The Train

The subway station at rush hour is always crowded enough to make you question life itself. The packed carriages can even give you the illusion that perhaps the entire population of Jiecheng is crammed onto the subway—if it were possible, Song Cheng truly did not want to ride the subway at this hour. But there was no help for it. Under normal circumstances, the "Train" would reliably appear only on the second train of the morning rush hour. There were sighting reports at other times too, but they were all beyond control. The powerfully built Song Cheng squeezed into the packed carriage, feeling the slow acceleration and swaying as the train pulled out of the station. Everywhere within his sight were office workers hurrying to their companies for the morning peak, and the gaps between one body and the next were stuffed with mingled smells— A cage forged of steel, packed full of squeezed and stacked flesh; underground in the darkness, it burrows headlong into a tunnel propped up by concrete, thunderingly hauling cargo from one place to another. Artificial light could drive away the darkness inside that "tunnel," but in the soil beyond it, darkness and the unknown were the true face of the underground world. Song Cheng closed his eyes slightly, repeating this association over and over in his mind. He imagined this steel "meat-cart cage" boring through the dark soil like some grotesque, blind worm; he imagined the suffocation of the earth rushing at his face, coldness seeping with the smell of rot. With his eyes closed, he slowly made his way through the crowd in the carriage—the carriage was still crowded, but everyone unconsciously cleared a path for him. The tall, powerfully built Song Cheng walked unhurriedly to the rear of the carriage, then opened his eyes for a glance. The door was marked as the end of Car No. 2; beyond it lay Car No. 3. In the carriage behind him, the originally noisy clamor had faded to almost nothing, without his noticing when. The occasional sounds of people talking seemed distant, as if separated by a thick wall. Song Cheng did not look back. Instead, he casually fished a parchment slip from his pocket—the slip had been soaked in ointment beforehand. He put the slip into his mouth and chewed slowly, feeling a fierce, pungent coolness rush straight to his head, then stepped forward. Passing through the door of Car No. 2, he arrived at a new, completely empty carriage. The previous carriage had still been packed with passengers hurrying for the morning peak, yet here there was not a single person. On the somewhat worn seats lay a few old newspapers, yet the date on them showed tomorrow. Song Cheng turned his head and saw the characters "Car No. 16" displayed on the automatic door behind him. The pungent taste in his mouth was gradually spreading. He turned and continued forward, passing through the gate of Car No. 16 and arriving at the next segment of the train— The next carriage was covered in rust, the windows on both sides caked with filth. Outside the windows, faint lights occasionally flickered past, but they did not look like the lighting of a subway tunnel—they looked more like eerie eyes sweeping by, watching this roaring steel worm from within the dark soil. This was Car No. 12. Song Cheng continued forward, confirming the carriage numbers as he went. As he moved steadily ahead, each carriage grew ever more bizarre—some were full of plastic mannequins, some were overgrown with mushrooms, and some had no roof or walls at all, only a bare floor racing through a constantly undulating, writhing tunnel of earth. And the numbers of all the carriages were scattered at random between 1 and 21, in no sequential order whatsoever. A warm candlelight suddenly came into view. In the next carriage Song Cheng entered, the structure of a subway car was completely gone; he stepped into a large wooden coach. Several beautiful women, gorgeously and seductively dressed, sat along both sides of the coach, engaged in animated conversation, now and then bursting into pleasant, crisp laughter. Outside the coach windows floated a faint mist, with the occasional streetlamp flashing past, lighting up the streets of some unfamiliar city. One seductive noblewoman noticed Song Cheng, who had suddenly barged into the coach. She rose in surprise and stepped forward to ask his purpose. But Song Cheng paid her no attention at all. He only glanced back at the number on the coach door: Car No. 23. He turned and walked back. A "normal carriage" with a structure exactly matching that of an ordinary subway came into his view—spacious and empty, brightly lit, with neat, clean seats. Only a single passenger sat in the middle section of the carriage, near a window, holding up a newspaper that hid his face. Song Cheng turned to check once more, and only after seeing the characters "No. 22" on the door did he let out a breath and walk toward the lone passenger. The other wore a pitch-black coat, with a likewise black suitcase set by his feet, and a black umbrella hanging on the railing beside the seat. From the coat to the suitcase to the umbrella, everything carried a strange, rubbery texture. Song Cheng sat down beside the passenger and lightly tapped the newspaper in his hands. The passenger finally lowered the newspaper and looked up at Song Cheng. It was a smooth face with a faint sheen—like rubber. His appearance was that of a gaunt middle-aged