The Case
1216 Words
Before Celestian could react, all four Yashida Jiros charged him at once. Cold blades flashed, killing intent crisscrossing the air.
What made it worse was that, to Celestian’s senses, every single one of them was real.
That alone was hard to believe.
Celestian narrowed his eyes and lunged forward. His longsword erupted into a rain of starlight, blanketing all four figures at once—no discrimination, no mercy.
They felt real. They registered as real. But the moment steel met steel, the gap in strength exposed the truth.
And then—
A razor-sharp blade burst upward from beneath Celestian’s feet, aiming to split him clean in half from the groin up.
Celestian had expected Yashida Jiro to be one of the four—or hiding nearby, waiting to strike.
He never imagined the man was underground.
It was the perfect blind spot.
The blade struck.
For an instant, it looked as though Celestian hadn’t even reacted. The attack landed cleanly. A column of blade-light surged skyward—and Celestian’s body was cleaved in two.
But Yashida Jiro, dressed in black as he emerged onto the field, showed no sign of triumph. His katana came up defensively.
Because the Celestian he had just cut apart dissolved into scattered motes of light before his eyes.
A mirror image.
A substitution technique.
Yashida Jiro wasn’t the only one who knew such tricks.
If he’d still had a few odds in his favor before, they were gone now. Facing someone whose techniques rivaled his own ninjutsu, his confidence collapsed.
Before he could fully process that realization, his expression changed.
A shadow leapt down from a tree and bolted into the distance.
Yashida Jiro didn’t hesitate—he gave chase instantly. That tree was where he had stashed the silver case.
There was no need to ask. It was gone.
The monkey-masked figure in black moved fast—faster than Yashida Jiro himself. His form blurred like smoke, and within moments he vanished completely, swallowed by the night.
Yashida Jiro came to a halt, fists clenched, glaring into the darkness in frustration.
Then, in the distance—
A massive fireball erupted.
A deafening explosion followed.
The car had finally gone up.
This was reality, not a movie. Cars didn’t just explode on impact unless the fuel tank ignited. Still, this was the Marvel world—turning a vehicle into a bomb wasn’t exactly difficult.
Yashida Jiro didn’t waste another second. He turned and sprinted toward the blast site.
When he arrived, he saw something unexpected.
Elektra and Bullseye stood side by side—an extremely rare sight—both wearing grim expressions.
And opposite them stood another figure.
A man in a gray long coat, utterly unremarkable in appearance. Average height. Average face. The kind of middle-aged man you’d forget five seconds after passing on the street.
Behind him stood Zhang Xiaotian and Qin Ming—both visibly respectful.
Ouyang Sheng.
The undisputed boss of the Chinese underworld in Los Angeles.
One of the Thirty-Six Red Flower Twin Batons of the Hongmen Zhigong Hall.
A man known for decisive, ruthless action.
So it was him.
No wonder the ambush had been so clean. No warning. No leaks.
Yashida Jiro immediately concealed himself in the shadows, not daring to reveal even a trace of presence. Especially after seeing Ouyang Sheng.
If Ouyang Sheng had personally stepped in, then losing the cargo wasn’t entirely on him anymore.
Even his father wouldn’t dare challenge Ouyang Sheng directly.
After all, the Nichinichi Society was nothing more than a peripheral branch of the Yamaguchi-gumi.
In the center of the site, Ouyang Sheng exchanged a few words with Bullseye. Bullseye nodded solemnly, clasped his fists in a formal gesture, then turned and left.
Ouyang Sheng didn’t linger either. That explosion had almost certainly triggered a police call.
But before leaving with Zhang Xiaotian and Qin Ming, Ouyang Sheng cast a long, deliberate look toward where Yashida Jiro was hiding.
Yashida Jiro felt like he’d been locked onto by a tiger.
Only after a long moment did he recover. He understood—Ouyang Sheng was sparing him because he was a junior.
Otherwise, he’d already be dead.
Tonight’s deal with Kingpin’s people had been nothing more than a transaction. They’d used human trafficking as a cover, never expecting the Chinese syndicates to strike as a united front—much less with Ouyang Sheng himself leading the charge.
Someone had leaked the information.
There was a rat in the house.
And deep down, Yashida Jiro strongly suspected that rat was his elder brother, Ichiro. Tripping him up at critical moments was exactly the kind of thing Ichiro enjoyed most.
Without further hesitation, Yashida Jiro melted back into the night. Police sirens were already wailing in the distance.
Celestian, meanwhile, had never truly left.
Just as he’d anticipated, Ouyang Sheng had appeared. Only someone of his stature could rally every Chinese syndicate in Los Angeles without a single rumor leaking beforehand.
They hadn’t killed many Japanese tonight—but rescuing over a hundred Asian women was more than enough to make a statement.
Morale would soar.
The Japanese groups in L.A. would keep their heads down for a while.
Seeing that Qin Ming was unharmed, Celestian chose not to reveal himself. His true identity was known only to Qin Ming. Zhang Xiaotian might suspect something, but Celestian had long since cut ties publicly. There was no reason for Zhang to seek him out.
After circling the area several times, Celestian changed into a gray hooded jacket, took the subway back to downtown Los Angeles, then slipped through alleys until he returned to the Ling Family Apothecary.
Tonight, beyond ensuring Qin Ming’s safety, the greatest prize was the case.
He hid it securely in the basement, then returned to the second floor. After a shower, Celestian went back to his room.
The moment he lay down, a smooth, warm body wrapped around him.
Gan Jing.
The girl had slipped into his bed again.
She knew he couldn’t touch her—yet she never stopped provoking him.
Turning over, Celestian pulled her close, holding her tightly, and soon drifted into deep sleep.
As a cultivator, Celestian could replace sleep with meditation—but he rarely did.
Meditation allowed steady growth, but the gains were small.
Some cultivators relied on those marginal gains to break through ahead of others, but Celestian considered that kind of progress hollow. Without full mental recovery, breakthroughs were unstable. Heart demons could strike—especially during the transition from acquired to innate cultivation.
And, admittedly—
The woman constantly clinging to him was another reason.
When Celestian woke the next morning, Gan Jing had already left his room. She was downstairs preparing breakfast and sorting medicinal herbs.
Lying in bed, Celestian couldn’t help but smile.
He didn’t linger.
Before the last traces of night faded, he changed into training clothes and went up to the rooftop. Sitting cross-legged on a green silk cushion, he began circulating the Xun Wind Heart Technique.
As dawn broke, the first rays of the rising sun spread violet qi across heaven and earth. Celestian drew it in, thread by thread.
Perhaps because of the battle the night before, he could feel it—
The barrier in his cultivation had begun to loosen.
- Writer
