National Tide 1980.

Sho-O Wada's home is only three blocks away from his funeral home, Kashiwagi-zaiba.

The location was so close that even if he had to work overtime late at night, he could go home first to grab a hot meal, and then walk back to the funeral home under the shadow of the streetlights to check the funeral procession for the next day.

Therefore, he often went home for meals, and after dinner, he would return to the funeral home.

Perhaps in other people's eyes, funeral homes are a morbid and lowly profession.

But Wada Shōō never felt ashamed of his business; on the contrary, he hated those who made fun of "doing makeup on the dead."

These days, if you have the ability to earn a living, you should be respected.

Modern Japan is the Japan of today; it is no longer in the feudal era.

Funeral service workers are no longer marginalized and discriminated against, no longer categorized as "Edo".

Especially during these years of economic collapse, the suicide rate has risen like wildfire, making the funeral industry an indispensable "hot commodity" for society.

Because supply is less than demand, it has long become a profession that many people seek out and flatter.

Especially recently, watching those speculators on TV who were spending money like water in Ginza and drinking champagne like water a while ago, and now crying and wailing in the brokerage firm with their stocks that have shrunk, I feel a sense of superiority, as if I'm watching a good show.

For no other reason than that, as human beings, isn't the greatest happiness to compare ourselves with others?

He couldn't help but think—you guys are making money off a mirage, a bubble that'll burst at the slightest breeze.

Now, jumping off buildings and hanging myself has actually brought me extra income.

Funeral homes are much better. Speculative money comes quickly and goes even faster. Nothing beats the peace of mind I get from making a living off the dead.

The money I earn is actually deposited into a safe deposit box, a hundred times more secure than your worthless stocks.

That's not all. When Sho-O Wada and his wife have dinner at home, they also feel a sense of pride stemming from their profession.

It's important to understand that in today's social environment, most families have begun to reject luxury goods.

Many families can't even afford to eat Wagyu beef, and many people have to rely on government assistance to make a living.

However, their tableware cabinet was adorned with newly acquired Kutani ware porcelain for the New Year, and the sea bream sashimi on the dining table gleamed with a fresh sheen, while the marbling of Wagyu beef shimmered with an amber light in the white porcelain plate. These were the kinds of fancy dishes that ordinary families wouldn't even dare to dream of these days.

So when the owner of the Wagyu beef picks up a piece and savors its rich aroma, he feels successful and happy.

After the meal, he adopted the air of a university professor, lit a Cuban cigar, poured himself a glass of Old Man's whiskey, and enjoyed the amber liquid sliding down his throat, the warmth spreading from his stomach to his limbs.

He was extremely satisfied with his life, feeling like he was living in paradise.

When his wife brought in the sliced ​​netted melon, Wada Shōō was still sneering at the news of the stock market crash on TV.

Those men in suits on the screen, who were talking about "doubling their assets" on TV just two years ago, are now wiping away tears while looking at stock charts. In his eyes, it's truly ridiculous.

Are we going back to the vegetarian market tonight?

The lady placed the melon on the coffee table; the flesh, juicy and plump, was skewered with a silver fork. This rare delicacy was now sold by the piece in Tokyo supermarkets, and those bankrupt speculators probably couldn't even afford to smell it.

The owner of the cigar nodded, a red dot appearing on his fingertip as smoke slowly escaped from his mouth.

"There are five or six farewell ceremonies tomorrow. I have to go over tonight and check everything before I can feel at ease."

"You've been working really hard lately, are you feeling alright?" his wife asked with concern.

He's been incredibly busy lately; the morgue at the funeral home is already full, and the police station alone is notifying him of more than a dozen suicides every day, and the number is still rising.

Previously, these bodies were managed by public crematoriums, but now the government is paying to send them to private funeral homes. It's clear that public institutions are no longer able to handle these corpses eager to be reincarnated.

