Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 97: Every Tortoise longs for its puddle (1)

Dragon Raja 3

“As night fell over Tokyo, the neon lights along the long street lit up one by one from east to west. The city, once a simple and sporty girl during the day, transformed into a seductive lady of the night, with the colors and lights gradually intensifying.

On the terrace known as ‘Awakening Shrine,’ tatami mats were laid out, and a long table bore a 200-kilogram deep-sea bluefin tuna. The pristine, mirror-like Honsho kitchen knife sliced open its belly, revealing belly meat as inviting as pink marble. Around this main course were grilled fugu teriyaki, charcoal-grilled shishamo, botan shrimp sashimi, and blue lobster sashimi flown in from France, with rich and aromatic sake chilling in the flasks.

Tonight’s dinner was personally prepared by the family’s head chef, a much higher privilege compared to the three-Michelin-star lunch they had earlier. The head chef had once served the imperial family, conquering foreign ambassadors with exquisite sashimi at state banquets. His students worked in the Japanese kitchens of Tokyo’s finest five-star hotels. To welcome the esteemed guests from the headquarters, the chef came personally, drawing inspiration from Tagore’s ‘Stray Birds’ to create a meal named ‘Life Like Summer Flowers,’ showcasing the most grand and dazzling side of Japanese cuisine. However, to Chisei, this was like winking in the dark—meaningless. The three fools across the table couldn’t appreciate the brilliance of summer flowers at all; they were still reveling in their purchases from the day’s shopping.

Chu Zihang had bought a Kansai iron teapot and the rice cakes that Susie had asked him to get. Lu Mingfei had found a limited-edition figure of Miku Asahina, while Caesar’s purchases were waiting downstairs—in a box truck. Caesar had walked into a lacquerware shop, browsed the product catalog, and ordered three of everything, which led to the box truck being called over. Then he went to a Kyoto silverware store and ordered thirty sets of silver tea sets, before moving on to the ‘Shippo-yaki’ store… He had even posted in the Night Watchers discussion board, promising a gift for each member of the student council—a promise he was determined to fulfill.

Chisei had been their tour guide and shopping assistant all day, watching Caesar move his box truck from store to store, swiping card after card; watching Lu Mingfei pose for pictures with cosplay girls in Akihabara, one after another; and watching Chu Zihang walk the streets alone, his eyes scanning everything yet seemingly indifferent to all of it. It wasn’t until the sky darkened with clouds and raindrops started falling that Lu Mingfei and Caesar finally joined the others in running for cover, while Chu Zihang was fully prepared, unfurling his Burberry umbrella and strolling through the rain as cherry blossoms slowly fell on it. Chisei couldn’t tell whether these three men were simply oblivious or supremely confident, considering that tomorrow night they were to undertake an SS-class high-risk mission, yet they seemed utterly unworried.

“So this figure that you like is Mikuru Asahina? What a pervy toy,” Caesar said, curious as he watched Lu Mingfei fiddling with the figure. “But even if you take her clothes off, she’s just a plastic doll with an average figure.”

“First of all, this isn’t a pervy toy—it’s a collectible figure. Secondly, it’s not for perverts; the removable clothes are for changing outfits, not for gawking at her naked!”

“I saw a similar item in a shop—it was life-sized and also had changeable outfits.” Caesar took a sip of his after-dinner drink.

“You must’ve wandered into some weird adult store. That’s not a collectible figure—that’s an inflatable doll!”

“Oh, it was inflatable indeed… I was just curious why the Japanese would make a human-shaped flotation device.”

Chisei really didn’t want to listen to this pointless conversation anymore. He wanted to get up and leave immediately, but he couldn’t, so he just lowered his head and continued wiping his Kumogiri.

“Can I take a look at your sword?”

Chisei looked up to meet Chu Zihang’s eyes. He remembered that Chu Zihang’s preferred weapon was also a Japanese sword. Chisei handed the Kumogiri to him with both hands, and Chu Zihang accepted it, carefully examining the blade in the candlelight on the table. He blew out the candle, and with the light gone, the Kumogiri became even brighter, as if illuminated by an unseen cold moon in the night sky.

“Hey, don’t blow out the lights! In the dark, I might end up eating wasabi through my nose,” Lu Mingfei protested.

“This is an ancient blade, right? Such an expensive thing still being used as a weapon?” Chu Zihang returned the Kumogiri.

“It’s an antique if you put it in a museum,” Chisei said lightly. “But a sword has to be used to truly be called a sword. If it’s kept in a museum, it’s just the corpse of a blade.”

“It has a lingering scent of blood,” Chu Zihang noted.

“Swords are dirty things from the moment they’re made; the more they’re used, the dirtier they become. The blood can be washed off, but the stench remains,” Chisei said. “I noticed you also use a Japanese sword.”

“It was my father’s, but it broke. I’m using a replica now.”

“Your father?”

“He’s deceased,” Chu Zihang said calmly. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Please, go ahead.”

Chu Zihang took a box out of his backpack, opening it in front of Chisei. Inside was a broken blade the length of a finger. “This is an alchemical artifact. Whether it’s an ancient relic or a modern creation, there are not many who could forge a blade like this. I’ve heard that the lineage of Japanese swords is well-documented; it should be possible to trace the origin of this blade from the fragment.”

Chisei relit the candle and examined the patterns on the blade under its light. “This is an antique, made with Hōchō iron. The blade pattern is called ‘Inazuma,’ with fold lines resembling lightning. This blade must be at least three hundred years old. At an auction, it could fetch over a hundred million yen. Whoever wielded it must have significant wealth. Does it have a signature?”

“It doesn’t have a signature, but it has a strange property. When swung for an extended period, dew forms on the blade, and each swing looks like it’s splashing rainwater.”

“That’s a characteristic of the blade ‘Murasame’ mentioned in Nansō Satomi Hakkenden. It is said that after killing, dew would form on the blade to cleanse the blood. But Murasame is fictional; the dew on the blade is probably a property of alchemical swords, condensing moisture from the air. Based on these clues, we should be able to determine the maker of the blade and perhaps even trace its lineage. Leave this matter to the Japanese division. We’ll get you a satisfactory answer.”

“Thank you,” Chu Zihang said. “Is your sword also passed down from your family?”

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