It was obvious that an explanation like that would have no effect on the Japanese police officer.
The Japanese officer turned to Zhafu and bowed first.
“Hon-tou ni sumimasen. Please cooperate and show me your identification.”
After all, that was Japanese culture: whenever there was a problem, start by saying “sumimasen.”
“Sure.”
Zhafu handed over his passport and entry documents.
The Japanese officer took them and flipped through a couple of pages.
The next second, he turned around, mounted his bicycle, and sped off.
He was incredibly fast.
It was as if Zhafu’s documents were some kind of priceless treasure.
He moved so quickly that the bystanders nearby hadn’t even finished raising their phones to record.
Koji Takeda was stunned as well.
Clutching his sword, he looked at Zhafu, then at the police officer pedaling away.
Zhafu’s hand paused for a moment. Then he turned to look at the back of the Japanese officer riding away.
“Wait, is he actually a cop? He just straight-up stole my stuff!”
The moment he finished speaking, the bicycle’s front wheel rolled over a small stone by the roadside.
The handlebars veered sharply.
The officer and bicycle went flying together, flipping a full 365 degrees in the air.
Then he came down headfirst with a loud smack.
The man hit the ground.
The wheels continued spinning for another two revolutions.
Zhafu’s documents fell directly onto the pavement.
The surrounding pedestrians were all left speechless. What kind of bizarre development was this?
How had the man managed to wipe out on perfectly flat ground?
Without giving it a second thought, Zhafu walked over and picked up the documents.
He checked his passport first.
It wasn’t dirty.
The entry documents were fine too.
And they were genuine.
Zhafu stuffed everything back into his pocket, then turned toward the onlookers and said in a clear Kanto accent, “Everyone saw what happened. I didn’t do anything. This fake cop snatched my documents and ran, then crashed. All I did was pick my documents back up.”
An office worker nodded.
An older woman nodded too.
A high school student holding up his phone quietly said, “I got it all on video.”
Zhafu looked at him.
“Is it clear?”
The student swallowed.
“Very clear.”
“Thanks. Could you send me the video? I can pay you for it.”
As he spoke, Zhafu walked over to get the video and handed the high school student a thousand yen on the spot.
Koji Takeda looked at the police officer lying on the ground and pressed a finger against the hilt of his sword.
It wasn’t that he had never seen anyone die before.
But someone falling off a bicycle and dying was not normal.
And it had happened far too conveniently.
Conveniently enough to make him uneasy.
Zhafu returned to stand in front of him.
“Everything settled? If so, I’m leaving. I haven’t eaten yet.”
Koji Takeda looked at him.
“You can still eat after that?”
“Why couldn’t I? My identification was almost stolen. I’m the victim here.”
“What about that man…”
“Obviously a fake cop.”
“He was wearing a police uniform.”
“So wearing a police uniform gives him permission to steal a foreign tourist’s documents? Is it really this chaotic around here?”
Koji Takeda was rendered speechless.
Zhafu asked again, “Where’s the best ramen nearby?”
“Huh?”
“Ramen. Something edible. Don’t tell me you’re an idiot.”
Koji Takeda finally understood. He raised a hand and pointed ahead.
“Turn the corner up there. There’s a place I often eat at before heading home. The owner is pretty good.”
“Fine.”
Zhafu set off.
Koji Takeda remained where he was and glanced at the officer lying on the ground.
The pedestrians had already started calling the police.
Although they also suspected the man was a fake officer, someone had crashed like that, so calling for help still seemed like the right thing to do.
Koji Takeda gritted his teeth and hurried after Zhafu.
As he followed, he took out his phone and sent a message to the Weapons Division.
“Target: Zhafu. His documents were taken by a police officer, who then crashed while riding away. The situation is abnormal. Requesting verification of the officer’s identity.”
After sending the message, he put his phone back in his pocket.
Zhafu didn’t turn around.
“Why are you following me? Are you planning to invite your foreign friend to eat ramen?”
His tone was teasing. He didn’t actually have much dislike for this young Japanese man.
Of course, he didn’t have much fondness for him either.
“I’m just going the same way.”
“Going the same way while carrying a real sword?”
“This is my sword.”
“You Japanese walk around with swords, and the police don’t care?”
Koji Takeda paused.
“I have a permit.”
“Oh. So does that mean the police officer had a permit to steal my documents too?”
Koji Takeda fell silent.
He had discovered that this foreigner didn’t really care about logic when he spoke.
The more troublesome part was that every sentence he said managed to land right on the facts.
There was no easy way to argue with him.
So he continued following Zhafu.
Zhafu didn’t mind. Since the kid had followed him this far, he could keep following if he wanted.
It wouldn’t matter even if he died.
The ramen shop was not far away.
It had a sliding door with a cloth curtain hanging over the entrance, and the storefront was extremely narrow.
Zhafu pulled open the door and walked in.
“Welcome.”
Behind the counter stood a man who looked remarkably like the Ichiraku ramen-shop owner. His arms were folded across his chest, and a white headband was tied around his forehead. His face was stern.
It was a tiny shop. How tiny? About twenty square meters at most.
There weren’t many customers.
The kitchen took up more than half the shop, leaving customers with no choice but to sit around the counter.
It was the same sort of layout as in a late-night diner.
But it was around three in the afternoon, well outside mealtime, so there were hardly any customers.
Zhafu found a seat and sat down.
“Excuse me,” Koji Takeda said seriously from behind him.
This was why the Japanese were so particular about minor etiquette while ignoring the bigger picture.
They were first-rate when it came to politeness, yet when it came to actually doing things, they could be shamelessly vicious—to their own people and to outsiders alike.
If he remembered correctly, the Fukushima nuclear disaster had happened three years ago.
