Chapter Sixty-Two: The Raging Storm

Even the most bustling metropolis harbors its forgotten corners. When Zhao Tianxing followed his navigation to Asakusa Street, an unexpected sight awaited him—a row of ancient houses that might have belonged to the Edo period. He was surprised to find such relics, seemingly abandoned by time, nestled within a city where every inch of land was precious. Yet he said nothing, expertly employing every lesson learned at Lu Academy, even unconsciously masking his own emotional ripples.

After stepping out of the car, Junxia Kinami waved to Zhao Tianxing. “No need to walk me up.” But she didn’t turn away; instead, she looked at him, blinking as she repeated the words with a subtle emphasis, “No need to walk me up.”

Left with no choice, Zhao Tianxing pulled out the car keys. “I’ll walk you up.” What a contrary girl, he thought. She could have just said what she wanted, but insisted on making others guess.

It really was so very much like before.

Only then did Junxia Kinami turn and walk ahead, satisfied. Zhao Tianxing followed in silence, his mind preoccupied by how to contact Catherine and the others.

Junxia pressed the doorbell by the main entrance. “Xiuxiu Asai, are you home?”

Moments later, a girl in pajamas opened the door. Zhao Tianxing’s guard instantly went up, and without hesitation, he grabbed the girl. Unexpectedly, Xiuxiu Asai wasn’t alarmed at all; she simply moved aside, allowing Zhao Tianxing to lower himself and burst through the door. About ten seconds later, a young man wearing a mask was flung out. Zhao Tianxing had held back enough not to injure him; the youth scrambled up and fled without a backward glance, not even attempting a semblance of resistance.

“How did you know someone was inside? I didn’t even get a chance to signal you,” Xiuxiu Asai exclaimed, filled with a sudden sense of security at Zhao Tianxing’s swift actions.

“Some girls might answer the door without dressing up, but not without even running a comb through their hair,” Zhao Tianxing replied calmly. The memory of her surfaced again—those ordinary days that always returned at unexpected moments.

Only then did Xiuxiu remember her hair was a mess. Blushing, she hurriedly ran her fingers through it.

“Let’s go, Miss Asai. You’d best bring some money. It may not be safe here for a while—come back after a few months.” Zhao Tianxing didn’t even step inside before turning for the stairs. Glancing at his watch, he added, “I’ll wait ten minutes downstairs.”

Knowing she was never destined to be the protagonist of a grand escape, Xiuxiu didn’t hesitate. As she put on her makeup, she hastily signed up for a tour to Nara. Even Junxia, well acquainted with her friend’s thick-skinned nonchalance, couldn’t help but ask, “Why are you so calm? Don’t you want to ask what happened?”

“Do I have to shriek like a secondary character in a bad horror movie to put you at ease? The guy who just left my room asked about you. He didn’t even ask my name, nor did he hurt me. Clearly, I’m irrelevant to all this. My uneventful twenty years offer no leverage to help you. The best I can do is heed wise advice, not burden you, and later pray for your romantic success at Asakusa Temple. As for the rest, I believe the handsome guy outside will handle it.”

Junxia couldn’t help but laugh, the worries on her face fading into the sweet dimples befitting a twenty-year-old girl. “Romantic success? Why do you have more confidence in me than I do?”

“Oh, come on! The guy looks just like Takuya Kimura. Even if life were a movie, he’d never be a background extra. Haven’t I told you? Good-looking guys always have luck on their side. I’m waiting for your good news, you know.” Xiuxiu winked mischievously.

Junxia’s fair face took on a delicate blush. She glared at Xiuxiu in mock annoyance, dabbed on her lipstick, pressed her lips together, and gave her friend a gentle push.

Xiuxiu was unfazed. Smiling at her own reflection, she turned to her perpetually melancholic friend. “Most importantly, life is too short for so many whys. If we try to make sense of everything, when will we find time for ourselves?”

Half an hour later, watching Xiuxiu disappear into the station, Zhao Tianxing finally turned the steering wheel.

He couldn’t help but wonder—why was someone lying in wait at Xiuxiu Asai’s home? The man had been weak, but bore the faint, lingering aura of the Cult of Carnal Flesh. Glancing at Junxia, lost in thought in the passenger seat, he reasoned that the cult wouldn’t have targeted Xiuxiu because of him or Ji Ning. It had to be because of Junxia Kinami. The Cult of Carnal Flesh’s true aim was her—they’d even gone so far as to investigate her social circle. He suspected watchers might be stationed outside the homes of all her friends and relatives.

Why? Why would the Cult of Carnal Flesh expend such effort on an ordinary girl?

