"Hey, Big Brother~, can we talk? Could you please stop the bus?" Dr. Chen stood beside the driver’s seat, speaking in the gentlest tone he could muster.

"Y-you can’t get out," the driver stammered, his voice stripped of earlier malice, now trembling with cowardice.

What had just happened? Simple: any ghost within a meter of Dr. Chen was shredded by black strands of hair sprouting from his satchel. Then… the driver went quiet.

Only two of the bus passengers survived—seated far back, too slow to approach Dr. Chen, thus outside the hair’s attack range.

After watching their companions instantly wiped out, the surviving male and female ghosts said nothing. Silently, they turned and returned to their seats.

Sensing no hostility, the black strands gently caressed Dr. Chen’s cheek before retracting into the satchel.

"Why?"

"P-principles."

Low-level ghosts all follow strict rules—like watching Sadako’s tape, entering Kayako’s house, or viewing Fusang Sao’s film… Only by violating their taboos do they hunt you.

"I get it. Don’t blame me then." Dr. Chen lunged for the wheel, but the driver’s hands clamped like a vise. No matter how hard he pulled, they wouldn’t budge.

"No wonder ghosts in movies choke you so tight—they’re all as strong as oxen!"

"We’re nearing the stop. Stay and keep us company," the driver said. He’d realized: show no hostility toward Dr. Chen, avoid the hair’s wrath.

Perhaps the girl in the jar, turned ghost, had her mind clouded—unable to discern much.

"Screw you!"

The mission name said it all: *Bus to Hell*. Reaching the stop meant certain death.

Dr. Chen knew this. Time for his last resort.

"You forced my hand."

Hammer and wrench in hand, Dr. Chen locked his gaze on the driver’s arm. He wasn’t a killer—but survival demanded setting conscience aside. Besides, the driver wasn’t human.

"AAAHHH!!! LET GO!"

He swung the hammer down. A dull *thud*. His palms numbed—the impact felt like striking stone, not flesh.

"How… how can you hit me?"

The hammer had bounced off, yet left a clear dent on the arm.

"It… it actually worked?"

At first, just a lucky shot—he never expected ordinary tools to harm ghosts.

But stored beside the jar holding the girl, soaked in faint ghostly energy… now they could strike spirits.

A sly grin spread across Dr. Chen’s face.

"When did you die? Ever seen that comedy skit?" He held the hammer in one hand, produced a screwdriver with the other.

"No idea."

"First tap the seam with the small hammer… then finish it with the big one."

A tire-repair trick. He pressed the screwdriver’s tip against the driver’s hand, closed his eyes—imagining it was just a faulty part.

"If I let go, the bus crashes!"

"Exactly! That’s the point! You’ve ferried countless souls down this road. Crash this bus, and you’ll never haul passengers again."

"How could a hearse crash?"

"On the human road? Maybe not. But this is the Ghost Road!"

The driver’s sharp reasoning confirmed he was no ordinary spirit. *Bus to Hell*… Dr. Chen pieced it together: a soul-ferryman. More passengers, greater reward—even the living weren’t safe.

"Fine. You win. I’ll let you off."

"Before I go—quick question. Are you part of the Black and White Wuchang’s line of work?"

"Heh… In life, just a regular bus driver. After death, I take side jobs ferrying ghosts to hell. This isn’t reincarnation." Dr. Chen’s guess was right.

"What do you mean? Where are they sent?"

"Don’t ask. Those powers… even the girl with you couldn’t challenge them."

The bus slowed to a gentle halt. The driver fell silent. Dr. Chen knew pressing further was useless. He slung his satchel over his shoulder and stepped off.

"Thanks, brother! Hope we meet again. Oh—and I’m a mechanic. Bus acts up? Call me."

"See you again? I *never* want to see you again!"