Edo

Japan.

Narita Airport, Edo.

Zhafu stepped off the plane, his newly dyed blond hair hanging over his forehead. His expression was unchanged.

He carried his hand luggage and followed the crowd toward the immigration hall.

There were quite a few Chinese tourists on the flight.

Some dragged suitcases behind them, some clutched shopping lists, and others had already started checking the duty-free shops the moment they landed.

Ever since China’s rapid development, traveling to Japan had long ceased to be a luxury.

There was nothing wrong with traveling, of course. Experiencing foreign customs and broadening one’s horizons was only natural.

But Lin Mo had always found it difficult to understand why so many people traveled thousands of miles to Japan just to buy a toilet.

Couldn’t they buy the same thing in China?

Did it really have to be imported?

Did having a water jet wash your butt actually make it cleaner?

Lin Mo had never tried one himself. After all, a Golden Core Patriarch had no need to defecate.

Zhafu handed his passport and pre-arranged visa to the Japanese immigration officer.

Fingerprints.

Photograph.

Stamp.

The process went smoothly.

Of course, Zhafu had not entered Japan under his real identity.

He had a job, an income, a return ticket, and a hotel reservation. His paperwork was spotless.

The immigration officer gave him an extra glance.

“Your first time in Japan?”

Zhafu replied in English, “Yeah. I’m here sightseeing.”

“Enjoy your trip.”

“Thanks.”

The stamp came down.

Zhafu took back his documents and walked out.

Lin Mo, controlling this body, did not rush to act.

He was heading for the heart of Tokyo.

His target was nearby.

According to the route provided by the Awakening of Yan and Huang, he first needed to take an express train, then walk around the area.

The route was not exactly close, but it was practically a direct line.

He was a tourist now.

And a tourist ought to act like one.

Leave the airport, buy a ticket, board the train.

Zhafu took a window seat and placed his luggage on the overhead rack.

Most of the passengers were tourists from abroad, since Narita Airport handled mainly international flights.

There were other airports within Tokyo that were closer to the city and received domestic flights.

Some people chatted quietly, some photographed the scenery outside, and others had fallen asleep the moment they sat down.

Zhafu paid them no attention.

An hour later.

The express train arrived at Tokyo Station.

Zhafu got off.

Tokyo Station was packed with people, and busy streets stretched out beyond it.

This was one of the most densely populated areas and the very center of Tokyo.

Zhafu turned his head toward the other side of the station.

Not far away stood the Imperial Palace of Japan’s emperor.

In other words, the royal palace.

Japan had adopted a constitutional monarchy. Put bluntly, the emperor was little more than a mascot.

Just like the queen of Britain.

Of course, the emperor still represented Japan’s dignity in the eyes of the Japanese.

Some things did not need real power. As long as they stood there, someone would be willing to kneel before them.

The Imperial Palace itself was also a relic that had survived from the previous century.

These days, it existed mainly as a tourist attraction.

Put simply, it was just an elaborate mascot.

Its significance was largely symbolic.

Zhafu stood by the roadside and glanced toward the palace.

“The mascot’s house is pretty spacious.”

He had said it in Chinese.

A Chinese tourist nearby heard him and nearly burst out laughing, only barely managing to hold it in.

Zhafu ignored him. He simply walked out from the other side of the station and began his first—and last—stroll through the streets of Tokyo.

The streets were bustling with people.

There was a moat outside the Imperial Palace, and Zhafu followed the road along its outer edge.

According to the map, he needed to go around more than half of it.

It was not particularly troublesome. It would only take a few dozen minutes.

There were plenty of pedestrians as well.

Walking along the embankment, a scene that appeared frequently in Japanese manga, Zhafu spoke in a youthful voice.

“I used to see scenes like this all the time in manga. But now that I’m actually here, it doesn’t feel all that special.”

Beyond the moat was a stretch of trees. A little farther away, he could see several traditional-style buildings, most of them no more than a century old.

After all, it had not been that many years since the emperor had moved the capital to Edo.

Just as Zhafu was strolling along at his leisure, two men in black suits approached him.

They did not take a detour. Instead, they walked straight up and blocked his path.

One of them spoke in Japanese.

“Mr. Zafu, please leave this area immediately.”

Zhafu stopped.

“What did you call me?”

The man did not answer.

The other man added, “We don’t want to deal with this in public. Please cooperate.”

Zhafu glanced around.

There were tourists nearby.

There was also a woman pushing a stroller.

He looked at the two men before him with indifference. The other side would not dare cause too much trouble in public.

That made things interesting.

In perfectly standard Japanese, Zhafu asked, “This is a public street, and I’m a tourist. Who exactly are you two? Japanese gangsters?”

The suited man frowned.

“Stop pretending you don’t understand.”

“What am I pretending about?”

Zhafu spread his hands.

“I just got off the plane. I haven’t even bought a convenience-store rice ball yet, and you two come over telling me to leave. Has Japan’s tourism industry become this proactive?”

“Mr. Zafu, although we don’t know why you came here, we hope you’ll leave immediately.”

“Oh? And what if I don’t? This is a public street, after all. I’m a tourist.”

The words rolled off Zhafu’s tongue in crisp Japanese.

The two suited men exchanged a glance.

The order they had received was simple: stop this man. If necessary, take him away by force or kill him on the spot.

The information they had been given was perfectly clear. The target was highly dangerous.

He could not be allowed to approach the Imperial Palace.

But the blond man in front of them was far too relaxed—so relaxed that it made them uneasy.

One of them reached for the earpiece at his ear.

“The target refuses to cooperate.”

The next second, Zhafu’s lips curved faintly upward, and he tilted his head to the side.

A bullet tore past his head and struck the ground between the two men.

Fragments of concrete flew into the air.

The nearby pedestrians froze for a moment before someone screamed.

Zhafu glanced at the hole in the ground.

“So you’re opening fire already?”

Three hundred meters away.

On a rooftop.

The sniper remained in his firing position. After realizing that his first shot had missed, he prepared to aim again.

In an instant, a white bone pierced through the sniper’s skull.

Before the spotter beside him could react, the same bone passed through his head as well.

Back on the street.

The two suited men, realizing that something was wrong, were just about to make a move when sudden cramping twisted through their abdomens.

They collapsed to their knees, clutching their stomachs. Sweat appeared on their foreheads, and they could barely form a complete sentence.

Zhafu looked down at them.

“Oh, dear.”

He took half a step back.

“Did you eat something bad?”

One of the men raised his head, his teeth clenched so hard they clicked.

“What... did you do...?”

Zhafu said, “I wouldn’t dare. I’m a tourist, and I haven’t even touched either of you.”

Then he added, “Must be some kind of plague bacteria. You locals really need to improve your sanitation.”

The suited man tried to reach for his gun.

The instant his hand touched his coat, another wave of agonizing cramps seized his abdomen.

He fell to the ground and curled into a ball.

Zhafu had done nothing at all. With both hands in his pockets, he simply walked around the two men and continued onward.

Those two men would definitely die.

That was what he had said.