Chapter 46: Bus No. 404 (15) Extra Chapter

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Facing the crowd’s hypocritical and greedy accusations, Song Wu clicked his tongue softly, and the iron chains bound behind him struck the ground with displeasure.

Everyone stepped back in terror, their eyes fixed on the dents hammered into the ground by the chains near Song Wu’s feet. Their breath caught in their throats, their accusations stuck, wavering between words and silence.

Was this a threat?

A blatant, naked threat!

They glanced at the dark red chains and ultimately said no more, glaring at Song Wu with bitter resentment.

To be safe, Song Wu manipulated the chains to coil several times around the carriage.

Don’t overthink it; he was merely worried the glass might shatter, and the baby might accidentally get scratched—then it would be trouble.

The blood-colored chains seemed to come alive, firmly protecting everyone inside. Outside, the living dead pressed up against the carriage, sniffing the scent of humans but unable to get at them, clawing in frustration.

From beginning to end, whatever was behind the display screen tacitly allowed Song Wu’s actions, whether out of fear or indifference, nobody knew.

Finally, the carriage doors slowly closed, and everyone exhaled in unison.

The survivors collapsed weakly in the pool of blood, their breaths still unsteady when that entity clicked its tongue regretfully: “You passed so easily—it shouldn’t be this simple... No matter, the seventh game will be even more thrilling!”

“Thrilling?”

The survivors could barely suppress their rage inwardly, cursing fiercely: How could it be ‘easy’ when nearly half the people had died?!

At the mention of the latter half, those still fuming seemed to have a bucket of cold water poured over their heads, their expressions changing drastically.

If barely escaping with their lives wasn’t thrilling, could any of them survive the seventh game?

Just as its voice fell, the violently dismantled seats reemerged, each seat’s backrest sewn with a strip of cloth bearing a number.

A dense, chaotic jumble at first glance.

The numbers were not in order, scrambled haphazardly, interspersed with Roman numerals and colored differently.

“I, being kind-hearted, can’t bear to see you all standing the whole way, but—” it dragged the word maliciously, “Only those who sit in the correct seats won’t get eaten.”

One deadly game followed another, the survivors’ faces ashen, their eyes dull as they fixed on the display screens flickering with undulating lines.

Did they still have a chance to live?

“Damn it! I can’t take it anymore! I don’t want to play this game!”

A thread in the young man’s mind snapped with a sharp “pop.” His face contorted in fury as he scrambled up, roaring and then smashing the window before jumping straight out of the carriage.

“Ahhh!”

The chilling sound of chewing and the young man’s agonized screams drifted into the night.

Those unable to grab him lowered their heads in stunned silence.

A faint metallic scent of blood wafted inside, thickening the atmosphere.

“Don’t be so down, the game is about to start~”

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At those words, Bus No. 404 came to a stop at the station.

“Hehe, next stop—[Wulue]!”

At the [Wulue] platform, two figures, one black and one white, stood silently in the cold wind.

[Watch out! Official lawyer warnings from the underworld! Decryption prohibited!]

[Lol, if the entire scenario gets reported and taken down, a bunch of staff will lose their jobs again.]

The doors opened, and the two figures boarded one after another.

The man with short black hair curled his lips, his devilish vertical pupils sweeping over the trembling lambs beneath him, a mischievous grin playing on his lips: “If you want a seat, you’ll have to draw a ticket first.”

The silver-haired woman a few steps behind him stepped forward, the tips of her eyes painted with bright red flowers, her dark red lips parted slightly: “Everyone draws their own seat ticket. Only those who draw the correct seat number can sit in the corresponding seat.”

The more Jiang Shengsheng looked at the two, the more they resembled the two great elders of the underworld—Black and White Impermanence.

Sensing her gaze, the black-haired man met her eyes, the smile at the corner of his mouth growing wider, his eyes dark and ambiguous.

The carriage fell silent for a few seconds, even the breathing softened.

