At Three in the Morning, All My Passengers Are People Who Don't Exist

My name is Cheng Wang, and I'm a night-shift driver. My passengers pay their fares in memories. After seven rides, they can go home.

My younger sister, whom I've been searching for for two years, is one of those passengers.

But Old Zhou said:

"The person you're taking home isn't her. It's you, on your seventh ride."