Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The Old Campus of Jiugang No. 2 Middle School was much smaller than I remembered.

The school gate was locked, the wall paint was peeling, and the playground was overgrown with weeds.

We circled around to the side gate and slipped in through a broken iron railing.

My mom was almost caught on it, and Liang Yan reached out to steady her, then quickly let go.

The gesture was very measured.

My mom glanced at him and said, “Thank you.”

He said softly, “It’s what I should do.”

I thought that sounded strange.

As if he really regarded my mom as an elder.

The physics lab was on the third floor.

The corridor was full of dust, and when the wind blew, the doors and windows rattled softly.

I used my phone for light.

The third lab table in the second row was still there.

The drawer was rusted shut.

Liang Yan found a piece of wire and pried at it for a long time, but couldn’t get it open.

I took over, wedged the utility knife from my bag into the gap, and twisted.

The drawer opened.

Liang Yan glanced at me.

I said, “When you work in design, you have to know a little of everything.”

There really were words under the drawer.

They had been carved with a knife, crooked and uneven.

[Zhixia, don’t be afraid of echoes.]

My nose stung.

Inside the drawer was an old book of lesson plans, a roll of audio tape, and a broken Walkman.

The first page of the lesson plans was in my dad’s handwriting.

[Record of the Jiugang Line Phenomenon.]

I kept flipping through it.

It contained many dates, locations, and names.

After every name, there were notes saying “who they heard,” “whether they responded,” and “whether they got on.”

My dad wasn’t a scientist.

But in the way an ordinary teacher could, he had recorded every anomaly.

He had even gone to find the passengers’ families.

A photograph was tucked into the last page.

In the photo were my dad and my mom when they were young, and a man wearing a bus uniform.

Liang Jianzhang.

My mom froze.

“I remember now.”

Her voice trembled.

“He came to our house before.”

That was one week before the accident.

Liang Jianzhang was the older brother of one of my dad’s college classmates.

His wife had just died, and his mental state was very poor.

My dad advised him to rest and stop driving the night shift.

But Liang Jianzhang said his wife waited for him at the platform every day.

My dad realized something was wrong and went with him once to Jiugang North Station.

After that day, my dad began writing these records.

The label on the tape read: 1999.5.17, Route 312 Last Bus.

I looked at Liang Yan.

“This is the source?”

He nodded. “Possibly.”

I put the tape into the Walkman.

It was broken.

Perfectly normal.

For something more than twenty years old, it would have been strange if it weren’t broken.

I was just about to say we should go back and find a repair shop when the lab door suddenly slammed shut.

The sound of water came from the corridor.

One drop, two drops, then many drops.

As if the entire river were pouring back in.

My mom gripped my hand.

Liang Yan stood in front of us.

In the darkness, someone called my name.

“Zhixia.”

It was my dad’s voice.

My tears instantly spilled out.

That voice sounded too much like him.

Like when he came home from work and called to me while changing shoes at the door.

“Zhixia, Dad’s home.”

I almost answered.

Liang Yan suddenly covered my mouth.

His palm was very cold.

“Don’t answer.”

My tears struck the back of his hand.

The voice in the corridor was still calling.

“Zhixia, Dad’s been waiting for you for a long time.”

My mom was crying too.

But she was steadier than I was.

She raised a hand to cover her own mouth and shook her head desperately.

Outside the lab window, headlights suddenly lit up.

Outside a third-floor window, there should not have been headlights.

A green bus was stopped in midair.

The windows were filled with faceless passengers.

Liang Jianzhang sat in the driver’s seat, looking at us and smiling.

“Xu Mingyuan is on the bus too.”

“Don’t you want to see him?”

My whole body was trembling.

Not from fear.

But because I wanted so badly to answer.

It had been ten years.

I had so many things I wanted to ask my dad.

I wanted to ask whether it hurt when he left.

Ask whether he saw me get into university.

Ask whether he knew how hard these years had been for my mom.

Liang Yan covered my mouth, his voice pressed very low.

“Xu Zhixia, look at me.”

I couldn’t see him clearly; my eyes were full of tears.

He said, “The longing of the living should not be used by the dead to open doors.”

The sentence was harsh.

So harsh it was almost cruel.

But it pulled me back.

I nodded hard.

Liang Yan slowly released his hand.

I did not answer.

I only lowered my head and clenched the tape tightly.

My mom suddenly opened the sugar jar and took out that coin.

Facing the window, she said, word by word, “Xu Mingyuan is dead.”

The headlights flickered once.

Crying, she said, “I remember that he died.”

“But I also remember that he loved me, and loved Zhixia.”

“He would never use that voice to trick us into getting on the bus.”

The voice outside the window that sounded like my dad stopped.

The next second, a line of watery words appeared on the glass.

[Lan, well done.]

My mom covered her mouth and finally began to sob aloud.

That line of words quickly scattered.

The bus disappeared as well.

The lab door opened again.

Only a puddle of water remained on the floor.

But at that moment, the Walkman began playing by itself.

From the tape came my dad’s voice when he was young.

“May 17, 1999, Jiugang Line Last Bus Record.”

“If anyone hears this tape, please remember.”

“The true First Echo was not the passengers wanting to see the dead.”

“It was the driver, Liang Jianzhang, wanting everyone to accompany him to see his wife.”