Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

The air gradually became stuffy and hot. A huge exhaust fan whirred overhead, emitting a low hum, and the warm air it blew carried a metallic, dusty smell. If it weren't for Sakurai Kogure holding his hand tightly the entire time, his hand would have been icy cold.

If it weren't for Sakurai Kogure holding his hand, Hideki felt he would never have had the courage to continue. This passage, hidden beneath the glamorous facade of the Paradise Mansion, seemed to truly lead to the legendary, winding, and dark road to the underworld.

Finally, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

A man in a black suit and sunglasses stood in the shadows. Wearing sunglasses in such a pitch-black place was already eerie. What was even more eerie was that Ying Shu felt a golden light emanating from the depths of those sunglasses.

"Welcome," the man's voice was flat and emotionless.

"Room B431," the man said, turning to lead the way. "Your wish has been fulfilled."

He swiped his card to open the heavy black iron door. It was a small hut with walls covered in iron plates, no windows, only small ventilation holes. Four people sat on four chairs, their arms tied behind their backs, and burlap sacks over their heads. They were all trembling and making muffled sobs.

The man closed the door and took out a folder.

He opened the first sack and compared it to the photo: "Fujita Jutaro, the president of the financial firm that provided you with the mortgage loan, a member of the Triads. Please confirm."

“Yes,” Ying Shu said hoarsely.

The man drew a silenced pistol and pressed it against Fujita's forehead.

"flutter."

The body fell down, chair in tow.

"Yamaguchi Satoshi planned the real estate project. He conspired with your friend Akamatsu Hideaki: Yamaguchi initiated the project, and Akamatsu persuaded investors to join. Yamaguchi absconded with the money to an East African country that has no extradition treaty with Japan, laundered the money, and then transferred it to Akamatsu. Because extradition was impossible, we sent someone to Africa to bring him back. It's a bit incomplete, please don't mind."

The so-called "disfigurement" refers to the fact that both of Yamaguchi Satoshi's ears were cut off, and the wounds were only treated with yellow powder to stop the bleeding, without being bandaged.

"Let me confirm."

The gun barrel was moved to the mountain pass between the eyebrows.

Ying Shu nodded.

The bullet sent the head flying backward, and blood splattered onto the ceiling.

“Akamatsu Hideyoshi, your wife’s lover, was the one who suggested swindling your family’s assets.” The man paused, then added, “We have induced labor on your wife’s unborn child as you requested, and the test results show that it is Akamatsu Hideyoshi’s.”

Ying Shu stared at the man who was much younger and more handsome than herself, tears streaming down her face, her expression twisted like a demon. He nodded slightly.

The third shot rang out.

“As for your wife,” the man pointed to the trembling figure on the last chair, “she was brought as agreed. You didn’t ask us to deal with her, so she’s yours to handle.”

Even with a hood over her head, the curvaceous body beneath the white dress was still recognizable as the woman he had once been infatuated with.

"If you don't want her to stay, cleaning up the mess is free. If you can't bear to part with her, the best VIP suite upstairs is reserved for you. You can stay there with her until the end of time, until she changes her mind. All of this is also free." Sakurai Kogure opened the mahogany box and took out the short sword that Hideki recognized. Three weeks ago, he used this sword to cut off his own ring finger.

"Please," she whispered in Ying Shu's ear, placing the unsheathed sword into his hand.

Ying Shu stood there blankly, staring at the woman who had once made him willing to die for her, but who had also caused his family to be destroyed.

Sakurai Kogure and the man in black left the cabin and locked the door.

The sound of high heels gradually faded into the distance.

Here, it really is just him and his wife left.

“Disgusting bastard, I want to kill him,” the man in black muttered in the corridor.

"There's no need to get angry. The customers are just our ATMs," Sakurai Kogure scolded.

"I know. He was just disgusted by this coward, and a momentary emotional impulse made him want revenge. But he still feels reluctant to let go of the woman who hurt him so badly." The man sneered, "This guy, after we leave, he'll probably reconcile with his wife, won't he?"

“Heh, you’re wrong,” Sakurai Kogure smiled. “He won’t show any mercy.”

Are you so sure?

"When he made demands of us, he was a coward. But now, he has tasted the power. He used to grovel before that woman like a slave, but once he realized that she had become a slave in his hands, her life and death in his hands, he showed no mercy."

A minute later, a painful wail came from the house behind him. The man in black sighed that his boss was indeed a prophet.

Chapter 367 The Landlady, Sakurai Kogure

"Oh, Mr. Mitsui is here tonight too? Please take care of me."

"Mr. Shirota, you're here too! Weren't you satisfied with the money you won last time? I see you brought an even bigger money box today."

"Quickly, go and prepare whiskey for Mr. Ichimura, with plenty of ice."

The moment she stepped out of the elevator and into the casino lobby, Sakurai Kogure became the center of attention. She jogged to greet the various regular customers, a sweet smile blooming on her face.

This place felt like her own tavern, run by a young and alluring proprietress. Regulars knew that cultivating a good relationship with the proprietress might bring special treatment, especially since Sakurai Kogure was so captivating. Customers said she was like chilled sweet wine; you'd never dislike her, but you'd gradually become lost in her slightly icy sweetness.

