Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 484: Sakura’s Wrath (6)

Dragon Raja 3

Could this be the way dragons hatch? Draining all the life in the surrounding area and maturing in a short amount of time. What a brutal predatory method—truly the apex predator of the food chain.

Lu Mingfei ran along the mountain path, trying to avoid the densest areas of white silk, but he accidentally touched it a few times. Instantly, it felt as if the silk was alive, trying to burrow into his body. The white threads were highly corrosive, and even half a second of skin contact caused a burning pain like a severe burn. Along the way, he saw more of those blood-red cocoons—sometimes hanging from trees, sometimes stuck to rocks, with their prey wrapped up inside. Inside were both humans and animals, all of them drained dry.

The further he went, the more terrified he became. This wasn’t a mountain—it was a bloody hatching ground. He had wandered into it like a rabbit entering a snake’s lair.

What on earth had happened here? And what about Erii? He tried using Line to navigate, but in this silver-white mountain, he had lost his way. He was so anxious he wanted to stomp his feet, but he was also completely exhausted. He leaned against a withered cherry tree, gasping for breath, coughing violently, the saliva he spat out thick like glue. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. This reminded him of running the 1500 meters back in Shilan Middle School—he always ended up like this, with the gym teacher following behind on a bicycle, stopwatch in hand, saying in exasperation, “You never burn incense when you should, but now you’re trying to hug the Buddha’s feet. Do you think the Buddha will let you just hug him whenever you want? By the time you want to hug him, it’s already too late.”

Damn! Were you really a gym teacher, not a literature teacher? How did you manage such poetic phrasing? It was as if you had foretold Lu Mingfei’s life—never burning incense in time, always chasing after others but never quite catching up. When push came to shove, the only thing left was burning his life force.

Should he summon the little devil? If he summoned him, he wouldn’t have to run anymore. He could sacrifice a quarter of his life, and the little devil would handle everything. He could just relax here, waiting for a luxury car to take him back to Tokyo, where he could sleep in a suite at the Peninsula Hotel until sunrise.

In that Beijing subway station, he had also run himself ragged, and in the end, he had summoned the little devil. The little devil had looked at him with contempt and said, “If you’d summoned me sooner, I’d have taken care of things ages ago. You wouldn’t have had to end up in this sorry state.”

But Lu Mingfei still couldn’t make up his mind. For one thing, even if he summoned him, there was no guarantee he’d come. Just now, when the Death Servitor nearly killed him, Lu Mingze hadn’t shown up. For another, he was truly scared. He still held onto a sliver of hope that when he reached the Red Well, he would find everything was fine and that his worry had been for nothing.

He tightened his clothes, trying to shield himself from the pounding rain, and turned around a bend, resting against the withered tree. The moment he lifted his head, he froze.

A rainbow-colored elevated highway stretched out before him, its streetlights casting a warm yellow glow in the rain. Ahead, the distant lights of a city shimmered faintly. Underneath the overpass, behind a waterfall-like stream of rainwater, a black Mercedes was parked.

Lu Mingfei couldn’t believe his eyes. He had somehow reached the entrance to Shinjuku, the overpass leading straight to the sleepless Kabukicho. He knew this entrance too well. Somehow, while running, he had ended up back in Tokyo!

Lu Mingze stood by the Mercedes, wearing a black suit and holding a large black umbrella. He had clearly been waiting for Lu Mingfei for a long time.

Tonight, Lu Mingze was unusually quiet. Lu Mingfei had never seen this expression on his face before.

Detached and regretful, as if attending the funeral of a distant relative.

For once, their encounter didn’t start with Lu Mingfei’s surprise or Lu Mingze’s playful greeting. They simply stared at each other from a distance, rain pattering against Lu Mingze’s umbrella.

“Brother, you’re late. The final performance has already begun,” Lu Mingze said softly, a golden mandala seemingly spinning in his eyes.

Lu Mingfei’s consciousness suddenly blurred. He vaguely felt that Lu Mingze was right. He had come here to watch a performance. He looked down at himself—sure enough, he was dressed in a black suit and formal shirt, with a white bow tie. This was the attire for attending a grand performance.

But if he were going to a performance, why had he been running in such a panic? He couldn’t remember why he had come, only that a minute ago he had been running like mad.

