Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 343: Family Dinner (4)

Dragon Raja 3

Lu Mingfei had felt a deep sadness when watching that story, so much so that he could hardly bear to continue. And now, watching Erii’s back as she gazed out the window, he felt that same sadness. This high-status family head rarely left her room, a room that didn’t even have windows. That’s why she found even birds fluttering outside to be fascinating. To her, Tokyo was an enormous world, and she couldn’t even imagine the truly magnificent sights out there: schools of white whales crossing the Bering Strait, thousands of wildebeest thundering through crocodile-infested rivers, the pink glow of the Himalayan sunrise, or the auroras illuminating the skies of Greenland.

If he casually told her that Disneyland was the biggest theme park in the world, she would be overjoyed. If he said Sensoji Temple was the most sacred temple on earth, she would find it awe-inspiring. When they passed through the “Thunder Gate” at Sensoji, she had been as reverent as a Catholic meeting the Pope.

Today, when he told her they were going to a fancy restaurant for dinner, she had spent two and a half hours picking out her clothes—trying on a high-waisted white taffeta dress, a little black dress like Audrey Hepburn’s, and a beige trench coat paired with high-heeled boots. She kept switching outfits, leaving the floor littered with clothes, shoes, and socks, while Lu Mingfei lay in the bathtub watching TV. There was a flat-screen mounted on the wall opposite the tub, and he only peeked out when Erii knocked on the door, offering his opinion on her outfits. No wonder even the most reserved girls get giddy and self-conscious before their first social event, trying on every piece of clothing they own as if they could somehow conjure up a perfect ensemble. Not even a yakuza princess could escape that cycle.

In the end, Erii chose the blue-purple dress with black lace trim she had worn the day before, paired with her favorite lambskin ankle boots. She tied a blue satin ribbon in her hair as an accessory. To be honest, her outfit choices were rather unusual—stylish but out of sync with modern trends. She looked like a princess from an 18th-century portrait, an outlier in the 21st century Tokyo. But Lu Mingfei didn’t bother to correct her. Every girl dreams of being a princess when they’re young. Even Chen Wenwen used to love those frilly white lace socks, and people would praise her, calling her a little princess.

After spending a few days with her, Lu Mingfei realized that taking care of this yakuza princess wasn’t difficult at all. In fact, she was like a small figure resting in the palm of his hand. Wherever Lu Mingfei told her to go, she would go. Whatever he told her, she believed. Whatever he asked her to do, she would do.

If Lu Mingfei told her that the rule at a love hotel was that everyone had to sleep in the same bed or else they’d be fined, Erii would likely comply without question.

But despite having control over someone so beautiful and powerful, Lu Mingfei didn’t feel any satisfaction. This little adventure into the world would not last long. Once they landed overseas, Erii would become a monitored target of the Secret Party, and her treatment might even be worse than when she was under surveillance by the Yamata no Orochi. Lu Mingfei had taken her out of one cage only to return her to another. As he thought about this, he couldn’t help but reach out and touch her hair. There was no inappropriate intent in the gesture—he simply saw the girl staring blankly out of the window as small and vulnerable, like a child. Her long hair was soft and smooth, hard to resist stroking…

Suddenly, he snapped out of it, pulling his hand back as if he had touched an electric wire. In the half-minute he spent touching her hair, Lu Mingfei had blurred the boundaries between them. Their relationship wasn’t one between a delicate girl and a caretaker—it was between a beast and its tamer. The real Erii wasn’t a fragile little girl.

She might very well be one of the most lethal killers in the world.

Erii remained engrossed in watching the outside world through the car window. Lu Mingfei stared at his hand, realizing that during that brief moment of contact, Erii had shown no resistance, behaving like a cat accustomed to being petted by someone close to her.

Cats only allow those they trust the most to touch their heads.

“Is this the place? Quite a fancy restaurant!” the taxi driver said.

The car stopped in front of a white French-style mansion. The sign on the lawn read Chateau Joel Robuchon, and a servant dressed in black with white gloves respectfully opened the car door. Erii stepped out lightly, and an umbrella was immediately held over her head.

She looked up at the elegant building with a hint of confusion in her eyes.

“Sakura Lu-san?” The servant repeated the alias awkwardly, seemingly startled by a man with the name “Sakura.”

Lu Mingfei felt embarrassed but had no choice. He had told Erii that his name was Sakura, and now he was stuck using that name. Caesar had even used it to make the reservation.

“Sir, I’m afraid it appears you haven’t made a reservation,” the servant said with a frown. “Chateau Joel Robuchon can only accommodate a limited number of guests, and we generally require reservations made at least a week in advance. Without one, I’m afraid we cannot serve you.”

By now, Lu Mingfei was no longer the clueless guy who had once been out of place at a Michelin-starred restaurant while dining with Chen Wenwen. He was now someone who had booked entire restaurants like Aspasia for private meals. He knew that guests at a place like this were either wealthy or powerful, and staff wouldn’t dare offend them easily. The servant appeared respectful, but his frown suggested he was treating them as people who didn’t understand the rules. Today, Lu Mingfei was dressed sharply and had a stunning girl by his side. If he didn’t act now, when would he? Plus, this dinner was important—he needed to convince Erii to join him on a trip to a place called America. They had to look elegant and refined. Turning around and taking her to eat street food wasn’t an option.

He frowned as well. “Check again. I’m certain I have a reservation. Here’s the business card from the manager who made it for me.”

He handed over the card that Caesar had given him. Caesar had personally made the reservation, securing the last available table at the restaurant. Fine dining establishments like this usually kept one or two tables reserved for VIP guests—prestigious food critics or unexpected important visitors. Initially, the manager had been ready to turn away this young man in his twenties, but Caesar’s aura as the heir of a Sicilian noble family was undeniable. He had settled into the lounge, lit a cigar, and casually glanced at the wine cabinet, quickly identifying a hidden 1976 Egon Müller TBA ice wine. His eyes lit up, and he began discussing Egon Müller’s wines from various years with the manager, who was immediately impressed. Egon Müller was known as the emperor of ice wines, and even in the best years, he produced only 300 bottles of TBA wine. Such bottles were rarely seen outside of auctions, and most people wouldn’t even recognize the label. But Caesar spoke as if he had tasted over ten bottles of it. The manager had no choice but to view Caesar as a young master-level gourmet and granted him the reservation. Even Caesar himself didn’t fully understand what had happened—he just thought the Japanese were surprisingly easygoing about reservations.

Holding the manager’s business card, the servant became more cautious. “Let me check again on the seating arrangements for tonight.” A few minutes later, he returned, his voice unsure. “Indeed, a Mr. Lu has reserved a table, but he arrived earlier. The first two courses have already been served, and he said there were only six people in total—no additional guests were expected.”

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