"There are many female celebrities from Tokyo in attendance tonight. What do you think? As long as you have enough money, Gokurakukan will definitely help you fulfill your wish," she said with a light laugh to Shigeru Masuda, CEO of Mitsubishi Heavy Industries.

Shigeru Masuda stroked the back of her hand: "That doesn't matter. I'm only interested in you, boss lady."

"Oh?" Sakurai Kogure smiled charmingly, "What merit do I have to arouse your interest?"

“A woman like you is truly stunning,” said Shigeru Masuda, his courage emboldened by the alcohol.

"Ah, thank you for your kind invitation. If Mr. Masuda is still sober when he leaves work, I'll treat you to a late-night snack on the second floor."

"How cunning," Masuda Shigeru wisely released his grip, because the veins on the forehead of the man in black behind him were bulging.

At the Elysium, besides jokes like spending the night with the Prime Minister, there were a few wishes no one dared to voice, one of which was spending the night with Sakurai Kogure. Everyone was speculating: how did this young girl manage to control this extravagant casino? What kind of astronomical price would such a woman command? Would making this wish result in an astronomical offer, or would she simply vanish without a trace? No one knew.

"Urgent message," the secretary said, pushing through the crowd and handing over a black folder.

Sakurai Kogure glanced at it only once before her smile vanished instantly. She bowed politely in apology, then left the distinguished guests behind and headed towards the gold-leaf-covered elevator in the center of the lobby, which required a special magnetic card to activate. Some said it led to the most luxurious suite, others said it connected directly to the underground vault, and still others said it was a private passage to Sakurai Kogure's bedroom.

The elevator doors opened and closed, swallowing her figure.

The elevator goes directly to the top floor.

Sakurai Kogure had already taken off her high heels in the elevator, stepping barefoot onto the cool floor as she entered the Japanese-style suite with its tatami mats. Her footsteps were light and silent, like a night bird returning to its nest.

The penthouse suite is a stark contrast to the extreme luxury downstairs. Elegant tatami mats and simple white paper screens divide the space, creating a Zen-like spaciousness. The large windows are wide open, letting in moonlight like silver. A night breeze, carrying a slight chill from the mountains, blows in, stirring the screen and the budding peach blossoms in the white porcelain vase on the small white wooden table.

A pale, almost transparent hand picked up a spring peach from the bottle. The owner of the hand had her back to the door, and with her other hand, she gathered up her shiny black hair and, with an almost ritualistic elegance, tucked the spring peach into her hair bun, revealing her fair, jade-like neck.

He didn't turn around, yet he knew who it was. To the rhythm of the night wind, he began to walk and sing. His voice was ethereal and distant, carrying an ancient and poignant quality, as if drifting from a faded ukiyo-e painting:

"I am weary, I am weary, this hairpin is my witness, a gift from the Emperor himself in years past."

Forget about the romance, just repay him for the great favor he bestowed upon you;

I return the hairpin to Linqiong, where the eastern clouds and rosy hues of the three thousand weak rivers are once again in full bloom.

The moon's shadow has long since vanished, and the road ahead is fraught with difficulties;

The path we came from is lost; looking back, it's all for naught.

He sang in Chinese, the lyrics melodious and poignant. He wore a blood-red, wide-sleeved kimono embroidered with large spider lilies and red spider lilies, as red as freshly flowed blood, creating a striking harmony with his fair skin.

The one singing this lament from a female perspective is a man. But when he dances to the lyrics, his waist is as slender as a silken ribbon, his shoulders are bare, and every glance and every trembling fingertip is filled with feminine tenderness and sorrow, making one completely forget his gender.

This is authentic Japanese Kabuki, but the piece is about the Chinese story of Yang Guifei. Bando Tamasaburo once portrayed the tragedy of this unparalleled Chinese beauty to the fullest extent in female form. The man before me has mastered this art, perhaps even surpassing it.

Sakurai Kogure stood quietly by the door, unwilling to disturb him. Every time she watched this man sing and dance, she felt that any sound would be a desecration. In the eyes of the gamblers, she was an unapproachable ice queen. But in front of this man, she felt her own beauty was as thin as porcelain dust, for this man was more radiant and graceful than she was.

In his presence, gender lost its meaning, and women seemed to become superfluous.

As the song and dance ended, the man sighed softly, like an autumn leaf falling, and sat down cross-legged, slowly closing his white paper fan. Peach blossoms in his hair fell as he bowed his head, his black hair cascading down like a waterfall, making his powdered, delicately features appear even more androgynous, dreamlike and ethereal.

Sakurai Kogure remained silent, kneeling respectfully a short distance away, placing the black folder in front of her lap.

The man knew that for Sakurai Kogure to wait so patiently, the matter must be extremely urgent.

"Good evening," he said first, his voice regaining its clear, masculine tone, yet languid and magnetic, as if he had just woken from a long dream. "Like a song, like a lament, I can smell the sweet fragrance of decadence and debauchery down below, even sitting here."