Lu Mingze opened the back door of the luxury car for him, and Lu Mingfei climbed in without hesitation. The door closed with a thunk.

The Mercedes glided through the rainy Tokyo night, moving smoothly. Lu Mingze was driving, raindrops splattering against the windows, breaking into tiny beads. Lu Mingfei stared blankly at the city outside the window.

In the car, a familiar song played, and a faint fragrance filled the air. It felt as though a young girl had sat in this seat not long ago. Her scent wasn’t from perfume but from some kind of body wash… Yes, it was hops-scented body wash, also called “Sakura Dew.”

Why was this scent so familiar to him?

Lu Mingfei couldn’t explain why, but he just knew it was the scent of “Sakura Dew.” The girl who had recently been sitting in the VIP seat felt familiar, and Lu Mingfei could almost picture her: tall, slender, with the hem of a white dress, sitting there quietly.

Her suitcase was even left behind on the seat next to him, as if she had hurried out of the car and forgotten to take it with her.

“How was South America?” Lu Mingfei tried to break the silence in the car, vaguely remembering that the driver was his younger brother, who had just returned from a trip to South America.

“It was great—sky, mountains, rivers, with no fog or tall buildings to block your view. You can see as far as the eye can reach,” Lu Mingze said casually. “Brother, you should travel there too.”

“Alright, I’ll go.” Lu Mingfei responded without thinking, not considering how far or expensive a trip to South America might be. It was as if he were a rich heir, and there was no place in the world he couldn’t go—only whether he wanted to or not.

At the end of the road appeared white, traditional Japanese buildings, in the style of the Momoyama era. Purple family crest flags hung above the entrance, with red banners on either side, fluttering like dragons in the wind. One banner read “The Grand Mayflower Kabuki,” while the other said “The Final Act: The Fall of Sakura.”

They had arrived at the Ginza Kabuki Theater, Tokyo’s most famous kabuki venue. Ruri had once performed his New Kojiki here. Caesar and Chu Zihang had attended that grand performance, but for Lu Mingfei, this was an unfamiliar place—exquisite and mysterious.

The car stopped in front of the Kabuki Theater. The entrance was empty, but all the lights were on. Lu Mingze stepped out and opened the door for him, picking up the suitcase that had been left in the back seat. Together, they walked down a long corridor, where there wasn’t a single soul in sight.

They took the elevator downwards—surprisingly, the theater was located below the building. Lu Mingfei didn’t find it strange; Lu Mingze seemed to know the way, and all Lu Mingfei had to do was follow him.

When the elevator doors opened, they stepped into a medium-sized theater with three tiers of seating. The chairs were a deep, royal red, exuding a sense of regal elegance. The stage was brightly lit, featuring the setting of a white well, with a blood-red bottom. Climbing the walls of the well were various demons and monsters, symbolizing hell.

But the audience seats were completely empty. It seemed like Lu Mingze had reserved the entire theater. From backstage, the sound of instruments tuning echoed—it seemed the actors were making final preparations. The sound of a bronze bell chimed outside the theater, which Lu Mingfei understood. He had been to the Chicago Opera House, where, before the performance began, the staff would also ring a bell, urging the audience to take their seats as the show was about to start.

“The performance hasn’t started yet,” Lu Mingfei said with relief, turning to Lu Mingze.

Lu Mingze said nothing, guiding him to the center seat in the audience. As far as Lu Mingfei could see, they were surrounded by a sea of red seats, like being in the middle of a red ocean.

The lights dimmed, and the stage grew even brighter. With the sound of a small drum, the performance officially began. First to appear was an old man in a tailcoat and bright purple shirt. He danced ballet, but his face was covered by the mask of a noble. As his dance ended, he removed the mask, revealing the face of Tachibana. Lu Mingfei suddenly realized that Osho and Herzog were the same person, two identities of one man. He looked curiously at Lu Mingze, wondering why he had chosen such a roundabout way to reveal this secret. But Lu Mingze gave no response, fully engrossed in the kabuki performance.

Luckily, there was a program booklet next to the seat. In the light from the stage, Lu Mingfei skimmed through it, discovering the identities of the actors and details of Dr. Herzog’s past.

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