Chapter 11 – Overturn

Qin Yuezhang listened silently to Yan Ru’s accusations and resentment before speaking in a low voice, “But none of these justify what you did wrong.”

Yan Ru lifted his eyelids, his gaze like a poisoned blade, cutting deep into Qin Yuezhang’s eyes.

“Right is right, wrong is wrong,” Qin Yuezhang said, his handsome and heroic face filled with condemnation for a murderer. “I sympathize with what you’ve been through, but you can’t use that to defend yourself.”

Moreover, Wei Qinzhou was Qin Yuezhang’s closest friend in the country.

Qin Yuezhang felt that restraining himself from punching Yan Ru the moment he entered the interrogation room was already the height of self-control.

“Easy for you to say—sympathy without ever experiencing it yourself,” Yan Ru said with a smirk, his eyes wild and unrestrained. He spoke slowly, “I don’t need your condescending sympathy, nor am I interested in so-called defenses. If you’re so full of compassion, go do some charity work—save more vic-tims.”

The rising inflection of Yan Ru’s last words dripped with endless mockery.

Outside the one-way mirror, the young officer Meng Yi turned around furiously and kicked the wall, growling under his breath, “He’s a damn sociopath! He should be shot like his murderer father!”

“Calm down, Xiao Meng,” Lu Anchi frowned, disapprovingly eyeing his subordinate who had once again been easily provoked. “Every word and action of yours doesn’t just represent you. Mind your behavior.”

Meng Yi’s chest heaved violently. He grabbed a water cup from the table and took a large gulp, then raised his hand as if to smash it to the ground. But under Lu Anchi’s warning gaze, he reluctantly pulled back and set the cup down with a resentful huff.

“Go wait in the break room,” Lu Anchi ordered.

Meng Yi responded with a stiff “Yes” and stormed off.

The break room was empty—whoever had been there last hadn’t even turned off the TV before leaving. The wall-mounted LCD screen was broadcasting Xue City news. Meng Yi was too furious to pay attention, his chest burning with anger.

Yet the composed voice of the female anchor still seeped into his ears, word by word.

“Recently, Weiyao Technology, an outstanding private enterprise rooted in our city, has delivered more good news. According to reports, Weiyao has successfully developed an upgraded version of the Blizzard System—a dream-based treatment for mental illnesses—which promises relief for patients suffering from psychological disorders. Below is a live interview with Mr. Xu, the current Chief Technology Officer of Weiyao Technology.”

Meng Yi had initially wanted to turn off the TV in irritation, but as he watched the broadcast, a brilliant idea struck him.

He had a way to find the body of the victim, Wei Qinzhou!

The train was speeding up.

Extreme speed always came with a surge of adrenaline, followed by unease and fear—both emotions I despised.

Screams and wails in the carriage never stopped. I lowered my eyelids, wishing I could just toss these howling idiots out the window!

But I also knew this couldn’t go on—it was too dangerous.

The train could derail at any moment, or even collide with another.

I didn’t want to die.

Just then, the train’s speakers crackled with static before a female announcer’s voice, struggling to remain calm, came through.

“Dear passengers, due to an unexpected malfunction, the train is unable to stop at the station as scheduled. Our team is working on repairs. Please remain in your seats and refrain from moving around. We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.”

The aisle was packed with people clutching their luggage, their faces filled with panic. Some turned back, heeding the announcement, while others stubbornly remained by the carriage doors, as if sheer determination would make them open.

Among the crowd, I spotted Qi Youxuan, still gripping her backpack tightly, her face pale. A few loose strands of hair had escaped her high ponytail, adding to her distressed appearance.

The train plunged into a tunnel, plunging the carriage into darkness except for the dim orange lights inside. Against the black backdrop, the window glass faintly reflected my face. Staring at my distorted reflection, I barely recognized myself in the warped “mirror.”

The announcement told us to wait, but ten minutes passed with no further updates.

Strangely, no one came to check on the passengers or offer reassurance—the train staff seemed to have vanished.

“Ah, this is normal!” Gu Lanshan leaned against Yan Ru’s bunk, completely relaxed. “I’ve seen way more ridiculous scenarios—this is nothing! If a staff member showed up now, they’d probably get torn apart by these people—ashes scattered to the wind.”