“Have you bought anything odd lately, besides the seal? Something like a bizarre statue, a mysterious amulet, or the like?” Zhao Tianxing finally asked. That seal from Lu Academy couldn’t possibly be worth such trouble. If it were, the indolent Tokyo branch chief would never have sold it for little more than the value of its precious metal—the price Suzuki’s pawnshop offered didn’t even cover the cost of craftsmanship.

“No. Just the seal,” Junxia replied, bewildered. She’d already sensed something was wrong. Xiuxiu had told her in the car that the masked man’s first demand, upon kidnapping her, was to call Junxia. Although the call wasn’t made, it was obvious that she, or rather some organization, was being targeted.

Zhao Tianxing pondered, uncertain how to handle Junxia. The frightened Japanese girl trailed after him. Half an hour earlier, Junxia had finally come up with an explanation: perhaps she was the illegitimate daughter of some bigwig. She’d spent ten minutes trying to convince Zhao Tianxing that if he protected her, she’d reward him handsomely one day.

He found her logic baffling, but his observation was keen. She was trembling—afraid, yet stubbornly trying to hide it. So he reiterated his purpose: he needed the seal. Junxia sighed with relief and solemnly promised that as long as he kept her safe, she could part with the beautiful trinket that meant nothing more to her.

“I need to go to Haneda Airport,” Zhao Tianxing said, turning the car toward the airport. In times fraught with sudden peril, he needed a weapon for self-defense.

“What for?” Junxia asked, puzzled.

“To retrieve something.” Zhao Tianxing’s voice was calm. He had the distinct sense that his journey in Japan was only just beginning—far more complicated than expected.

Lu Academy always arranged weapon drops at the same location: airport lockers. Zhao Tianxing had no idea how the academy managed to smuggle his sword and firearms through security, but he didn’t care. The academy always found a way. Japan, after all, was a nation with strict gun control; he only took his sword from the locker.

He was still contemplating how to disguise the blade when Junxia saw it. “What an amazing sword! So, Mr. Skyline, you’re into cosplay too?” she exclaimed.

Zhao Tianxing paused, looking at her. Unaware of his bemused gaze, Junxia was eager, “Can I touch it?” Since accepting that this man was her protector, she’d begun calling him “Mr. Skyline,” a name that sounded almost affectionate. To Zhao Tianxing, it was all the same.

He nodded, offering no comment on her curiosity. “You can even carry it on your back.”

Junxia slung the sword over her shoulder, but immediately regretted it. The weight astonished her. “Is this a real sword?” she asked timidly. Zhao Tianxing nodded again.

“Can I give it back?” Junxia was beginning to suspect his intentions—he showed no sign of taking the weapon from her.

Zhao Tianxing shook his head. “Sorry. A cute girl carrying a sword might look like she’s going to a cosplay convention. Me carrying it would look very suspicious.”

Compared to the fresh-faced, lovely Junxia, Zhao Tianxing’s cold demeanor already discouraged strangers. If he carried a sword, he’d attract every police officer’s attention—and he had no permit for a bladed weapon.

Junxia’s outrage was almost comical, but Zhao Tianxing ignored her glare, lost in thought about the Cult of Carnal Flesh. With so little intelligence, all he could surmise was that Junxia must be significant to the cult. As for Ji Ning and the others, he believed they were searching for him, and he was prepared for every possibility.

He glanced at the fuming Junxia. Bathed in sunlight, she was almost identical to the girl from years ago. He decided to tell her something of the world’s hidden realities—he didn’t want her shock to endanger him during a battle with the cult’s aberrations.

“Miss Kinami, you may soon encounter things beyond comprehension, things that will challenge your view of the world. Don’t be alarmed. I’ll handle everything,” he said, like a teacher preparing a student.

Junxia was bewildered. “What are you talking about, Mr. Skyline?”

Looking into her eyes, Zhao Tianxing kept it brief: “There are many strange beings in this world. Science can’t explain them, but they exist. If nothing goes wrong, you might see them with me. Be prepared.”

But Junxia clearly misunderstood, bursting out laughing. “I didn’t know you were such an otaku! Are you about to tell me there are little monsters out there? Will you turn into Ultraman?”

Zhao Tianxing was silent for a moment, then headed toward the parking lot. Changing someone’s worldview in moments was impossible, but at least he’d warned her. Whether she was ready or not was out of his hands.

---

The lazy rays of evening sunlight spilled over the pier. “Shinichi, there’s a job for you,” said a grizzled, scar-faced man, knocking on the cold metal door of the warehouse once used to store fish. The heavy echo lingered in the emptiness.