"Don't worry. I'm only fifty-nine years old, far from retirement. Besides, business is so good, my income will increase. Isn't that great?" Mr. Hetian said with a smile.

However, when his wife sat down to watch TV, instead of looking relieved, she sighed.

“It’s certainly a good thing that the family business is doing well. But your son’s situation is completely different. Liren said that his company is laying off people, and he’s so worried about his mortgage and car loan that he can’t sleep well.”

The owner of the Hotan restaurant picked up a piece of melon and stuffed it into his mouth. The sweet juice burst on his tongue, and he waved his hand dismissively at his wife.

"In that case, go to the bank tomorrow and withdraw 1.1 million yen. Give it to Liren just before the gift tax threshold is reached; any more than that will be taxed. In a few months, you can give him the money again in your grandson's name. If that's still not enough, then give it to your granddaughter in her name."

Then, he couldn't help but complain about his son.

“Liren is such an honest guy. He doesn’t know how to talk about his difficulties. It’s better to accept gifts from his family than to borrow money from a financial company. As far as we’re concerned, it doesn’t matter if his company goes bankrupt. We can just let him come home and inherit my funeral home.”

The lady smiled broadly and agreed repeatedly, but the next second, Wada suddenly froze.

Because the news suddenly came on TV, saying that dozens of people had engaged in a fierce battle in Odaiba, resulting in five deaths and thirteen arrests.

Police now suspect the perpetrators are members of Inagawa-kai and Yamaguchi-gumi, two of Japan’s most prominent gangs.

There are even suspicions that the two gangs are already plotting a war to seize territory.

This news also brought back memories that Hotan had almost forgotten from many years ago.

The image of bloodshed at the jewelry store twenty years ago suddenly flashed into his mind. A face of a person who had died from excessive blood loss made him tighten his grip on the whiskey glass, and the coolness of the glass sent a chill down his spine.

Once upon a time, young and impoverished, he was also a member of the street Yakuza.

If he hadn't quit back then, he would either be lying dead in the street or sitting in prison eating cold rice balls now.

How could they possibly have the chance to enjoy this peaceful life?

Fortunately, time is the best anesthetic. Those dark past events gradually faded away, and he is now a respected "Boss Hetian," no longer having to live a life of danger.

He just wanted to live a peaceful life until he finally lay down in his own coffin in his own funeral home and was sent off in a grand manner by his family.

However, some changes in life are never as we wish, and unexpected situations always arise suddenly.

The sweetness of the melon hadn't yet faded when the living room phone suddenly rang sharply, like an icicle piercing the warm mist of the living room.

In order not to interfere with Wada Shōō's work, whenever he was home, he always answered the phone at home.

Mrs. Wada subconsciously shrank further into the sofa.

Sho-O Wada frowned as he stood up, downed the last sip of whiskey from his glass, and walked toward the phone, wondering whose call it would be.

From a personal perspective, he would naturally hope that the call was from the police station notifying him to collect the body. His biggest worry was that the normal operation of the funeral home in Hemu was disrupted, and his subordinates were at their wits' end and called him for help.

He picked up the receiver, trying to keep his tone calm, "Hello, this is the Wada family, who is this?"

But the voice on the other end of the phone instantly froze Wada Shōō's blood.

"Brother, it's been a long time. This is Zhao Chunshu. Let's meet up, I have something to talk to you about."

The whiskey and melon in his stomach churned violently, and Wada Sho-o almost fell over. He had to hold onto the wall to keep from collapsing.

He never expected that just as he was recalling this past he least wanted to touch, the thing he least wanted to happen would happen, and the person he least wanted to contact would come knocking on his door.

That's right, Zhao Chunshu was his boss back then, and also his benefactor.

Back then, after they robbed the jewelry store together, if Zhao Chunshu hadn't helped him dispose of the body and the stolen goods, given him all the loot, covered up all his crimes, and allowed him to leave the underworld and sever ties with his past, he would have been completely different.

