Sister and moved to stuff her into the small slit.
Elder Sister pressed her face against the inside of the belly skin, panting, and a vicious smile cracked open across her wrinkled red face.
“My little sister, I’ve missed you so much. Were you happy inside my belly? Did you eat your fill?”
Little Sister began to tremble. But before the victor of the womb battle, she was like a venomous snake with its fangs pulled. The absolute suppression of a natural predator left her with no capacity to resist.
Ye Sheng held Little Sister’s body, touching her hard-as-rock belly — hard as stone — which held the four losers of that brutal womb battle.
Xiaofang’s tear-reddened eyes stared dazedly at Ye Sheng. She watched him open the seam on her belly a little, feeling a vague distress, yet not stopping him. She had been timid and fearful all her life — but on that first night, when she’d been lured out by the crying, she had behaved out of character by standing beside this young man’s bed for a long while first.
She didn’t dislike him.
Little Sister’s body was drenched in blood, staining Ye Sheng’s fingers red, the color flowing along his slender pale fingertips and through the lines of his palm. The young man was half-crouching on the floor, holding a strange mass of flesh and blood in his hand, extending it steadily forward, his expression cold as frost. Ye Sheng’s coldness contained none of the elements of fragility or detachment — it was sharp, hard, like a blade that draws blood on contact.
Little Sister began to cry faintly, weakly. Her development had been deformed; her voice was barely there, producing almost no sound.
Elder Sister grew more and more excited, lifting her head impatiently, swallowing. Those black eyes stared fixedly, unblinking, at the small gap.
Hunger coursed through her like wildfire. Her dried-out skin seemed to glow red. Frantic, burning with impatience, she was desperate to take a bite and devour what had originally been hers.
Her limbs moved along the inner skin of the belly, and she tilted her neck upward toward the very top.
Staring dead-on at that mass of food descending from above.
In that moment of complete silence.
Ye Sheng suddenly spoke, voice very quiet, full of cold mockery.
“Since you like crying so much — you can do without your voice.”
His wrist turned, revealing the silver needle hidden in his palm. Through the gap.
— Without a moment’s hesitation, with brutal, decisive force, he drove it in!
The instant the silver needle pierced her throat, the womb-girl went rigid, her eyes wide and wild.
The enormous pain drove her into a frenzied, screaming breakdown — but her voice was already ruined. Only a hoarse, hollow rasp came out, wheezing in and out like broken bellows.
“AAAAAAH!”
A newborn’s organs were incomparably fragile, but as a Class A aberrant, an embroidery needle wouldn’t kill her — it could only destroy her voice.
Ye Sheng’s expression remained unchanged, as cold as ever.
His true nature had been fully exposed this night.
And his only audience was a lunatic, so there was no need to hypnotize himself into living under the labels of “right and wrong, kindness, compassion.”
Ye Sheng’s fingers traced the thread along the corpse-sewer’s belly, and he said coldly, “Do you know what I hate most in this world? When someone threatens me.”
“UGHHHHH!”
The womb-girl’s gaze looked as if she wanted to carry that hatred through every lifetime of her soul.
Without the wailing to draw them, the corpse-creatures crawling out of wall cracks, side openings, and the walls themselves all stopped moving, quietly reverting to “collections.”
Ye Sheng stared back at the womb-girl, thinking about everything that had felt off this night. He took out his phone, opened the search app, and quickly took a photo of her face.
The app responded quickly. That first night, the shot through a plastic bag had been of Little Sister and hadn’t come out clearly. This time, it captured Elder Sister’s face directly.
The file was laid out in full.
[Category: Story King]
[Entity Name: Womb-Girl (Incomplete)]
[Entity Level: Class A]
[Summary: Like all babies, the Womb-Girl waited quietly and obediently in the womb, dreaming every day about the happy life she would have after birth. But Father didn’t want her, and Mother killed her. There was nothing to be done — so she would just have to go find Father and Mother herself. But this time there were so many little sisters in the belly, and Mother’s nutrients weren’t enough to go around. Womb-Girl is so hungry. She had no choice but to eat up all her little sisters.]
The same kind of summary background as the corpse-sewer. But as Ye Sheng scrolled down, he found that after the summary that had seemed to end with a full stop, two more lines had been added.
Not the system’s default bold font, but handwritten — ink pen, not especially neat, twisted and crooked like a centipede’s trail.
[Post Scriptum:
No one knows that the Womb-Girl has a mischievous, troublemaking little sister. After Little Sister was eaten by Elder Sister, she feasted heartily in her belly. Shh — mustn’t let Elder Sister find out.
— Left at 5:16 PM, June 23rd.
Post Post Scriptum:
The feelings of this world are always so complicated. Homesickness is a thin layer of belly skin — Elder Sister is on the inside, Little Sister is on the outside. Can’t find Little Sister, Elder Sister cries so sorrowfully.