man, wearing a stodgy black top hat that seemed out of step with the modern world. "Hello," this bizarre-looking passenger nodded to Song Cheng, his voice trembling and off-key, yet his manner quite polite. "What would you like to talk about today?" An entity, Passenger No. 22, would spawn in the foreign domain "Train" and would usually stay inside Car No. 22. It was rational and could communicate—it might even occasionally help outsiders escape the foreign domain—but under certain conditions, it could also display hostility. At present, he was very friendly. "Have you heard of the address No. 66 Wutong Road?" Song Cheng asked, just as if he were chatting with an ordinary person. "A man named Yu Sheng lives there." The rubber-like "passenger" shook his head. "The train has no such stop." Song Cheng's expression instantly turned serious. Passenger No. 22 knew a great deal of intelligence related to "locations." Except for certain extremely bizarre or secretive "locations," so long as a question was clearly directed, he could answer almost any foreign domain's basic situation, even if it lay millions of light-years away—at the very least, he would point out whether the foreign domain mentioned in the question existed, and whether it lay within the boundary zone. But now he said the train had no such stop. In fact, this train truly did not lead anywhere, but when Passenger No. 22 said "the train has no such stop," he meant that he did not know the intelligence about a certain location. Since intelligence on Passenger No. 22 had first appeared in the Special Affairs Bureau's files, records of such an answer numbered no more than the fingers of one hand. After a moment of silence, Song Cheng asked again, "Then what about the man named Yu Sheng? Have you heard this name during your travels?" "If it's information related to a person, you could go ask the Story Man. He knows a great many things about people—he's in the park, telling stories to the children there... Do you need directions? I can tell you when the park is." "Thanks, but no need. I know where the park is," Song Cheng said, shaking his head. He felt the ointment's potency in his mouth gradually weakening, so he quickly asked his next question. "Any recent news about Nightfall Valley?" "Nightfall Valley... ah, a traveler left from there, but I'm not clear on the exact circumstances," Passenger No. 22 said unhurriedly. "If you want to know what happened afterward, I'm afraid I can't be of much help either." "Why?" "Because this stop has already been cancelled." Passenger No. 22 laid the newspaper on his lap and spoke calmly with that rubber-textured face. Song Cheng's eyes widened, and he sat there in his chair, stunned. This answer had never appeared before! "The train has no such stop" was at least a reply mentioned in the files, but "this stop has already been cancelled"... he was certain, this was the first time! "Why would it be cancelled?!" he asked instinctively, his gaze urgent. "Who knows?" Passenger No. 22 shrugged in a very human way. "I only know about things along the train's route, but those that happen beyond the route... I don't know about them." Song Cheng blinked, feeling the ointment's potency weaken further. Faint human voices had begun to reach his ears. He still had some questions to ask, but just then, from the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed the newspaper resting on Passenger No. 22's lap. It was the only thing on the entity's "body" that was not rubber-textured—it really was just a newspaper. The front page of the newspaper bore a large black-and-white illustration—in this era when even the cheapest roadside tabloid was printed in color, that black-and-white illustration looked especially retro. The image itself was blurry, abstract, and distorted, not like a photograph taken on the spot, but more like a crude scribble daubed onto a canvas by a clumsy artist working from hearsay. A desolate valley, over which a giant eye floated, slowly drifting away. Below the illustration was the news headline: "After the Feast." "We're about to arrive at the station." Passenger No. 22's voice suddenly came from beside him, rousing Song Cheng from his distraction. Song Cheng looked up abruptly and saw Passenger No. 22 staring intently at him. This rational entity had already reached out to take the umbrella hanging on the railing, and as he rose, he asked as if casually, "How is the weather now?" Song Cheng immediately gathered his wandering thoughts and examined the entity before him with particular care. Passenger No. 22 had brought an umbrella today, but the umbrella was dry. "It's overcast today..." Song Cheng began. But just then, he suddenly noticed a faint trace of water on Passenger No. 22's suitcase, as if invisible rain had just fallen on the case. "But the rain has already begun to fall," Song Cheng immediately added. "Bringing an umbrella when going out was the right decision." "Indeed," Passenger No. 22 smiled, his rubber-made face giving off a faint sound of tearing and friction. "Have a pleasant journey. Take care when you get off." "Have a pleasant journey." Song Cheng let out a breath and nodded with a smile. Noisy clamor came from all around, and the heat of human bodies filled the crowded carriage. The powerfully built Song Cheng squeezed into the packed carriage, feeling the slow deceleration and swaying as the subway pulled into the station.