Abe Merukawa smiled and said, “Xiao Sang, hear me out before you make a decision. I originally came to China’s Magic City to help Panasonic select a new factory site. When I heard that Long Youshui had taken on a new disciple, I came to find you. What I want is simple: just write a note saying the Ghost School lost to the Abe family, then burn the *Compendium* and admit it’s all nonsense. After that… I’ll spare your life. How about this deal?”
Hearing this, I grew even angrier. This bastard actually wanted me to admit defeat! Regardless of whatever grudge existed between the Ghost School and the Abe family, his tone made it sound like I was getting a huge favor by keeping my life.
I slammed the table and sneered, “You’re fucking dreaming! The Japanese surrendered to the Chinese in 1945. If I admit defeat, my great-grandfather would leap out of his grave and strangle me—I wouldn’t even be allowed into the ancestral burial ground after death!”
Suddenly, two grotesque hands reached out from under the table—cold, black, and disgustingly sticky—groping my thighs. They definitely weren’t human hands, since Abe Merukawa’s were both on the table. The hands had an eerie, almost intangible presence, like those of a dead man. A wave of revulsion ran through me, raising goosebumps all over my skin. The ghostly hands locked me in place, making it impossible to move.
I struggled twice, but the hands pressed me firmly into my seat.
Abe Merukawa said, “Xiao Sang, don’t be angry. Sit and listen to me. We, the Yamato people, only sought the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. It’s just that the Americans didn’t understand our noble intentions. The atomic bombs ruined that process—otherwise, we’d all be one family now.”
I cursed, “Screw your ancestors! ‘Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity’—get the hell out of here! Don’t even bring that shit up. I’m pissed off enough as it is; I don’t wanna fight.”
Brother Jun had spent eight years in the military, and his ancestors had shed blood fighting the Japanese. The words “Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity” lit a fire in him. He kicked his stool aside and roared, “Let’s discuss your mother’s ass! See if that’s ‘co-prosperity’ for you!”
Brother Jun’s muscles tensed, his knuckles cracking. He raised his fists, ready to strike. Two ninjas leaped up, daggers clenched between their teeth and two more in each hand, poised to attack. With a *whoosh*, they jumped onto the ceiling fan and chandelier.
“Damn, like monkeys,” I muttered.
Merukawa said, “Historical disputes can be discussed. No need for violence—that’s not a negotiation, just a brawl. That’s no good.”
I sensed the situation was bad. On our side, we only had Brother Jun. The other side had two monkey-like ninjas and an unpredictable onmyōji. The odds were stacked against us.
The restaurant owner, seeing a fight brewing—one that involved diplomatic issues—grabbed the phone, ready to call the police. *Whoosh!* A shuriken struck the phone from his hand.
I laughed. “Mr. Abe, you think I don’t know dirty tricks? I’ve already planted a curse on you. I don’t want to harm you—the antidote is a 70-degree bath, preferably for a full hour.”
As soon as I finished speaking, I flung a handful of peanuts at him. The ghostly hands released my legs and stretched out, blocking every single peanut.
I stepped back, staring at the two blackened hands in shock. This onmyōji actually carried a ghost with him, using its hands to catch the peanuts. The ghost’s hands were covered in scales, as if burned, and reeked of thick, heavy corpse-energy.
The combination of yin-energy and corpse-energy shattered my understanding. Yin-energy belonged to spirits, while corpse-energy came from dead bodies—human or animal. An ordinary person exposed to these would be dead within two days. But Merukawa’s temples bulged, completely unaffected. His ability to control ghosts was no joke. Commanding evil spirits was no simple feat—even communicating with them was a challenge many failed at, losing their lives in the process.
When the hands emerged, the entire restaurant filled with the stench of death. The owner swayed, nearly passing out.
I clasped my hands together. “Today isn’t the right time. Too many eyes around. We’ll meet again.”
Fearing Merukawa might pull something, I dragged Brother Jun outside. “Bro, don’t lose your temper.” Pointing at Merukawa, I shouted, “You bastard! Let’s set a time for a real fight!”
