Chapter 476: The Driver

Late night.

Outside Fuyuan City, mist hung thick, but streetlights still glowed along the road.

At this hour, there weren't many cars on the road; a taxi was slowly heading toward the city center, its speed reduced by poor visibility.

"What a fucking bad omen!"

"What's wrong? Who pissed you off, Brother Zhao?"

Zhao Zhao Licheng, a forty-two-year-old taxi driver, had just taken a big fare—two passengers eager to reach a nearby town. After dropping them off and collecting the round-trip fare, he drove back to the city at a leisurely pace.

His speed was slow.

Zhao Zhao Licheng was bored driving.

So he called another night-shift driver; the two chatted on the radio, their conversation broadcast to other drivers, though some things were too crude to say aloud.

"Hey, you wouldn't believe it—halfway there, I suddenly had to pee. I was about to just pull over and take care of it when I spotted a public restroom…"

"Brother Zhao, I drove that route just a couple days ago—I swear there wasn't any restroom there!"

"Must've been newly built. Don't interrupt. Listen: I walked in, started to pee, and got splashed all over my shoe. Some bastard had left an urn of ashes in the toilet. Total bastard. I'm gonna have to change my shoes when I get home."

Ma Peng's voice on the radio trembled slightly.

"Brother Zhao, I'm scared—don't scare me like this, it's the middle of the night and I'm all alone… Also, your music… why does it sound so creepy?"

"I don't even have that song in my playlist!"

Zhao Zhao Licheng's voice grew frantic as he frantically tapped the car's stereo, only to switch to a track even more unnerving than before.

"What the hell kind of song is this? Am I really running into something unnatural?"

"Brother Zhao, hurry—go back to that restroom, apologize properly, or you're gonna invite disaster!"

"I've never seen anything like this—how do I even apologize? Brother, tell me what to do!"

Zhao Zhao Licheng's voice sounded panicked.

But his face was nearly beaming.

In Fuyuan City's night-shift taxi circle, Zhao Zhao Licheng's nickname was "Depraved Old Zhao"—he loved connecting with other drivers to tell eerie stories and scare them.

As a result, few drivers now liked chatting alone with him at night.

Ma Peng was a newcomer, calling everyone "brother," so Zhao Zhao Licheng planned to prank him tonight.

The eerie music playing was something he'd saved long ago.

The story about peeing on an urn of ashes? Pure fiction—just to mess with Ma Peng, who didn't know his reputation.

A veteran driver like him, when he had to pee out in the suburbs at night, wouldn't wait for a restroom—he'd just find a patch of greenery and take care of it, Shunbian fertilizing the plants.

Boom! Zhao Zhao Licheng was enjoying tormenting the young driver when the entire car jolted violently.

A collision! Zhao Zhao Licheng slammed on the brakes and turned around—his taxi had been rear-ended by a red sedan. He flew into a rage, grabbed his phone, and stormed out to yell.

"In this fog, you drive this fast? You blind? In a hurry to die? You fucking—"

A pale-faced man stepped out of the red car. He'd probably never been in an accident before—he stood trembling, head bowed, saying nothing as Zhao Zhao Licheng cursed him.

Zhao Zhao Licheng yelled for a while, then realized his car was undamaged—not even a scratch. His eyes darted.

"Forget it. I've got things to do. I'll take the loss—we'll settle privately."

The man nodded quickly, turned back, got into the red car, and handed Zhao Zhao Licheng a stack of red bills, mumbling something under his breath.

Zhao Zhao Licheng didn't care—he happily took the cash. Today was his lucky day: he'd met a cowardly rich fool who didn't even haggle, just handed over ten thousand yuan on the spot.

Some people were like that—born timid, panicked by accidents, unable to speak clearly, willing to do anything the other side demanded.

After taking the money.

Zhao Zhao Licheng glanced curiously at the red car.

The impact had nearly thrown him out of his seat, yet his taxi hadn't even a scratch—was the red car that soft, or was his taxi that hard? As he walked toward the red car, he remembered he was still on the radio with Ma Peng.

Scaring him was one thing, but he couldn't let the kid think he was in real danger—if Ma Peng called the police, he'd have to waste time dealing with it.

"Peng, don't worry—it was just a small accident, all settled now."

"All settled now."

"Brother Zhao, I'm so glad you're okay."

Zhao Zhao Licheng froze in place, ice-cold, as if plunged into a frozen tomb.

He'd just spoken—and heard two voices: one was his own, echoing from the red car's radio.

The other was Ma Peng's, coming from behind him…

People who told ghost stories usually didn't believe in ghosts—but Zhao Zhao Licheng now realized with chilling certainty: some of the stories he told might be true. He'd been talking to Ma Peng on his phone—so why was his own voice coming from the red car's radio?

Why was Ma Peng's voice coming from behind him?

Zhao Zhao Licheng turned slowly—and saw the man behind him raising his head, trembling. His face was paper-white, blood streaming from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, glowing faintly green under the streetlight. He spoke the same words again.

This time, Zhao Zhao Licheng understood.

"I'm buying you."

Zhao Zhao Licheng looked down at the stack of red bills in his hand—the familiar texture had turned rough. They weren't ten thousand yuan in real currency—they were a pile of coarse, crude spirit money!

The man lurched closer, his face smeared with blood, terrifying and grotesque. As he spoke with a twisted expression, blood spurted from his mouth.

"You took the money—you're mine now."

"You love telling ghost stories—you must've seen plenty of ghosts yourself. You can help me find…"

Zhao Zhao Licheng no longer cared to hear what the man said.

His only chance now was the red car right beside him—even a ghost couldn't outpace a car with the pedal to the floor…

But the moment Zhao Zhao Licheng reached out to touch the car, his scalp prickled—and then his entire body went numb with terror.

The red car he'd just collided with had, in the span of a single turn, become a red paper car. His hand sank into it, sinking deep into the soft, flimsy material.

No wonder his taxi hadn't lost a single paint chip.

He'd been hit by a paper car!

Zhao Zhao Licheng stood frozen—a blood-soaked hand settled on his shoulder, then slowly crept toward his face.

Where the hand touched, searing pain flared—as if his skin were peeling off!

"Ah! Ah!"

On the midnight road, the old driver's shrill screams echoed.

Moments later.

Zhao Zhao Licheng, pale-faced, returned to his taxi and sat down, pounding the steering wheel in frustration.

Ding-ding! His phone rang. He reached out and pressed answer.

Ma Peng's voice came through: "Brother Zhao, sorry I hung up earlier—your story scared the hell out of me."

"I asked Brother Wang—he said you love scaring people with ghost stories. If you scare me again, I won't chat with you anymore."

Zhao Zhao Licheng's facial muscles twitched, then twisted into a smile.

"Sorry—I was wrong. How about this: pick a place, I'll treat you to dinner. Consider it an apology."

"Really?"

"Of course. I hope you won't stand me up."

(End of chapter)