Chapter 59: Procedure

The two being dragged were startled by Liu Guoyou’s voice.

“Something’s moving under the corpse—not the corpse itself,” Liu Guoyou said, holding his flashlight nearby; he saw more clearly than Li Xuewu and the other two.

Li Xuewu told Wang Yimin to let go, then shoved the corpse’s hip sideways to roll it over.

Blood still seeped from the corpse’s neck, but clutched tightly in its arms was a bundle, and inside, something stirred faintly.

Even Li Xuewu, hardened by battlefield bloodshed, felt a chill—especially with the silence around them, broken only by the breathing of the five men.

A light breeze swept through, and Li Xuewu and the others involuntarily shivered.

Li Xuewu took a breath, steadied his nerves, crouched down, and tried to pry open the corpse’s arms to retrieve the bundle—but no matter how he strained, he couldn’t budge them.

Gathering his courage, Li Xuewu lifted the bundle—and saw a round, pink little face yawning as it surveyed its surroundings.

“It’s a child!” Wang Yimin cried out.

Liu Guoyou and Han Dache were equally stunned; they never expected someone—let alone a child—was beneath the vehicle.

Li Xuewu tried to pull the infant out from above, but the baby was held too tightly; he dared not force it, afraid of hurting the child.

As Li Xuewu reached out, trying to find a way, the infant in the bundle wriggled its tiny hands, pushing them through the gaps in the loose cloth and slapping Li Xuewu’s palm.

Li Xuewu touched the baby’s hand—it was slightly cold. He gripped the corpse’s arm again and said, “Duty calls; I can’t delay. I’ll try once more. Give me the child—I swear I’ll deliver him to your relatives or hand him over to local care. If you won’t, we’ll act as if we never saw him.”

No sooner had he finished than the corpse’s arms loosened—before he even pulled.

Li Xuewu scooped up the infant and passed him to Liu Guoyou behind him, then seized the corpse’s legs and heaved, dragging it clear from under the vehicle.

“Leave it here for now. Let’s go check the other one,” Liu Guoyou said in a low voice.

Li Xuewu noticed the baby watching him, so he took it into his arms. The child, after all that had happened, hadn’t cried a single tear—and now, cradled, it puckered its lips and drifted into sleep.

Li Xuewu wrapped the bundle tightly, leaving an air gap, then held it to his chest and followed Liu Guoyou and the others forward.

The fireman saw Han Dache return and rushed over: “Han Che, this one’s still alive—still breathing!”

Liu Guoyou shone his flashlight on the figure lying on the embankment; Wang Yimin and Li Xuewu, arriving moments later, saw her too—a woman in black pants and a blue floral cotton jacket. From a distance, her age was unclear.

The five men descended the embankment, approaching the woman. Han the driver kicked her foot and called out loudly: “Hey! Can you speak?”

Only when they drew closer did Li Xuewu see clearly: the woman was about twenty, her features unmarred, strikingly beautiful.

But a duck-egg-sized wound gaped on her head. Though she still breathed, each inhale drew blood spurting from the wound, and blood slowly seeped from her nose and mouth—she was dying.

“What are you doing? She’s like this—why bother talking?”

Liu Guoyou saw her pupils were already dilating; how could she possibly answer Han Dache? Seeing Han kick her, he snapped:

Han Dache knew she was gone—he called out only out of habit.

Hearing Liu Guoyou speak, he fell silent, glancing from the woman to Liu Guoyou: “Liu Chechang, what do we do? We’ve stopped over ten minutes—if we don’t move soon, dispatch will get angry.”

Liu Guoyou understood Han’s meaning: if the first victim had been dead on impact, they could leave someone to guard the corpse, then proceed, reporting to dispatch and station police at the next stop.

If no one could guard the corpse, they could still proceed—the procedure was the same.

But now one person was still alive—they had to try to save her.

In the dead of night, in this wilderness with no village ahead or behind, there was no way to summon an ambulance or hospital.

The only option was to carry her onto the guard car and hand her over at the next station, where the station would take her to the hospital.

Han’s implication was clear: Liu Guoyou should move her onto the guard car first, then proceed.

The section couldn’t be delayed too long—it would disrupt other trains.

This line was single-track, not double; every minute lost could delay multiple trains.

Li Xuewu and Wang Yimin had never faced this before; they didn’t know what to do, so they stared silently at Liu Guoyou.

Liu Guoyou thought a moment, then said: “Han Dache, wait a little longer. I’ll check if she has any ID or valuables on her.”

“Alright, but hurry.”

Liu Guoyou’s reasoning was sound—it followed standard procedure for collisions on the line. Han had no grounds to refuse.

Liu Guoyou said he’d search for identification.

He crouched—but didn’t reach for her pockets. Instead, he cradled her shoulders and hips, slowly rolling her over, then back again.

Li Xuewu didn’t understand what Liu Guoyou was doing. Seeing Wang Yimin also silent, he said nothing, watching.

Han the driver and the fireman also sensed something odd—but said nothing.

Liu Guoyou said nothing, rolled her over again, waited a moment, then rolled her back.

The woman took one long breath—then her belly sank, never rose again, and her breathing stopped.

Only then did Liu Guoyou reach into her two pant pockets, felt them, and said: “She has nothing in her pockets.” Then he stood.

lingdian.

Seeing the woman expire, Han Dache exhaled in relief and said to Liu Guoyou: “Chechang, she’s dead. No one’s around to guard her. Let’s go—delay any longer and dispatch will hold us responsible.”

Liu Guoyou waved his hand: “Alright, Han Dache. When we reach the guard car, we’ll signal you. When you see it, start the train.”

Han Dache grunted and hurried off with the fireman toward the locomotive. Liu Guoyou led Li Xuewu and Wang Yimin, baby in arms, swiftly toward the guard car.

At the guard car, Liu Guoyou told Li Xuewu and Wang Yimin to board first, then climbed aboard himself and stood on the ladder, signaling ahead for departure.

Han Dache saw the signal, blew the whistle, and the train began to move slowly.

As the guard car passed the spot where the woman lay, Li Xuewu saw clearly: it was a simple, unmanned level crossing.

A small village lay a few hundred meters south of the crossing—these two adults and the child must have come from there. But why they’d been at the crossing in the dead of night remained unknown.