A young man rose from his bedding, slipping on his clothes. The black suit couldn’t hide the tattoos creeping up his neck, nor the sinewy muscles that made him visually arresting.

“Find her. Bring her back,” the scarred man said, his tone flat. He left a photograph and walked out without another word. His subordinate, Shinichi Shioda, had never disappointed him.

Unlike the brutish thugs of cinema, years of disciplined training had made Shinichi Shioda’s physique resemble that of a Greek statue. Without his tattoos, his delicate features might have made him popular among women.

“Why’s it always a girl?” Shinichi muttered, indifferent. He’d infiltrated the Tokyo branch of the Yamaguchi-gumi for one reason: boredom. Only the violence and lawlessness of the night made him feel alive.

But rules were rules—the most important one in the underworld was to obey, not question. Breathing in the sea air, he began his daily workout. Night was falling, but for him, the day was just beginning.

After his exercises, Shinichi wiped his sweat and headed for the nearest bus stop.

Soon, every Yamaguchi-gumi member in Tokyo’s twenty-three wards, from Chiyoda to Edogawa, received the same task: find the girl in the photograph.

Unaware of any of this, Zhao Tianxing was strolling through Asakusa Station with Junxia, waiting for the next train. He’d decided to send her to her relatives, and to test if everyone connected to her was being watched.

While waiting, Junxia went outside to buy bubble tea—a Taiwanese invention beloved by countless girls. “What flavor do you want, Mr. Skyline?”

Zhao Tianxing was briefly distracted by her eager face. “Strawberry,” he murmured.

Junxia was delighted. “I didn’t expect you to like such a girly flavor.” She skipped away, oblivious to his mood.

“Senpai Miyano, that’s the girl,” a young man said excitedly, pointing at Junxia. The stern, middle-aged man beside him double-checked the photo, then called in a terse order: “All members at Asakusa Station—inside within ten minutes.”

Masao Miyano, suspecting Zhao Tianxing was Junxia’s protector, figured the uproar was due to him—maybe he was helping the girl elope, possibly with some big shot’s daughter. He’d seen this in a Korean gangster movie just last week.

He focused on Zhao Tianxing. Though the order was to bring the girl, he thought he’d seize the man first, to avoid alerting the target.

As the net closed, Zhao Tianxing sensed danger and quickly spotted the source—a man with an untamed look, wide-collared shirt, broad-shouldered jacket, sleeves hiding a missing pinky, eyes flashing with a cold glint. Instantly identifying them as gangsters, he realized he was surrounded. Just as Miyano prepared to act, a group of elementary students bounded in with their teacher, and both men paused, hands drifting away from hidden weapons.

When the children boarded their train, Miyano approached. “Please, come with us.”

Zhao Tianxing shook his head. Miyano nodded, and the conversation ended.

Miyano spun and signaled; a horde of Yakuza disguised as office workers and tourists surged forward. Zhao Tianxing didn’t wait—he dashed for the exit.

He soon spotted Junxia, who was sulking about a closed bubble tea shop. He grabbed her hand. “Run!” Startled, she stumbled, but seeing it was him, she followed. Looking back, she saw the men flooding out, weapons in hand.

Ahead, a man was getting out of a cab. Zhao Tianxing yanked the door open and shoved Junxia into the passenger seat. Drawing his Tang sword, he was about to threaten the driver, but the pudgy man had already fled in terror. Zhao Tianxing jumped in, stomped the gas pedal, and sped off amid a hail of blows.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked calmly once they’d put some distance between themselves and their pursuers.

Junxia, still shaken, glanced back repeatedly. “We’re being hunted, and you’re asking about dinner?”

“Is it forbidden in your country to eat dinner while being chased?”

“We’re being chased by the Yakuza!” she cried, bewildered. She’d never met anyone who treated dinner as a solemn life event, worthy of being ranked alongside education, employment, or marriage—even in such a moment.

“That’s all the more reason to eat. How else will we have energy to run?” Zhao Tianxing replied, his voice smooth as velvet, as if he’d become another man entirely—a man who could even joke.

Junxia, unable to find fault with his logic, reluctantly considered what she wanted.

“Sushi—there’s a place ahead that’s really good,” she decided. Even in flight, she stayed true to her taste buds.

Zhao Tianxing nodded, as he always did. Long ago, there was someone worth speaking for, but that was a long time past. He soon parked the car.

His Japanese was only passable thanks to a magic potion he’d taken before the trip; he couldn’t read the menu, nor did he understand Junxia’s talk of maki rolls, gunkan, futomaki, and nigiri. Even after several group dinners with the Seekers of the Forgotten, he’d always dodged menu duty.

