Chapter 87 Keeping Up with the Times

Chuning tried to deduce the direction of force that had fractured his left arm, mentally reconstructing the scene of the car accident. He quickly realized he lacked the ability for such reverse reasoning. He could handle basic mechanical deductions, but Li Han’s body bore more than just one fracture—this far surpassed Chuning’s expectations.

“Forget it,” Chuning murmured, abandoning the futile exercise. It was nothing but self-torment, and he had no taste for masochism.

In the back seat, Tanya’s head drooped heavily in drowsiness. Only when the vehicle jolted more sharply did she stir, her eyes fluttering open to glance at the deserted street outside, before closing them again.

Dawn was approaching. Li Han, too, was growing weary, forcing Chuning to keep a close watch on his driving. The last thing Chuning wanted was another accident due to Li Han’s inattention.

As for himself, Chuning felt no fatigue at all. After all, as a true devotee of the immortal arts, he was well accustomed to living in a world where day and night meant little.

Still, the journey felt interminable, especially with not a soul in sight along the empty streets—not a single moving car could be found. Yet Chuning knew this was the true spirit realm: silence was the main refrain of death.

“What an act of self-deception,” Chuning thought with disdain for his other self, who had constructed such illusions only to slip into premature slumber. He could not fathom the purpose of such persistence.

Emptiness brought its own kind of loneliness, but it had a silver lining: they could drive as fast as they pleased without fear of colliding with anyone or anything. All that mattered was controlling the speed around corners.

By chance, Chuning caught sight of a bus speeding past. He frowned, watching its taillights vanish. He had the distinct impression that, once he noticed it, the bus accelerated even more.

Comparisons are always harsh: their rental car crawled along like a tortoise, while the bus raced as if courting death. When turning, it used the corners of buildings, ricocheting off them to gain speed with each impact.

Chuning couldn’t help admiring the bus’s resilience. Despite the violent collisions, its engine never stalled, and it continued to thunder down the road.

He glanced at the elderly Li Han, still steady behind the wheel, and became all the more curious about how the accident could have occurred. Li Han’s driving style was the embodiment of caution—by all appearances, he was more than capable of handling most situations.

“That’s the bus we took on the way here, isn’t it?” Tanya mumbled sleepily from the back. She seemed to have sensed something familiar.

“Perhaps,” Chuning replied, unable to confirm. He had never actually ridden that bus himself; his impression was only secondhand, pieced together from images. If he had experienced it in person, he would have sensed its presence as soon as it drew near.

He found the bus intriguing, so different from ordinary spirit vehicles. It belonged to their category, yet its passengers resembled monsters more than anything human.

According to the conventions of human horror fiction, they would be called walking corpses, inhabited by souls. Chuning’s analysis was clear—after all, he had discovered extensive experimental data on the transformation of ghosts into humans in the villa. But he didn’t know whether this data had been left by his predecessor or whether his other self had conducted secret research in private. Both had the motive and means to acquire the necessary materials.

As for keeping such things hidden, it was entirely possible. They possessed a tacit understanding—anything one didn’t want the other to know could be selectively blocked, resulting in fragmented, incomplete memories.

Of course, information could be actively suppressed as well. As long as large swathes of memory weren’t erased, the energy cost remained manageable.

Chuning was well-versed in the modification of souls. Even if he had never performed such experiments himself, nor read any related literature, the fact that they shared a single body meant that traces always lingered, no matter how thoroughly memories were wiped.

The body is honest; it seldom lies.

Such grave violations of medical ethics had their own peculiar allure—otherwise, so many would not be drawn to study these forbidden arts. Not to mention the transformation of humans, a pursuit rivaling the quest for immortality, which was fiendishly difficult. Even the most elusive legends drove people to madness; the unveiling of real results would cause an uproar.

Chuning already knew the outcome when ghosts and corpses were fused: these hybrid monsters could interact with reality—a fairly recent technological development.

There was no doubt in his mind: the beings on that bus had been altered. He had never heard of such hybrid monsters forming naturally after death.

Modern technology was advancing at a breakneck pace, spawning all manner of strange and uncanny innovations, applied by eccentric geniuses in countless fields. The patchwork bodies before him were simply a product of their times.