— Left at 12:34 AM, June 27th]
Ye Sheng checked the time on his phone.
12:40 AM, June 27th.
That last line had been written just minutes ago! Written before this sudden change had happened!
Ye Sheng froze. He stared at those words, and suddenly a bone-deep chill surged up into his throat. His skin crawled.
Post scriptum.
Those who read a great deal would be familiar with it — though more commonly seen in its abbreviated form.
“PS” or “P.S.” — appearing in copy, articles, afterwords — the extra note an author appends after a complete piece of writing, as a supplement or for emphasis.
He finally understood now, where the womb-girl’s sudden wail had come from, after everything seemed to have been resolved.
…Can’t find Little Sister, Elder Sister cries so sorrowfully.
Someone had used postscripts to add a new stroke to this story.
His fingertips went cold. He breathed shallowly, staring at the phone screen, and for the first time felt fear of something unknown.
Ye Sheng pressed his emotions down and told himself it was all over now.
Once they got off the train, he’d get a new phone and start a new life.
But reality seemed to be playing a joke on him — right before his eyes, new words began to appear below that summary.
Still the same not-quite-neat pen strokes, grayish and unpleasant, each stroke crooked and slanted, radiating malice.
[Post Post Post Scriptum:
How did Elder Sister lose her voice? Oh, she must have cried it out searching for her little sister. How touching. Little Sister regrets it — she shouldn’t have been so playful, hurting Elder Sister’s heart.
Bad person, you ruined my Elder Sister’s voice — pay for it with your life.
— Left at 12:40 AM, June 27th]
End of postscript.
Behind the handwriting and the words, you could almost see a mean, shadowy, ugly person lurking.
But before Ye Sheng even finished reading, something had already added a little weight to his shoulder.
Little Sister, who had been playing dead the whole time, suddenly — completely disregarding Elder Sister’s dominating presence — “came back to life.” Her head and limbs were a bloody mess from having been devoured in her earliest developmental stage. She pressed herself tightly against the skin of Ye Sheng’s neck and extended her tongue to lick at it.
Elder Sister had three rows of teeth; Little Sister had no fewer. Ye Sheng even suspected that nine-tenths of her head’s weight was concentrated in her teeth.
“You ruined my Elder Sister’s voice,” Little Sister said.
Ye Sheng heard Little Sister’s giggling voice — slightly hoarser than Elder Sister’s, a little lower, damp and sticky.
Because of that postscript, they were performing their sisterly bond again.
This was the closest Ye Sheng had ever been to her. These two sisters were born in the same womb — hence “womb-girls.” Though Elder Sister was the victor, the greater share of the power resided with Little Sister. The danger and strength of a Class A aberrant was something Ye Sheng, in his current state, had absolutely no way of dealing with.
He had managed to handle the womb-girl since boarding by relying entirely on Xiaofang and the red talismans left by the old man.
And now the person writing those postscripts had broken Little Sister’s restraints.
Overwhelming malice coiled up along his neck, wrapping around Ye Sheng’s breath.
Little Sister giggled darkly: “Bad person, you’re a bad person.”
Ye Sheng said nothing. His gaze fell quietly on Little Sister.
In the moment of drawing close to an aberrant.
That feeling of having all his internal organs submerged returned. Cold, wet. A strange sensation spread from his stomach as well.
Right now he had no cards left to play. Handing Little Sister to Elder Sister to deal with would only lead to an even worse death.
The Class C embroidery needle was no match for Little Sister.
The life-saving red talismans had already been used.
No matter how he looked at it, this was a dead end. The moment he’d stepped onto this train, his death had been written.
But the deeper the dead end, the more you had to gamble.
Ye Sheng suddenly spoke. “You want a body, don’t you.”
His memory was perfect.
The same went for words he’d heard.
Catching any and every thread of information had always been his strength.
“Even though you stole your Elder Sister’s power, you were originally the loser — the one devoured inside your mother’s womb.”
Ye Sheng’s voice was very quiet.
“You stopped developing. You never grew eyes, a nose, a mouth, or limbs. No brain, no body.”
She was so small — only the size of a quarter of a palm, a mass of flesh no bigger than a piece of chocolate.
Ye Sheng spoke softly, as if making a deal: “Right now, I’ll give you a body. What do you say?”
Ye Sheng’s fingers closed around her.
Little Sister seemed stunned, unsure what this human was planning to do.
The author’s postscript had placed him on the womb-girl’s dinner table.
Dinner table.
Killing, devouring, feeding.
The key words of that battle inside the womb in Yinshan County’s Chonghe Village had always been these three.
Who eats whom, who devours whom. Whoever wins becomes the last one standing, making all others bow in submission.
Ye Sheng knew he had gone insane — but then, he’d never been normal to begin with.
He gripped Little Sister, expression blank, tilted his head back, opened his mouth, and stuffed her straight inside.
