Players, Please Board the Train

”My grandfather dropped out of school as a child. Because his family was poor, he always made a living doing odd jobs for others.”

”One day, my grandfather went to another village to carry goods. It was already dark when he returned. The mountain path was winding and treacherous, with no one around. Terrified, he quickened his pace, but the load on his back was heavy, so he couldn’t move fast.”

”As he passed a curve in the mountain, he suddenly heard footsteps behind him, as if someone had been following him the whole way.”

”In my grandfather’s hometown, there’s a saying: When walking on a night road, don’t look around, and never look back. So my grandfather dared not turn his head. He could only forge ahead with his heavy basket on his back, keeping his head down.”

”But the faster he walked, the faster the footsteps came. The night was silent, not a bird chirping, only the rustling of leaves in the forest. My grandfather’s heart pounded like thunder, his back drenched in cold sweat. Just as the footsteps drew closer and closer, he suddenly spotted a fork ahead. He mustered his courage and ran onto the path leading toward the village.”

”He thought that by choosing this route, he’d be closer to where people were, and whatever was following him wouldn’t dare to come. But to his surprise, the footsteps still followed. Not only that, someone reached out and tapped him on the shoulder!”

”In that moment, he felt a chill shoot down from his shoulder, his head buzzing. He froze on the spot, unable to move. But then the person behind him spoke: ’Young man, I’m a bit scared walking alone on this night road. Let’s go together.’”

”When my grandfather heard a human voice, he turned around and saw it was just a middle-aged man dressed like a local. Trembling, he accepted a cigarette from the man’s hand, and they chatted as they walked through the night.”

”On the road, my grandfather also drank a few sips of the liquor the middle-aged man offered him. The warmth spread through him, filling him with energy. They talked and laughed as they walked further along.”

”Before long, the middle-aged man suggested taking a rest. My grandfather didn’t think twice and agreed. They sat there, sipping liquor and smoking, laughing heartily.””But cigarette after cigarette was passed, and still, the middle-aged man showed no sign of continuing the journey. My grandfather was anxious to get home, so he said, ’I need to head back. Let’s chat another day.’”

”Unexpectedly, the middle-aged man’s face changed drastically at those words. He slapped my grandfather on the chest and barked, ’Who said we’d chat another day!’”

”My grandfather, dizzy from the alcohol, blacked out for a moment. When he came to, the middle-aged man was gone, and he found himself in a graveyard. The uneven mounds stretched out darkly, and the thing he’d been leaning against while chatting with the middle-aged man was unmistakably a tombstone!”

”My grandfather was so terrified he bolted. He ran out of the graveyard only to realize that he’d never actually reached the fork in the road. Too scared to keep going, he made for a mountain hunter’s shack not far away.”

”He lived in a remote mountain area. Back then, there were many hunters in the mountains. Though the shack was crude, it had a bed and blankets. My grandfather thought he’d hide in there until dawn. But just as he lay down, he heard footsteps again outside—’clack, clack’—sometimes stopping, sometimes starting, as if circling the shack.”

”My grandfather broke out in cold sweat after cold sweat, but he was young and full of fire. Rage welled up after the shock. Grabbing a stool, he charged outside, ready to fight to the death.”

”The ’clack, clack’ sound was still there, but no one was in the bamboo grove. He searched for a while before discovering the source: dried bamboo husks hanging on the bamboo stalks. When bamboo grows, it sheds its husks, some of which get stuck and rattle in the wind. At night, it sounded just like footsteps. Not only were there husks on the bamboo, but someone—some careless soul—had also hung two pieces on the back of his basket.”

”At that, his heart relaxed, and he went back to sleep. But after a night of torment, he couldn’t really rest. The next day, just as the sky was barely light, he hurriedly carried his goods home.”

”Unexpectedly, when he passed by the river, he heard footsteps again. Fury surged in him, and he was about to curse whoever had hung those husks on his basket. But then he suddenly remembered that he’d taken them off and thrown them away last night. And this very river had claimed a life by drowning not long ago. His hair stood on end. Without turning around, he threw down his basket and ran home.”

”When he got back, he found a livid, five-fingered print on his chest. He was sick for several days after that. When he recovered, he didn’t dig into what had happened that night. He just never walked the night road again.”

”As for who hung the bamboo husks, who the middle-aged man was, or what made those footsteps by the river—that remains unknown.”

With that, Xu Ruosi paused and let out a soft breath. ”My story is finished.”

The room fell silent. The candlelight on the wax figures flickered. After a moment, Xie Ling took a deep breath. ”The story you told... is it real?”

Xu Ruosi glanced at her. ”What do you think?”

Xie Ling rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. ”That’s really terrifying... A story that scary should meet the game’s requirements, right?”

No sooner had she spoken than the room began to rise. Xu Ruosi straightened her clothes and stood up.

”Remember to wait for us outside if you get a clue,” Xie Ling said, her tone uneasy. ”It’s safer if we all go together.”

Xu Ruosi didn’t respond. When the room stopped, she stepped toward the door.

The others at the table watched her go, but no one tried to follow her out at that moment.

”I wonder what clue she’ll get...” Xie Ling murmured.

Xu Huo swept a glance at the ventilation opening in the room. As the room descended, he spoke up. ”Who’s second?”

”Me, me!” Long Aotian quickly said. ”I’ve got a creepy story I heard from a friend—it’s really scary!”

The other three didn’t argue. Once the room steadied, he began to speak.

”In my friend’s hometown, there’s a salt field. Usually, a lot of people work there, but when the holidays come, the workers all leave. The boss has to hire someone to watch the place. One night’s work, one night’s pay.”

”But that salt field is far from where people live, there’s hardly anyone around, and they say bad things happened there before. So the adults don’t want to go. The boss usually finds a middleman to hire some half-grown kids—brave ones who haven’t heard the old rumors about the salt field.”

”One day during the salt field’s holiday, the middleman found my friend’s cousin once removed. He gave him the money to watch the place. The cousin agreed without a second thought.”

”Watching the place usually means watching through the night, so he had dinner and then headed for the salt field at dusk.”

”Who would’ve thought that as night fell, his grandmother showed up? She said she’d hired a master fortune teller, who predicted he’d face a calamity that night. He’d better not go out.”

”But he’d already left. The grandmother was old, and there were no other able-bodied young men at home. So she had to go to a neighbor’s place to find help. She barely managed to drag along a distant relative to go with her. By then, it was already late, and my friend’s cousin could already see the salt field.”

”He was walking along a mountain path up high, giving him a good view from above. Before he even went down, he spotted the salt field. It was packed with people—pushing, flipping, shouting nonstop, working with furious energy!”