As Zhang Zongbao left, he flipped Merukawa the middle finger. “You think I won’t get someone to chop you up?” But when Merukawa’s gaze swept over him, he broke into a cold sweat.
Merukawa, realizing the timing wasn’t right, called out, “Xiao Sang, I’m staying at the Weiyang Hotel. Remember to visit me.”
Brother Jun, with his immense strength, was hard to drag away. He kept yelling, “I can’t take this! The damn Japs surrendered decades ago, yet they’re still acting tough!”
I said, “He’s a foreign guest. Hurting him would cause diplomatic trouble.”
Since we didn’t get to drink, Brother Jun suggested, “If you don’t mind, let’s buy some booze and drink at my auto shop.” I agreed. “Don’t let those Japs ruin our mood.”
Zhang Zongbao borrowed money from Brother Jun, bought some chilled beer and braised dishes, and we set up a table in the auto shop to drink.
The conversation drifted aimlessly. Brother Jun said, “If I could go back to 1937, I’d charge at them with a broadsword.” I replied, “If it were me, I’d go to early 20th-century Japan and lock down Tokyo’s feng shui.”
Zhang Zongbao butted in, “Yeah right. I skimmed the last chapter of the *Compendium*—there actually is a method for that.” He chuckled. “No harm in bragging. Brother Jun, are ninjutsu really as mystical as in the movies?”
Brother Jun explained, “Ninjutsu originated from *The Art of War* as an ambush tactic. It was refined during the Wei-Jin period and later spread to Japan, where it was perfected into a covert martial art. It involves espionage, assassination, disguise, pyrotechnics, survival skills, and climbing. It’s not as flashy as anime—most ninjas were poor or orphans, and since missions often failed, no compensation was paid if they died.”
Zhang Zongbao said, “So they’re just expendable agents? I thought they could fly.” Brother Jun laughed. “Cut down on the anime. Come on, Brother Xiao, bottoms up!”
As we drank, Liu Jibao and Tieniu returned from the internet café. “Master,” they said, “online news says wild dogs in Jiangcheng are being killed at night by some monster, drained of blood. Is that for real? Could it come here?”
Zhang Zongbao scoffed. “You idiots, there’s no monster—just some psycho abusing dogs. The internet’s full of that sick crap.”
Before he could finish, Zhang Zongbao clutched his stomach and collapsed, writhing in pain. I pressed my fingers to his neck—his pulse was racing. A dark, greenish aura rapidly spread across his face. *Shit. The Japanese onmyōji must’ve cursed him.* His face turned green… then black…
He vomited uncontrollably, spewing out the beer and food he’d just consumed, convulsing like an epileptic.
Tieniu and Liu Jibao turned pale, looking to Brother Jun for guidance. Brother Jun steadied them with a wave. “Calm the fuck down! Get him to the hospital!”
I said, “No need. Let me check.”
Zhang Zongbao wailed in agony. *Damn that Japanese onmyōji—no honor at all, attacking Zhang Zongbao.* I held him up. “Get some water!” Liu Jibao brought a cup, and I wiped Zhang’s mouth before making him drink half of it.
“Zongbao, what’s wrong? What did you do back at the restaurant?”
Gasping, he said, “I… flipped off that… Abe guy…”
*Shit.* Tieniu and Liu Jibao exchanged glances—what the hell had happened while they were out?
It was Japanese ghost magic, similar to China’s “evil eye curse”—a form of ancient sorcery where spells are cast on representations of the target, like effigies, or objects tied to them, such as hair, clothes, or names. Combining both methods amplified the effect.
Historical records show that such witchcraft was suppressed in every dynasty. Few in central China practiced it, but it survived in Southeast Asia, Japan, and Korea.
That Abe Merukawa could curse someone with just a glance was unheard of.
In ghost control and curses, Merukawa was leagues ahead of me.
*The descendant of Abe no Seimei is no joke!*
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