The moment his teeth came together, blood and raw flesh burst liquid between his teeth and throat — ice-cold and wet.
Ye Sheng thought of his childhood. Low fever, pain, poverty, hunger — a childhood that had followed him like a shadow.
The fact that he’d survived was already a miracle. Surviving three days without food or water was a miracle; surviving on dirt and stones was also a miracle. So let’s see — could this miracle continue?
The world kissed me with pain, yet I answered with a song. The instant he swallowed Little Sister, a sharp pain tore through Ye Sheng’s throat, and he thought with bitter irony:
— If the voice is gone, can you still sing?
Thud.
A sound of movement came from behind — sharp and fast. Ye Sheng was suddenly grabbed by the wrist, with a force that felt like it could crush his bones.
Ye Sheng frowned, jolted to a halt.
Ning Weichen gripped his chin with one hand and moved in close, his peach-blossom eyes carrying a thin, cold ferocity. His index finger pried open Ye Sheng’s mouth with force, heedless of pain, the pad of his finger quickly slashing open a wound against Ye Sheng’s teeth. His bloodied finger churned violently between Ye Sheng’s lips and teeth, and in an instant the blood mingled with Little Sister’s flesh.
Whether it was the effect of that intrusive blood or something else, Little Sister — who had been about to resist — suddenly froze rigid with fright.
Her physical form was chewed apart, mixed with Ning Weichen’s blood, and swallowed down by Ye Sheng.
“Cough — cough, cough!”
Ye Sheng lurched back several steps.
Little Sister had been swallowed — but Ning Weichen’s fingers were still inside Ye Sheng’s mouth. He didn’t move, his finger pressing almost forcibly against Ye Sheng’s upper palate.
“Ye Sheng.” The slightly longer black hair framed Ning Weichen’s face, making him look bewitching and ghostly. His expression was blank, as if he found this both funny and infuriating. He spoke each word hard and hatefully: “Was it really that difficult — to just coax me a little?”
Ye Sheng gripped his hand, the discomfort in his mouth making moisture rise in his eyes. He stared deeply at Ning Weichen.
His phone had fallen to the ground.
So he didn’t notice that on the search app’s screen, another line of text had been appearing. The story’s postscript continued; clearly the one on the other end would not let this go without Ye Sheng dead.
But at the instant Ning Weichen came over.
[Post Post Post Post Scriptum] had been written halfway when the author hesitated. After a long pause, the furious words were erased by the author — unwillingly, bitterly.
Ning Weichen’s fingertip felt Ye Sheng’s throat contracting. His gaze was cold and ruthless as he fixed on the moisture rising in Ye Sheng’s eyes.
The corner of his lips curved into a profoundly wicked arc.
“You really do love making decisions alone, playing the hero by yourself.”
Click.
Suddenly, the lights of the entire train car flickered on.
Immediately after, a round of orderly, urgent footsteps approached.
“Hurry!”
“Car 44!”
“Move!”
Tonight, the headquarters of the Bureau of Unnatural Affairs Investigation and Management had detected a familiar, long-absent aura for the second time. From the seventh sector — the lord of the origin place of urban strangeness, the one and only: the Story King.
In almost that instant, the government, the railway authority, and the Huai City police force mobilized in response. Train 1444’s car — this was no longer a simple Class A aberrant incident.
Outside, chaos raged. The floor was drenched in blood, everything in shambles.
Ye Sheng was pressed by Ning Weichen, his back against the wall.
In the moment their gazes crossed, Ye Sheng saw the cold fury churning in Ning Weichen’s eyes.
His lips, tongue, throat, hands — everything was covered in blood.
Yet Ye Sheng’s mood was suddenly, inexplicably light. He almost wanted to laugh — the kind of unhinged feeling after being wound so tight for so long that sanity begins to fray.
Ye Sheng met Ning Weichen’s beautifully shaped, sentimental eyes. His body and soul were in a state of spent exhaustion now; he let his thoughts empty. And then, belatedly, a realization surfaced: when he had turned around and first seen Ning Weichen at the start of this train ride, his first thought had been — this person’s smile is really beautiful.
Even if it was fake.
But a chance encounter that ends at the destination — that was all this was.
Before the police rushed in.
Ning Weichen curved his lips into a smile, eased the force of his fingers, and withdrew them slowly — his touch trailing with deliberate intimacy across Ye Sheng’s tongue.
He leaned in close, voice laced with laughter, cool and thin.
“Baby, congratulations. The quiet, stable life you’ve always dreamed of — you’ve just destroyed it with your own hands.”
Woooo — the whistle let out one long, resonant cry. This train, bathed in blood, breathing hard, which had started its journey from Yinshan, had finally broken through the starfields and the darkness, completing its mission.
[Dear passengers, the next station is the final stop of this journey — Huai City North Station. Please prepare your luggage and mind your step when disembarking.]
[Next Stop: Huai City North Station]