Chapter 50 The Red Double-Decker Bus 1 The Baby Bus is Off...
Which bus is the correct one? Buses that are not red or not double-decker can be eliminated immediately. Even so, the remaining buses still fill the entire street intersection.
You rubbed your eyes. At first glance, these cars looked almost identical, but upon closer inspection, each one did indeed have subtle differences in appearance, with even more variations in the license plates and route numbers. However, in a spot-the-difference game, differences in appearance imply no differences in appearance.
Moreover, such a question, which lacks further evidence, may not necessarily be the only correct answer if you rely solely on your own subjective analysis, even if it is completely logical.
unless…
You look at the tickets in your hand. You previously assumed that one of the tickets was fake, a smokescreen released by the copycat, but maybe both are real. After all, it's a bus, and no one said you could only ride it once.
If there are multiple different types of tickets, there may also be different types of trains to choose from.
That makes things easier. You just need to pick one and see what's going on.
Some of the bus drivers were leaning against the window, lost in thought, while others had gotten off the bus and started chatting with the other drivers. They seemed like just an ordinary group of drivers who had arrived at the bus terminal and were taking a break to change shifts. Seeing that you were acting all high and mighty, but your furtive figure could be seen in the reflection, they didn't say anything and simply ignored you.
Judging from their appearance, it seems you'll have plenty of time to carefully select your items at this stop.
Approaching the first bus, the license plate reads "221B," a number that immediately brings to mind Sherlock Holmes's address—221B Baker Street. This is a classic symbol of Ying culture, seemingly drawing the attention of those familiar with it.
"This is too straightforward." You frowned, muttering to yourself as if you were hitting yourself with your left hand. "Most of the time, these hidden rules have clear hints or are deeply rooted in social and cultural customs. It's not a problem to think of the story behind the symbols based on their numbers."
If you recall Sherlock Holmes' stories, most of his cases revolve around intellectual battles, emphasizing the process of solving the mystery, and the stories are often set in open spaces. If we must say, since the license plate number explicitly indicates a mystery novel element, then a story suited to the enclosed space of a bus would be more fitting for Agatha Christie's works.
The worst-case scenario is a combination of both. If it were only the former, one might be able to escape by sheer cleverness, but if Agatha Christie's ingenuity were added, even a passing dog might get stabbed.
You don't even know what a bus is for, so there's no need to take such a risk the first time you try to get on one.
"Next one." You took a step back, excluding the bus.
Your gaze shifts to the second bus, whose license plate number is "RT 45".
RT…
With a constant cell phone signal, you simply search for "RT". It turns out this was once a classic bus model in London's history, symbolizing the city's glorious public transport past. However, these vehicles were retired decades ago.
You stare at the old bus, its red color dark and dull like congealed blood, with burn marks still visible on its surface.
Through the car window, you can see several blurry figures sitting in their seats, heads bowed and hands hanging limply, like lifeless wax figures.
Alarm bells are ringing in your head.
If this bus symbolizes the past, then it might carry some kind of metaphor about time—taking you back to an inescapable cycle, or trapping you in an era that never ends—No, no more of that. You don't even want to recall those three words.
Besides, even without such a profound principle, just looking at its appearance, I wonder if we'll end up staging a dramatic fire escape from inside the car. Oh well.
After several attempts to choose a bus based on its license plate, you gradually clarify your own logic for dealing with it. Often, the key to passing a level lies in sticking to one set of rules and not changing them midway. Therefore, for the third bus, you still focus on the license plate.
"2, what's this? 9?" You paused for a moment, then, thanks to your experience writing a lab report last time, your high school physics knowledge from years ago surfaced in your mind, "This is the density symbol rho, right?"
"This license plate is too abstract. Wait a minute." After squinting at it for a while, a string of numbers reflected on the car body next to you clearly tells you that it is actually a mirror image of "1995".
What happened in 1995? I can't find the answer.
"Mirror image?" you murmured, a thought surfacing in your mind: mirror images often symbolize a distorted reality, or an inverted set of rules. Perhaps this bus is hinting at a world that defies logic—once you board, your identity, your direction, and even your very existence will be completely reversed.
Upon closer inspection, you'll notice that the bus windows are opaque, reflecting the fog from the outside world like a distorted mirror. Taking a step closer, you'll see your own reflection stretched and warped, resembling a terrifying monster.
Of course, your first instinctive guess might not be correct, and you know that. Perhaps they aren't that complicated, and maybe after you make connections based on the license plate number, you'll be more likely to understand the rules and thus increase your chances of survival once you get in the car.
"Let's look at the next one." You choose to trust your gut feeling.
After ruling out the license plate number "666," which symbolizes hell and the devil, you finally notice the last bus.
It gives you the feeling that it's just right.
The body is a slightly dark red, the color of which is neither glaring nor dull, giving you the feeling that it will drive well and normally even if it is not a foggy day.
Moreover, the bus's license plate number is "12," which is one of the most classic and common route numbers in London that you just checked.
This is an actual bus route from London to the city center, so it's hard to say whether it represents reality and is reasonable.
You recall the note on the ticket that read "Valid until midnight," and the number "12" also subtly symbolizes the midpoint of time, which perfectly matches the logic of the ticket.
Thinking this, the ticket in my hand began to glow slightly, just like the "destined one" it had described. After 80% of my nerve cells had already voted for "getting on the train," it gave me the final 20% boost.
That's it then.
If there are any rules, perhaps… you guess: just follow the etiquette of a normal bus passenger.
You put on a smile you'd practiced back in Germany, and are about to step onto the stairs—
A middle-aged man suddenly appeared out of nowhere and shoved you, catching you off guard and pushing you to the back.