He wouldn't even be alive today, let alone have the ability to start his own business.

He was deeply grateful back then, and patted his chest, vowing to repay Zhao Chunshu's kindness for the rest of his life. But after nearly thirty years of peaceful life, and after getting married and having children, that gratitude had long since faded with the mundane realities of daily life.

Now all that's left is the fear of having someone hold a handle against you.

How did Zhao Chunshu get his own phone number and address?

How did he find himself?
The moment this thought popped into my head, the ruthless, unwavering force Zhao Chunshu displayed when wielding his knife in the past rushed into my mind.

He Tian's back was instantly soaked with cold sweat—he wasn't afraid of business competition, but he was afraid that this menacing figure would destroy everything he had now, and even the safety of his family would become uncertain.

So his whole body went weak and his voice trembled, "Yes, yes, big brother, it's me, A-Xiang, I'm listening."

Zhao Chunshu's tone left no room for argument, giving no one any room to think, "I heard your Hemu vegetarian restaurant is doing very well? Then tell me, how much is your annual turnover approximately?"

He dared not lie, but was busy being modest, his voice so low it was like a mosquito's hum.

"No, not much, just five or six hundred million yen. It's barely considered a medium-sized enterprise, not a big deal."

"That's already very good. I'm really impressed with you."

Zhao Chunshu's voice sounded surprised, but he paused, as if weighing something, "I never mistreated you back then, and now that I need your help, you should repay me, right?"

These words were like revealing the true colors of a cunning scheme, instantly making Hotan's heart tighten and his scalp tingle.

He knew Zhao Chunshu's personality all too well; this wasn't a question, but a notification.

Zhao Chunshu had long been convinced that he had no other choice, just like when he ordered him to go with him to rob a jewelry store back then.

Sure enough, before he could answer, Zhao Chunshu continued, "I'll be at your funeral home in an hour. You wait for me there. Not too early, not too late. I want you to send all your assistants home. Don't leave a single one behind. If you don't want to, just say so now, and I can find someone else."

The threat felt like an ice pick piercing his heart, and Hotan was so frightened he almost screamed.

Terrified, he hurriedly nodded into the receiver, even though the other person couldn't see him at all.

"Brother, what are you saying! How could I dare disobey your orders? Just like I said back then, I will remember your kindness for the rest of my life! I'll go to the funeral home to wait for you right away, and I'll leave immediately!"

Zhao Chunshu's voice softened a bit, but it still carried an indescribable sarcastic tone.

"I knew you knew the rules. We can discuss the specifics in person. As long as you handle things well, my friendship will still be yours. You won't be disappointed."

These words made Wada even more flustered. He stammered and asked, "Brother, is this so urgent? Does it have to be at the funeral home tonight? Why don't we find an izakaya and talk over a meal?"

"Let's go to the funeral home."

Zhao Chunshu's tone was resolute: "I don't want anyone to know we met, nor do I want to disrupt your peaceful life. This is better for both of us."

Even so, his unquestionable tone sounded like a rallying cry summoning him back to the underworld.

The phone clicked off, and Hetian held the receiver for a few seconds, stunned, before realizing that his clothes were soaked with cold sweat.

Then, with trembling hands, he quickly dialed the funeral home and yelled at his assistant, "None of you need to work overtime tonight! Finish up what you're doing now, and everyone go home immediately! Come back tomorrow!"

Just as his assistant was about to ask why, he interrupted sharply, "Don't ask! Just do as I say!"

He grabbed his coat and rushed out. His wife stood up from the sofa, looking surprised. "Didn't you say you were taking the day off?"

Wada's voice was strained, and his face was frighteningly pale. "There's an emergency at the altar."

Seeing his expression, his wife swallowed back the words she was about to say, only daring to whisper "Be careful" behind his back.

With the night wind blowing coolly on his face, Wada Shōō braved the cold wind and walked through three streets, soon arriving at the Hemu Saichang.