So when handed the menu, he simply pointed at Junxia and told the waitress, “I’ll have the same as her.”

The waitress smiled kindly. “We have a new couple’s set—it matches what you both ordered and will save you money.”

He glanced at the blushing Junxia and nodded, unsure whether her embarrassment was financial or emotional.

After the waitress left, Junxia glared at him, cheeks flushed. “Why did you nod like that?!”

“It’s cheaper this way,” he replied evenly, pulling a napkin from his pocket.

“Lying is wrong,” Junxia scolded, though her effort to look angry only made her more beautiful, the heat in her cheeks startlingly radiant. Zhao Tianxing, staring at her, was suddenly lost in memory—how, many years ago, another girl had pretended to be his girlfriend for a thirty-yuan discount at an amusement park. He couldn’t remember the rides, only that they’d missed the last Ferris wheel. It should have been a pity, but for some reason, the image of them watching it in the sunset had stayed with him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to taste the couple’s set, for the Yakuza needed dinner too.

An uninvited guest slid into the next table. Shinichi Shioda, glancing at the menu, ordered a few dishes at random, then fixed Zhao Tianxing with a direct stare. “Do you know me?” Tianxing asked warily.

Shinichi shook his head, but grinned. “We’ll get acquainted soon enough. I doubt you’ll come quietly and let me take the lady.”

Zhao Tianxing didn’t hesitate—he grabbed Junxia and bolted, surprising Shinichi, who was used to enemies who fought, not those who simply ran.

As they dashed out, Zhao Tianxing grabbed a rice ball from a startled diner, murmured an apology, and hurled it at Shinichi, who dodged reflexively and slowed. Zhao Tianxing seized the chance and fled with Junxia into the chaos.

He threw her into the passenger seat, hopped behind the wheel, and fired up the battered blue-and-white Lexus UCF30. With a deft maneuver, he sent the car shooting off like an arrow.

“Where are we going?” Junxia asked anxiously, unnerved by the omnipresent gangsters. Only the presence of this man eased her fears—at least she wasn’t alone.

“Somewhere we can lose them.” Zhao Tianxing glanced at the yellow “Kinpo” taxi in the rearview mirror. That car was being driven as if at gunpoint, wringing every last drop from its fuel tank, pursuing them relentlessly.

---

The taxi’s driver was no ordinary working man, but Shinichi Shioda. After dashing from the restaurant, he’d commandeered a cab, his tattoos and the casual toss of his wallet enough to send the actual driver fleeing. Only after Shinichi sped away did the man realize what had happened.

“Do you get carsick?” Zhao Tianxing suddenly asked.

Junxia shook her head, then immediately regretted it. Like answering a literature test, context was everything.

Zhao Tianxing shifted into drive and floored the accelerator, calling out, “Miss Kinami, could you navigate us to the nearest expressway?”

“The entrance to the Metropolitan Expressway?” Junxia clutched her phone as the world blurred by. She thought she must be mad—what kind of person gives directions in this situation? Yet, strangely, fear mingled with a rising excitement. She could hear her heart pounding.

Glancing at Zhao Tianxing’s focused, faintly smiling profile, the beating of her heart seemed to overshadow the roar of the engine.

How unfair, she thought. Why did he have to look so good?

“There’s ETC at the expressway entrances here, right? The electronic toll system?” Zhao Tianxing asked, watching the taxi behind. As soon as he spoke, he realized the question was moot. This battered old car clearly didn’t have an ETC card, and he had no time to stop and show a license. Looks like he’d have to crash the gate again. He wondered if Lu Academy had cleaned up the records from his last escapade in Germany—if not, they could add this one to the list.

Junxia nodded, imitating his calm. After high school, she’d gone on a road trip with friends, so she knew a bit, but hesitated. “But maybe this car’s owner never got one,” she said. She didn’t add that, given its age, she wouldn’t have bothered either.

Zhao Tianxing said nothing. There was no other choice but the automated lane. Before coming to Japan, Avra had told him Chinese passports couldn’t be used here. He’d intended to get a Japanese license, but ran into Ji Ning after class, and by the time he left the Ambrose Café, the office was closed. The international license would have to wait.

Shinichi, behind the wheel, was exhilarated. He cracked the window, letting the wind whip his face. He hadn’t felt so alive in years. This was like the first time he drove a supercar—though he’d gone from a Lotus Evora GT to a Koenigsegg CCR, nothing had thrilled him since. Tired of the games of wealth and preordained outcomes, only a real game at death’s edge could stir him. Now, someone who wouldn’t throw the match was challenging him—just what he’d always wanted.