“What’s wrong?” Seeing no one stepped forward, the black-haired man’s face darkened impatiently. “Need me to draw for you? I don’t guarantee the seat I pick will be correct.”

The man’s threat worked; the crowd trembled and reluctantly stepped forward.

The two held a stack of tickets in their hands.

The first woman who stepped up glanced at the tickets and instantly turned pale.

Trembling, she hesitated left and right, closed her eyes, and randomly picked a ticket.

The man behind her didn’t understand why she was sweating coldly just by drawing a ticket—until he saw what the tickets were.

“This is a ticket?! It’s just a black piece of paper and a white piece of paper?!”

He hadn’t expected the tickets to be so careless and blurted out his thoughts.

“So, will you draw or not?” The black-haired man snorted coldly, looking at the man trembling like a sieve before him, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “If you don’t, I’ll draw for you.”

“I’ll draw! I’ll draw!” The man dared not entrust his life to a creature he couldn’t tell if it was human or ghost.

He wiped the spicy sweat flowing into his eyes fearfully, hesitated for two seconds, and casually drew a black ticket.

Those behind had already heard the man’s words, racking their brains to figure out which color ticket—black or white—was the correct one.

Soon, it was Meng Zimu’s turn.

“You stand at the back; I’ll go first and check,” Meng Zimu carefully instructed his wife. “Once I find the pattern, I’ll tell you how to draw.”

“No need for you,” Song Wu, unwilling to be outdone, smiled faintly with no joy and squeezed past the wolf-tailed boy who had approached Jiang Shengsheng’s eye line. “Baby, go with peace of mind, no pressure. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

[Howl howl! Fight! Fight!]

[=I love to watch! I’m a mutt!]

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[Enough, enough, Shengsheng is already in my arms.]

[No, don’t you guys find this NPC a bit weird, brothers?]

Song Wu had both the confidence and the ability.

His baby needed no other man’s protection—he himself was enough.

At this moment, the inconspicuous Meng Ze narrowed his smiling eyes: “Let’s see what Zimu says. Drawing the correct seat number is the safest, isn’t it?”

Song Wu clenched his back molars, glaring fiercely at Meng Ze behind Jiang Shengsheng.

Don’t think he didn’t know—the despicable bastard just wanted to snatch his baby away!

Though he spoke grandly, in his heart, he must have been thinking about how to kiss his baby all over—disgusting, filthy scoundrel!

Meng Zimu curled his lips, his innocent, clear dog-like eyes sweeping Meng Ze, lightly chuckling.

If Meng Ze weren’t his biological brother, he might have tampered with the tickets.

What a pity...

Pressing his tongue against his cheek, the boy smiled simply but his eyes darkened.

Meng Zimu lowered his head to examine the two types of tickets carefully. When his gaze passed over a slightly folded corner, his eyes flickered.

He chuckled softly and pulled out a black ticket with long fingers.

So that’s how it was...

Almost everyone on the bus knew how formidable those men were, stretching their necks to watch Meng Zimu.

When they saw him draw a black ticket, those who had black tickets breathed a sigh of relief, while those with white tickets turned pale, casting anxious glances at those holding black tickets beside them.

Meng Zimu, walking toward the back of the line, had no intention of telling the others.

What a joke—he wished all the men coveting Jiang Shengsheng would die, leaving him to enjoy her alone.

That was what they all thought.

Meng Ze tugged the corners of his mouth, the smile on his face gradually turning cold, not matching the chill in his eyes.

“Shengsheng,” Meng Zimu suppressed the infatuation in his eyes, took her hand that naturally pressed against his cheek, and looked at her with shimmering, burning eyes, “Shengsheng...”

He wanted to say, kiss me, kiss me; he had found the pattern and his wife should reward her obedient dog.

But Meng Zimu still couldn’t say it. He swallowed hard, leaned close to Jiang Shengsheng’s ear, and whispered quietly: “...the number of folds and creases corresponds to...”