The subway stations at rush hour are always so crowded that one might question the meaning of life itself, with people packed so tightly in the cars it felt as though the entire population of Boundary City was squeezing onto the train—if that was at all possible, Song Cheng genuinely wished he didn't have to take the subway at this time.

But there wasn't any choice, under normal circumstances "the train" would only appear during the second round of rush hour, other times, although there were reported sightings, they were uncontrollable.

The burly Song Cheng was squished among the masses in the car, feeling the slow acceleration of the subway as it left the station. His view was filled with office workers rushing to make the morning peak, and the spaces between people were crammed with an amalgamation of scents—

A cage forged of steel was packed with compressed, piled flesh; in the dark underground, burrowing into a tube held aloft by concrete, rumbling from one place to another. Artificial light could banish the darkness within this "pipeline," but in the dirt outside of the tube, darkness and the unknown were the true visage of the subterranean world.

Song Cheng slightly closed his eyes, repeatedly running through this thought in his mind. He imagined this steel-made "meat transporter" tunneling through dark earth, like a bizarre and blind worm, imagining the stifling assault from the earth, and the smell of rot seeping through the cold.

With his eyes still closed, he slowly made his way through the crowd in the car—though still cramped, everyone unconsciously made way for a path, and the tall, strong Song Cheng walked unhurriedly to the rear of the car, then looked up.

Marked on the door was the information that this was the end of car number two, with car number three up ahead.

Behind him, the noise that had filled the coach unexpectedly faded, with the occasional sounds of conversation seeming so distant as though they were separated by a thick wall.

Song Cheng did not turn back but instead, took out a parchment soaked in salve from his pocket—he stuffed the parchment into his mouth, slowly chewing, feeling the intense, stimulating coolness shoot straight to his brain, then stepped forward.

After passing through the door of car number two, he arrived in an empty new car.

The previous coach was full of passengers caught in the morning rush, but here it was empty.

On the seats, slightly worn with age, lay a few old newspapers, their dates, however, marked for tomorrow.

Song Cheng turned his head to see the automated door behind him displaying the characters for car number sixteen.

The stimulating flavor in his mouth spread gradually; he turned and continued forward, passing through the door of car number sixteen, arriving at the next segment of the train—the next car was rust-spotted, the windows on either side smeared with grime. Occasionally, a faint light flickered past the windows, not resembling lighting from the subway tunnel but more like the gaze of strange eyes flitting past, watching this roaring steel worm from the dark earth.

This was car number twelve, Song Cheng continued forward, while walking, he verified the car numbers, and as he kept moving, each car grew increasingly eerie—some cars were filled with plastic figures, some overgrown with mushrooms, some cars even lacked ceiling and walls altogether, only a bare floor hurtling through the throbbing, swelling pipeline of earth.

And the numbers on all the cars were randomly distributed between 1 to 21, not laid out sequentially.

Suddenly, a warm candlelight appeared before him, the carriage Song Cheng entered next could no longer be discerned as a subway car interior; instead, he stepped into a large wooden carriage. Several exquisitely dressed and enchantingly beautiful ladies were seated on either side, engaged in heated conversation, their laughs sweet and melodious. Outside the carriage windows floated a light mist; occasionally a streetlamp glimmered past, illuminating some unknown city's streets.

A glamorous lady of high society noticed the abrupt arrival of Song Cheng into the carriage; she stood up in surprise and approached to inquire about Song Cheng's purpose.

But Song Cheng ignored her completely, just turning back to glance at the number displayed on the door: car number twenty-three.

He turned and walked back.

A "normal coach" with a structure completely like that of a regular subway car came into view. The interior was spacious and well-lit, with neat and clean seats.

The only passenger was sitting in the middle of the car, near the window, a newspaper in hand concealing their face.

Song Cheng looked back to confirm, and not until he saw the characters for car number twenty-two on the door did he exhale and approached the lone passenger.

The individual was clothed in a black overcoat, with a similarly black briefcase at their feet, and a black umbrella hanging from the railing next to the seat.

Coat, case, and umbrella all shared an odd rubbery texture.

Song Cheng sat down beside the passenger and gently tapped the newspaper in his hand.

Finally, the passenger set down the newspaper and looked at Song Cheng.

There was a smooth and slightly reflective face—as if made of rubber—an emaciated middle-aged man wearing an antiquated black top hat, distinctly at odds with the modern world.

"Hello," the oddly-featured passenger nodded to Song Cheng, their voice trembling and off-key, yet the manner was quite polite, "What would you like to talk about today?"