Downstairs, the sounds of the casino—the boisterous noise, music, cheers, and sighs—flowed in through the open windows like boiling steam, mingling with women's perfume and men's cigarette and alcohol fumes, forming a turbid yet vibrant tide that crashed against the cool, moonlit room on the top floor.

Sakurai Kogure crawled forward on her knees, came up behind the man, placed her hands on his shoulders and back, and massaged him with just the right amount of pressure. Her movements were skilled and gentle, as if she had done it a thousand times.

“Something’s wrong.” Her voice was calm and emotionless. “Sakurai Akira is dead. He was killed by the head of the Executive Bureau, Genjiro.”

"Oh?" The man seemed unsurprised, only his tone slightly regretful. "I suggested to Sakurai Akira that we go to Hokkaido. The snowflakes are clean; it would be fitting for him to die there. I never expected him to actually go." He tilted his head slightly, the moonlight illuminating half of his perfect profile. "Sakurai Akira is your brother? Why don't you feel sad?"

“He chose this path himself,” Kogure Sakurai said, her massage continuing. “Once you’ve chosen a path, you have to keep walking it. He was truly free for at least ten days, and he didn’t need anyone’s pity, including mine.”

"Freedom, ha," the man chuckled, noncommittal. "What a pity. The medicine that Koyama Ryuzo makes is still not stable enough. A pervert who only knows how to fiddle with bottles and jars, he's useless to keep." His tone suddenly turned cold, like ice cracking. "Kill him, and use him as a sacrifice for your brother."

“Yes,” Sakurai Kogure replied, without asking any details, as if executing a pharmacist were as simple as ordering a change of tea. “Sakurai Akira and I are half-brothers, I…”

"Don't say any more," the man interrupted her, "it's not time for you to leave yet."

"Yes," Sakurai Kogure replied softly, lowering her eyes.

Chapter 368 The Meaning of Moths

Sakurai Kogure dared not say anything more, but pressed even harder on Genji's shoulders and back. To please this man, she had specially gone to Thailand to learn massage. Her teacher was an old man who was an expert in acupressure points and worked in a Pattaya nightclub. His tongue was like a lizard's, and his eyes were like a hyena in heat, but he had a pair of divinely bestowed hands.

Women can earn 10,000 baht for a few minutes of shoulder and back massage. Women who dislike him will relax and fall asleep in his hands, and then the old man will molest them. He will wake them up ten minutes later, and the women will thank him with surprise, saying that they have never slept so comfortably.

Sakurai Kogure wagered herself to learn the old man's techniques. At first, when the old man demonstrated on her, she couldn't help but fall asleep, waking up with purplish-red marks on her body. She wasn't frightened or complained; instead, she served him even more diligently.

When it was her turn to massage the old man, he would always laugh and say she was tickling him. Through repeated attempts, Sakurai Kogure gradually imitated those divinely bestowed hands. Finally, one day, she made the unsuspecting old man fall into a deep sleep, and then snapped his neck.

The old man paid for his molestation with his life, never knowing who he had offended until his death.

Now that Sakurai Kogure has the ability to hypnotize anyone, she cannot hypnotize this man. She can only make him relax slightly and stop him from being so tense.

After a brief silence, the man seemed to remember something and spoke again, his tone returning to its lazy and playful tone: "By the way, how are things going with the guest downstairs who lost a finger? I think I heard some amusing wails."

“It’s all taken care of,” Sakurai Kogure replied. “He paid a sufficient price, so we naturally satisfied him. However, a soul completely consumed by hatred and desire often loses its final value the moment its wish is fulfilled, becoming utterly tasteless.”

“It’s alright.” The man waved his wide sleeves, causing the crimson spider lilies to sway. “What we need is never their souls, but their choices, their depravity, and the sweetest despair and madness they unleashed in the moment they paid the price. These are the best nourishment for our path to the underworld.”

He rose and walked to the window, looking down at the lights of the Paradise Pavilion below, which resembled blooming red lotuses. The night wind blew his blood-red robes and long, black hair, his silhouette appearing eerie and lonely in the moonlight.

"The Snake Clan has finally lost its patience and is about to make a move," Sakurai Kogure gently pushed the folder toward him. "The latest news is that they held an unprecedented gathering at the shrine. Tachibana Masamune has likely decided to completely sever the path to the underworld."

The man didn't immediately look at the documents, but instead gazed at the night outside the window, a cold and alluring smile playing on his lips. There was no fear in his smile, but rather a long-awaited excitement.

"Sever the path to the Yellow Springs?" he repeated softly, savoring the meaning of the words. "My good brother, and those hypocritical family heads, have finally made up their minds to exterminate us shadows, these ghosts?"

He turned around, the moonlight illuminating his entire face.

It was a face that bore a five- or six-point resemblance to Genjiro, yet was more refined, more feminine, and more bewitching. The outline of Amaterasu was faintly visible in his eyes and brows, but their auras were entirely different. Genjiro was a restrained, weary, and hard rock. He, on the other hand, was an outwardly alluring, cold, flowing venom.

Source virginity.