He found this hilarious and started giggling to himself.

Yan Ru and I exchanged a glance. Neither of us was laughing.

The growing anxiety made it impossible for me to sit still. I knew the situation was dangerous, but sitting idly, clueless and passive, waiting for whatever fate had in store, only made me feel worse.

“I’m going to the restroom,” I said, standing up.

To my surprise, Yan Ru said, “I’ll come with you.”

Gu Lanshan’s eyes widened as he looked back and forth between us. “You’re going to the bathroom together? But there’s only one stall.”

I rolled my eyes internally and strode toward the front of the train.

The train lurched violently as it sped through the tunnel, the roar in my ears making me swallow hard, trying to ease the discomfort.

As the train entered a mountainous area, the carriage flickered between light and shadow. After the initial panic, the atmosphere had settled into a tense quiet. Some people huddled in corners, trembling; others clutched their heads, desperately trying to think of ways to save themselves. One person even knelt on the ground, hands shaking as they crossed their chest, praying for divine intervention. I heard a child’s muffled sobs but couldn’t locate the source.

“Let’s keep going,” Yan Ru said from behind me.

His voice carried an inexplicable calming effect. I hummed in agreement and pressed forward.

Moving from the sleeper carriages to the hard-seat section, we passed through multiple cars without obstruction, nearing the locomotive.

“Why isn’t there a single staff member?” I asked, turning to Yan Ru.

His face flickered between light and shadow. “Normally, there should be at least one attendant per carriage. This… isn’t normal.”

The train losing control was already abnormal enough.

But our smooth progress soon hit a wall—the connecting door to the next carriage was locked.

I knocked, and a familiar face appeared through the glass window.

I relaxed slightly. “Xu Anran.”

Oddly enough, among all the train staff, Xu Anran was the only one I’d actually spoken to.

He showed no surprise at seeing me, even smiling as he asked, “Do you need something?”

Need?

I nearly laughed coldly. “What’s going on with the train? It’s not stopping, and it’s only getting faster.”

Xu Anran pushed the door open but stood in our way, blocking further passage. “There’s been a technical malfunction. We’re working on repairs and will do everything to ensure passenger safety.”

Yan Ru challenged, “But there’s been no effort to reassure passengers or explain the situation. I don’t see even basic respect for them.”

Xu Anran feigned distress, rubbing his forehead before murmuring, “My apologies. The technical issues in the driver’s cabin are keeping both the conductor and assistant too busy. All staff are assisting with repairs.”

I frowned, sensing something off but unable to pinpoint it immediately.

Yan Ru said, “The train’s speed has long exceeded normal limits. If this continues, derailment or overturning is inevitable. There are so many people on board—”

Before he could finish, the train jolted violently!

I instinctively looked outside. The train was winding through mountains, the scenery blurring past. Ahead, the tracks curved sharply around a hillside.

The floor beneath me tilted, and my body lurched sideways—

Damn it, speak of the devil!

“Qin Yuezhang!” Yan Ru grabbed my arm, trying to steady me.

But the sudden shift in gravity was too much even for him. I reflexively gripped his wrist, and together we crashed into the wall.

Bang!

My shoulder slammed into the metal with a dull thud. Pain radiated outward—I half-expected my bones to have shattered.

Yan Ru, tangled with me, wasn’t faring much better. I heard him grunt, though I couldn’t tell where he was hurt.

With the train racing and everything tilting, we couldn’t steady ourselves.

“Yan Ru, you okay?”

His chest pressed tightly against my back, his heartbeat heavy and steady.

“I’ll live.”

But misfortune wasn’t done with us yet.

The next second, I looked up—

The luggage racks above us had shifted from the train’s tilt, sending suitcases tumbling through the air—

Straight at us!

I barely had time to shield my head before two suitcases smashed into me like meteorites.

The impact left my vision swimming with swirling lights. As the darkness faded, I found myself half-sprawled across Yan Ru’s chest, staring up at the train’s ceiling.

Everything was still spinning.

It took me a second to realize—

It wasn’t just my head.

The train was actually spinning.

The train had overturned.