He showed no remorse for his actions, simply greeted the driver loudly, showed his ticket, and then ran straight to the innermost seat without looking back.
You weren't upset about it, but you were a little concerned about his hurried and seemingly purposeful behavior.
Does he know some other rules?
With that in mind, you walked straight into the carriage.
"Hi," you greet the driver with a smile.
But the driver is staring at you with an unfriendly look.
The driver's eyes didn't directly show hostility, but they carried an unsettling undertone. He wore a standard bus uniform with a name tag that read "Mr. Warren," but a mocking smile played on his lips, and his eyes were slightly narrowed.
The familiar gaze reminded you of the passersby you encountered on your way tonight. The difference was that the driver's eyes only made you feel uncomfortable, without any other negative effects.
Is it because he is, after all, a driver or a service provider?
"But why does the driver care what I'm wearing? I thought that was a privilege reserved for bored people wandering the streets in the fog." You thought to yourself, and stopped in your tracks.
You quickly glanced inside the bus and saw that the passengers were scattered about. Some people had their heads down and were not talking, while others were staring out the window. The man from before had his arms crossed and was watching you like you were having a good time.
The man didn't look as disheveled as you. His clothes were as neat as if they had just been ironed. You wondered how weak the monster in the fog he had encountered was—you didn't think he was someone who was too strong to be so composed.
Back to the driver. He maintained his sidelong glance at you, his smile becoming more pronounced, even somewhat aggressive. He didn't urge you on, nor did he politely invite you to get in; he just left you hanging.
What to do? The driver is the one with absolute power in the car. If he pays too much attention to you and has malicious intent, you might be subject to uniquely tailored rules.
If you simply don't get on the bus, you're afraid of missing a great opportunity, as you might not have another chance to encounter a bus like this in the future. Where can you find clothes more presentable than your sportswear right now? You're trying to find a way to resolve your current predicament.
Your gaze swept over the muddy ground by the roadside.
Suddenly, a thought struck you: "Let's just jump out of the evaluation system." You thought of that carefree homeless man you saw in the park; nobody paid him any attention, but everyone was afraid to mess with him.
You get out of the car, quickly squat down, getting mud on your shoes and splashing mud on your clothes and pants.
You were still a bit disgusted by the dirt, so you didn't actually manage to smear mud all over your face, only managing to smear a few streaks of dust from outside the bus on your face. And then there's your hair—a loose bun, the bun perked up high on your head, with stray hairs flying everywhere. Now it's just right.
You stand up straight, make a few exaggerated faces in the reflection of the car window, and adjust your expression to be both comical and roguish. Right, the key elements are: extremely deep forehead wrinkles, eyes that seem half-closed, perpetually downturned lips, and a swaying gait.
After adjusting yourself to a state where even you would want to avoid it, you swaggered back onto the steps once more.
You deliberately waved the ticket in your hand, and said in a nonchalant tone, "What? You want money? Or is my ticket not valid?"
The driver snorted coldly, his gaze sweeping across your face as if assessing your new image. His lips twitched slightly, but he ultimately said nothing, simply waving his hand to indicate you should find a seat.
However, just when you thought you had defused his hostility, the driver suddenly spoke up, cursing in a low, rude tone: "Bloody hell, what a cheeky little git!"
Hearing his complaints, you can finally confirm that, in the driver's eyes, you are already a qualified passenger just by getting on the bus.
Then you pretended not to understand his sarcasm, grinned, and strode into the depths of the carriage.
You plopped down next to the middle-aged man, a few seats away. As soon as you sat down, thanks to your appearance, several nearby passengers stood up, moved to the front, and sat down.
This is hilarious. You think your trick is brilliant, with a built-in local avoidance system, which means maximum security.
Looking at the middle-aged man again, he witnessed the whole process of your little actions. Now, seeing you running towards him without any sense of boundaries, he seemed to think that you were provoking him. He immediately tensed up, put one hand in his pocket, and fiddled with something inside.
You gestured for him to calm down. You only chose to sit nearby because you thought he might know more about the rules.
Of course, you're more curious about what secrets he holds, and these might become useful perspectives for you to consider later.
The bus was still waiting, and several more people boarded outside.
You glance up at them. The first two were young women walking together, looking tired but not flustered. Next to them was a male high school student wearing a private school uniform.
That's strange, you didn't see any private schools nearby.
Soon, when the sixth person boarded the car, the driver's actions suddenly became violent.
He frantically pressed the button, and the car door slammed shut automatically. Before the last person could even regain his footing, the car suddenly started moving and sped forward.
And as you can clearly see, outside the car, there is another person desperately chasing after it.
Looking out the window, the man stumbled and ran through the thick fog, trying to catch up with the accelerating bus. His figure appeared incredibly lonely, his hands waving incessantly, as if he were shouting something, but the bus's soundproofing was so good that you couldn't hear him at all.
No one in the car reacted to the scene, not even glancing out the window, as if it had nothing to do with them. Everyone who got on later, except you, especially the middle-aged man sitting near you, wore undisguised smugness on their faces.
So, getting on the bus doesn't necessarily require fighting monsters in the fog, right?
You analyzed: If only one person is dressed neatly, you could say she's lucky, but if everyone is so presentable, it can only mean that their experiences before boarding the train were completely different from yours.
Looking at the others who boarded later, each one seemed hesitant, wanting to sit in the back. You could be sure that they all shared the same secret that only you didn't know.
This secret may all be related to this set of rules in the game.
You immediately mimic their expressions, adopting the same suspicious and distrustful look, and use this as a pretext to openly scrutinize every detail of each person.
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A note from the author: Good afternoon!
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