The funeral home is sandwiched between two office buildings. The narrow driveway in the backyard is only wide enough for hearses and ambulances to pass through. Other companies dislike this road because they think it's haunted by evil spirits, so no one wants to use it. It has become the only private driveway for this place.

Wada Shōō walked through the empty mourning hall, while the sofas in the reception room were still neatly arranged.

A small lamp was lit in the office, a faint medicinal smell wafted from the room where preservatives were applied, the iron door to the coffin warehouse was tightly closed, and the key to the secret room storing cosmetic instruments was still hanging on his waist.

With every step he takes here, Wada Sho-o can recall how he used that ill-gotten money to take over this small place and how he gradually built up his business.

But now, all of this is very likely to be ruined by Zhao Chunshu.

Walking into his office, He Tian slumped into his leather chair and lit a cigarette—he rarely smoked at the funeral home, afraid of disturbing the tranquility, but now only nicotine could calm him down a little.

He waited for Zhao Chunshu as if he were waiting for fate to deliver its final verdict.

Boss Wada knew that Zhao Chunshu was a high-ranking member of the Inagawa-kai, so he knew that such a person must be closely watched by the police, and that his contact with him would be a huge problem.

The more He Tian thought about it, the more frightened he became. He began to wonder if Zhao Chunshu had killed some important person and wanted him to help hide the body.
Or are they using the funeral home's name to launder money?

No matter what it is, if he gets involved, he'll end up in jail.

In that case, his son will be fired from the company, his grandson will be ridiculed at school, and his name "Wada Shoo" will change from "a respected boss" to "a remnant of the yakuza".

His dark history of murder and robbery from many years ago will be dug up and nailed to the pillar of shame.

Even more frightening is that, given the escalating conflict between the Inagawa-kai and the Yamaguchi-gumi, if things go wrong, it could lead to a gang war. If other gangs find out that he helped Zhao Chunshu, they might get killed one day.

Wada Sho-o took a deep drag on his cigarette, regretting it to the core.

How could I have been so blinded by greed and joined the Yakuza back then?
Why did you have to say you wanted to repay Zhao Chunshu?

Over the years, he has avoided even attending gangster funerals, preferring to earn less money rather than get involved in the underworld. How come he still can't escape it?
But then he forced himself to calm down.

Because he knew that Zhao Chunshu was a smart man, and since he dared to approach him, he must have already made arrangements for his escape route.

Moreover, compared to these risks, offending Zhao Chunshu, a ruthless man, is a dead end.

He still remembered that back then, a petty leader who was dissatisfied with Zhao Chunshu got drunk at an izakaya and cursed Zhao Chunshu after they parted, saying that he was a lowly scoundrel who had infiltrated the Inagawa-kai, and in the end, they didn't even find his body.

He could only hope that he was clever enough to handle things well and avoid any mistakes.

Just then, the sound of car tires crunching over gravel came from outside the window.

He Tian's heart leaped into his throat. He stubbed out his cigarette, and trembled involuntarily as he faced the final test.

The office door was pushed open, and two young men in black jackets walked in first. Their eyes swept over every corner of the room like hawks, and they began searching without saying a word to him. The sound of their leather shoes on the floor was like a heavy hammer hitting his heart.

They moved quickly, searching all the rooms in a few minutes, and nodded towards the door.

Then, Zhao Chunshu slowly walked in.

He looked much thinner than Hotan remembered, his hair was mostly white and sparsely plastered to his scalp, but he was still wearing a sharp navy blue suit, holding his top hat to his chest with both hands.

And the aura of unapproachability emanating from him was even stronger than it had been twenty years ago.

Hotan stood up, his throat tight, and after a long while he managed to squeeze out, "Brother...you've arrived."

Zhao Chunshu looked at him, a faint, ambiguous smile playing on his lips.

Instead of answering his question, she pointed to the desk.

"I brought everything. It's been so long since we last met; we should have a good chat today." (End of Chapter)