Junxia watched the approaching toll booth, her words dying in her throat. Zhao Tianxing floored the accelerator, hurtling toward the entrance, the foam barrier nothing to him.

The toll clerk’s scream echoed as the old Lexus crashed through and sped onto the highway, the shattered barrier flying behind—only to be struck again by Shinichi’s cab.

Shinichi was no choirboy; he showed no sign of letting up. Perhaps not even the car’s designer had imagined it would one day be driven to its limits in a desperate chase. If it blew the engine, so be it—he only cared about the wail of the engine and his own pounding heart, eyes fixed on the car ahead.

When both cars vanished into the horizon, the clerk tremblingly called the police, half expecting to see the “Roulette Tribe” of Tokyo’s past, when the city’s traffic police mobilized en masse to catch illegal street racers.

Fortunately, it was nearly evening and the Kyoto highway was empty. Zhao Tianxing let the old Lexus run free in the twilight.

Gripping the steering wheel, he warned, “Hold on, it’s about to get rough.”

Junxia clutched her seat, torn between terror and a strange sense of safety from Zhao Tianxing’s composure. “Mr. Skyline, aren’t you scared?”

If Avra were in the passenger seat, she’d probably be yawning. Not all girls were indifferent to speed. Wanting to ease Junxia, Zhao Tianxing said, “A little.”

That answer surprised her—she’d expected him to either stay silent or brush it off.

“But I’ve learned to live with fear. I’ve tasted it alone, found it tasteless, and spat it out,” he said, utterly calm. Mastering fear is rare; it takes both knowledge and wisdom to trust your own judgment and remain poised under pressure.

“What do you fear, Mr. Skyline?” Junxia asked, curiosity momentarily overriding her nerves. Humans are strange creatures—on the brink of panic, she found herself inquisitive.

“For example, this,” Zhao Tianxing said, and before she could react, he downshifted, jerked the wheel away, then back, adjusting the throttle to hold a perfect Scandinavian flick through a hairpin turn. In that instant, the car leapt like a tiger, roaring through a bend where most would slow.

Junxia couldn’t hold back a scream. Zhao Tianxing, uncharacteristically, chuckled modestly. “We got lucky.”

He added, “That move was taught to me by a companion named Avra. She said, as someone from Scandinavia, it’s essential. This was my first time with someone in the passenger seat.” Junxia realized that adrenaline made Zhao Tianxing a different person—less reserved, almost lighthearted.

The squeal of tires, the roar of the engine, the scream of the air—all faded, as if submerged and drifting into another world. Her world narrowed to the calm, elegant man at her side, flooring the accelerator in the golden twilight.

He was, in fact, strikingly handsome—possessing the subtle, deep beauty of an Eastern man, with an almost feminine grace. Yet his serene expression hid that gentleness away, only glimpsed now, when he was utterly himself.

Junxia gazed at this unfamiliar side of him, sensing he only revealed this gentleness at the brink of life and death—a silent charisma, grace under pressure.

Zhao Tianxing noticed her silence. Though he was never talkative, he became a little more so now. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

His voice, rising and falling like the world’s most beautiful melody, warm as the Gulf Stream itself, sent her heart into a new, bewildered frenzy.

Junxia stared at the guardrails blurring past. In that moment, the wavy metal seemed to flow away like lost time.

She was struck by a strange thought—if he’d failed, would she have died with him? Was that their bond now?

Shinichi’s eyes were bloodshot. The chase had lasted twenty minutes; his fuel gauge was nearly empty. The engine screamed like a knight on one last charge. Damn it! If he’d had any car from his garage, he’d have ended this long ago. But he could only watch as the Lexus pulled away—until, finally, he closed the distance as Tianxing slowed for a line of trucks.

This was his chance. Only by braking later than the Lexus could he pass.

As the massive trucks loomed, he waited, waited, whispering to himself to hold out just a moment longer.

The tires screeched and the brakes wailed, the engine downshifted violently—but there was no collision. The cars sped along the young highway, still full of life.

Shinichi had won his gamble. He was now a car length ahead. He was certain he could keep the lead, especially with the trucks ahead blocking any attempt to pass. The victor had emerged.

All that remained was to force Zhao Tianxing off at the next exit. He rolled down his window and gave a thumbs down.

But Zhao Tianxing didn’t see it. The moment Shinichi overtook him, he abruptly slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. As Shinichi made his gesture, Zhao Tianxing was already rappelling down the embankment with Junxia.

For Zhao Tianxing, this had never been a race. It was always an escape.