In another ten years, they would begin dumping radioactive wastewater into the ocean.
What a bunch of bastards.
Thinking of this, Zhafu raised his head and glanced at the menu.
“What would you like?”
The menu consisted entirely of ramen.
Soy sauce, salt, miso, white-ball, and special chashu ramen.
There was also rice and pan-fried dumplings below.
That was standard practice. Japanese ramen broth was rich and heavily seasoned, so after finishing the noodles, people would often order a bowl of rice and mix it into the leftover broth.
And a main dish with dumplings was another conventional combination.
This place really was dedicated to ramen. Give it another ten or twenty years, and the owner would probably become another ramen master.
Zhafu looked over the menu.
“Soy sauce ramen.”
The owner nodded.
“Add an egg?”
“Yes.”
“Green onions?”
“Yes.”
“Garlic paste?”
“Yes. And add another slice of chashu. I want to see how your chashu compares with the Cantonese-style chashu from Yangcheng in China.”
“Ours is, of course, the authentic kind.”
The owner gave a laugh and walked into the kitchen.
Koji Takeda sat down beside Zhafu and called out, “I’ll have one special white-ball ramen.”
“Got it! That one takes a little longer.”
The owner began preparing the noodles in the kitchen while Zhafu turned to look at Koji Takeda.
“Japanese people really are arrogant. ‘Our chashu is authentic.’ Your chashu was copied from Guangdong in China. You turned it into some unrecognizable imitation and still have the nerve to call it authentic chashu.”
Koji Takeda stared at him.
“?”
It wasn’t even me who said it was authentic.
Still, seeing that Zhafu had taken the initiative to speak to him, Koji Takeda finally relaxed a little and sent the situation here to the Weapons Division.
he colors of other people’s emotions. Light red meant anxiety. Gray meant exhaustion. Orange meant excitement. Yellow... meant repression. At the same time, he could gain unlimited control over one of those colors. Pale cyan: relaxation. Using this ability, he started offering “two-yuan hugs,” spending an afternoon exchanging emotional-color experiences with others. Then came his final female customer of the day— a girl whose emotional color was pure black... —— A week later, Xu Chuan had become skilled at using pale cyan—Relaxation—treating it like a bottle of menthol balm whenever he needed it. That was when he discovered he had unlocked another unlimited emotional color: Purple, the color of fear. So these emotional colors refresh every week? Fine, I take it back—I’ll never call you useless again... —— Much later, after Xu Chuan had accumulated countless emotional abilities, one night, he suddenly found himself inside someone else’s dream. There, he could use the emotional colors he possessed to paint. And in her dream, he painted her a shower of pink shooting stars, spreading across the depths of the night sky...
ions, keeping it grounded and realistic】 After quitting his job, office worker Su Yang accidentally binds with the "Enjoy Life System." As the name suggests, simply by indulging in life's pleasures, he can earn random rewards from the system—no need to spend money on beautiful women or grovel before anyone. Just enjoy, and the money follows, making it all about effortless fun. The system comes with a scanning feature, allowing him to establish a favorability bond with women rated 85 points or above. Every 20-point increase in favorability unlocks additional rewards. After suffering through over twenty years of hardship, Su Yang trembles with excitement, his dull eyes suddenly gleaming with newfound hope. "Enjoy life? How hard could that be?"
close your eyes and open them again, only to find yourself transmigrated into the role of a villainous male supporting character. Readers familiar with urban wish-fulfillment novels know that it is only through the relentless antics of the villainous male supporting character that the plot between the male and female leads can progress. As the villainous male supporting character, Long Aotian not only has to bully the female lead, harass the second female lead, and flirt with the third female lead, but he also has to go all out to antagonize the male lead. In the end, when his body is discovered, he is still clutching half a moldy fried dough stick in his hand. Fully aware of the plot, Long Aotian is determined to change his fate, starting with the female lead! In the beginning, the female lead lacks confidence: "Big brother, I hope I didn't scare you?" In the middle, the female lead treads carefully: "Brother Long, please don't hit me, okay?" Later on, the female lead becomes coquettishly clingy: "Aotian, it's time to pay the 'public grain' tonight." Long Aotian's legs go weak, and he feels like crying: "I taught you to be thick-skinned, not shameless!"
e, Immortal Body, Transmigration, System, Progression Fantasy, Academy Setting, Third-Person Perspective. Alternate Title: Transmigrating into a High Martial World and Reading Live Comments. Bad news: I transmigrated. This is a terrifying high-martial world, and my original, pathetically weak body fell into a coma and never woke up. Good news: I got a Popularity Points system upon arrival. I can see live comments and even create an unkillable alternate identity. Starting out, the alternate identity has all stats at 1. The system tells me that to grow stronger, I must participate in the plot, gain popularity points to allocate stats and grow stronger, and ultimately awaken my original body. And so, carrying my original body on my back, I officially entered Huaqing Academy, where the story's protagonist resides. From that moment on, Chen Guan kicked the original plot to pieces. Live Comments: [Doesn't anyone find this mysterious coffin guy creepy? He can summon indescribable grey misty hands.] [Is this guy a hero or a villain? What kind of onion became a spirit?] [By the way, does anyone know who's in the coffin? Shouldn't the debt for saving his life be repaid by now?] [According to unofficial histories, the person in the coffin was Chen Guan's first love. Their love was once passionate and earth-shattering, but they were separated by life and death due to worldly circumstances. What a star-crossed pair.] ... Years later, the world knew of a demon god born from a coffin, shrouded in grey mist, impossible to gaze upon directly. His foremost divine emissary often wielded a scythe, reaping lives like the god of death. As war approached, facing former friends and a boundless sea of enemies, Chen Guan merely raised his scythe. "Would you like to dance as well?"