The 22nd passenger, a physical entity, is generated in the Exotic Realm train and typically stays inside car number twenty-two. Possessing reason and capable of communication, they even occasionally assist outsiders in leaving the Exotic Realm—but under certain circumstances, they can also become aggressive.

Currently, they were friendly.

"Have you heard of the address No. 66 Wutong Road?" Song Cheng started the conversation as if he was speaking to an ordinary person, "There's someone named 'Yu Sheng' who lives there."

The rubbery "passenger" shook their head: "The train doesn't stop there."

Song Cheng's expression became solemn in an instant.

The 22nd Passenger was privy to many pieces of information about "places." Apart from certain extremely bizarre or secret "places," as long as the inquiry was clear, he could almost give a basic overview of any Exotic Realm, even those millions of light-years away—at the very least, he could indicate whether the mentioned Exotic Realm existed and whether it was located within the Boundary Land.

But now, he was saying that there was no such stop on the train.

In fact, this train would indeed not lead to any place, but the 22nd Passenger saying "the train doesn't have this station" meant that he did not know any information about a certain place.

Since the Special Service Bureau's archives contained information about the 22nd Passenger, records of this kind of response could be counted on one hand.

After a moment of silence, Song Cheng asked again, "What about 'Yu Sheng'? Have you heard this name during your travels?"

"If it's information related to people, you could ask the 'Storyteller.' He knows a lot about matters related to people—he is in the park, telling stories to the children… Do you need directions? I can tell you at what time to find the 'park.'"

"Thank you, but no need, I know where the park is," Song Cheng shook his head, feeling the effects of the menthol paste in his mouth beginning to wane, and hurriedly asked another question, "Have there been any news about Nightfall Valley lately?"

"Nightfall Valley... Ah, a traveler left from there, but I'm not clear on the specifics," the 22nd Passenger replied leisurely, "If you want to know what happened after that, I'm afraid I can't be of help."

"Why?"

"Because that stop has been canceled."

The 22nd Passenger placed the newspaper on his lap and calmly said with his rubber-textured face.

Song Cheng's eyes widened in astonishment as he sat in the chair.

Such an answer had never happened before!

"The train doesn't have this station" was at least a reply mentioned in the records, but "this stop has been canceled"... he was certain that this was the first time!

"Why is it canceled?!" He asked subconsciously, looking eager.

"Who knows?" the 22nd Passenger shrugged very humanely, "I'm only aware of the matters along the route of the train, but those that occur outside the route… I have no idea."

Song Cheng blinked, feeling the effect of the menthol paste further diminishing, and faint human voices were already beginning to echo near his ears. He still had some questions to ask, but at that moment, he suddenly noticed the newspaper that the 22nd Passenger had placed on his lap out of the corner of his eye.

It was the only thing on that entity "body" that wasn't made of rubber—it was just a newspaper.

The front page of the newspaper featured a large black and white illustration—in an era where even the cheapest tabloids were printed in color, the black and white drawing seemed peculiarly retro and the image itself was blurry, abstract, and distorted. It didn't look like a photograph taken on-site but more like a crude doodle smeared on a canvas by an untalented painter based on rumors.

A desolate valley and a huge eye were floating above it, slowly drifting away.

Below the illustration was the headline of the news:

"After the Feast."

"We are approaching our stop," the 22nd Passenger's voice suddenly came from beside him, snapping Song Cheng out of his reverie.

Song Cheng abruptly looked up and saw the 22nd Passenger staring at him intently, this rational entity had already reached for the umbrella hanging on the armrest railing, and as he stood up, he seemed to ask casually, "How's the weather now?"

Song Cheng quickly gathered his thoughts and observed the entity in front of him with extra seriousness.

The 22nd Passenger had brought an umbrella today, but the umbrella was dry.

"It's cloudy today…" Song Cheng began.

But at that moment, he suddenly noticed a trace of water on the 22nd Passenger's suitcase, as if invisible rain had just fallen upon it.

"But the rain has already started to fall," Song Cheng immediately added, "Taking an umbrella when going out was the right choice."

"Indeed," the 22nd Passenger smiled, and his rubber-made face emitted a slight tearing friction sound, "Have a pleasant journey, and be careful when you get off."

"Have a pleasant journey." Song Cheng exhaled and nodded with a smile.

The noisy sounds came from all around, and the warmth of human bodies filled the crowded carriage.

The broad-shouldered Song Cheng squeezed through the congested carriage, feeling the subway slowing down steadily as it approached the station.

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