Crossover anime/manga, immediately transmigrated after death

After all, although Zhang Yang didn't have a wealthy family background, he had become a VIP among VIPs of Xiuzhiyuan because of his outrageous strength.

Dragon Ball Peach didn't look up, but instead swung his foot.

"You despicable man, you'll splatter my blood even in death..."

Dragon Ball Peach withdrew her foot, bent down to take off her over-the-knee socks, crumpled them into a ball, and tossed them to Zhang Yang.

"Burn it."

Zhang Yang caught the two pieces of black fabric: "No need to take them off, just put them on. Your shoes can cover them up."

"Others will smell the scent." Dragon Ball Peach's voice was firm, but his gaze drifted away.

Zhang Yang didn't say anything more. With a flick of his fingers, a wisp of crimson-gold fire energy leaped from his fingertips and gently landed on the fabric, which turned to ashes in the flames.

Dragon Ball Peach stood up from the sleeping mat with her bare legs, straightened her white beret, and walked towards the rooftop entrance: "Let's go."

The two went downstairs one after the other, walked through the tree-lined path of Xiuzhiyuan, and headed towards the school gate.

The evening light lengthened their shadows, overlapping and separating on the ground like two fish swimming in the twilight.

A black sedan was parked at the school gate.

Zhang Yang looked familiar; it seemed to be the Fujiwara family's car.

Fujiwara Chika stood by the car door, and the moment she saw Zhang Yang, she took two steps forward and waved, "Zhang Yang-kun! Perfect timing, no need to look for you anymore!"

Zhang Yang stopped in his tracks: "Looking for me?"

“Yes!” Qianhua nodded vigorously. “My dad said he wants to talk to you.”

The car door opened as soon as he finished speaking.

A man got out of the car.

He was about forty years old, wearing a dark gray suit with a neatly tied tie. He had a dignified appearance and bore a resemblance to Qianhua. When he stood, his back was straight, his gaze was calm, and he wore a polite smile.

Fujiwara Land.

Zhang Yang had seen this face in the news before; he was a powerful figure in the Japanese diplomatic corps, the kind of person who smiled, shook hands, and said nice things to the camera at various international occasions.

“Hello, Zhang Yang.” Fujiwara Daichi extended his hand. “I am Chika’s father, Fujiwara Daichi. May I have a word with you?”

Zhang Yang shook his hand: "Hello."

Fujiwara nodded sternly, his smile lingering, but his gaze swept behind Zhang Yang, landing on Dragon Ball Peach standing a few steps away before turning back.

His tone was kind and his voice was gentle.

"Before we talk, I'd like to confirm something." Fujiwara Daichi paused for a moment. "I heard that you declared at Shuchiin that you wanted to start a harem?"

Zhang Yang did not deny it: "Yes."

"I need to confirm, how far have things progressed between you and my daughter?"

Fujiwara Chika's face flushed instantly: "Dad!"

"Chika, don't speak yet." Fujiwara Daichi's tone remained gentle. "I just want to check on the progress and see if we can save her."

Fujiwara Chika's face turned bright red, burning from her neck to her ears. She felt as if she had been thrown into a steamer, and she stomped her feet in place helplessly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but couldn't utter anything, only a series of meaningless monosyllables.

Zhang Yang suddenly reached out and grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her closer, and kissed her.

Chika's pupils dilated suddenly, her blue eyes reflecting his face so close to hers.

He froze on the spot, as if he had been frozen in place, his hands hanging in mid-air, unsure whether to grab something or push something away.

Her long pink hair was tossed about by the wind and then fell back down.

Her body trembled slightly, but she did not back down. Her lips parted slightly under his pressure, like a door that had been forcibly pushed open.

Her ears turned bright red, and even the strands of hair covering her ears showed a burning color, but she still didn't push him away.

Zhang Yang released his lips, turned his head, and gave Fujiwara Daichi a wicked smile: "It's come to this."

Fujiwara Daichi said anxiously, "Chika, say something, quickly refuse him."

Dragon Ball Peach stroked his chin, watching the show from the sidelines.

Chika stood there, her lips slightly parted, her blue eyes glistening with tears, as if she hadn't yet recovered from the shock she had just experienced.

She thought to herself that she should say something—she should refuse, she should deny, she should tell her father that it wasn't what he thought.

Yet, deep within her heart, a secret stirring was spreading, like a lit fuse, burning all the way to her limbs and bones, making her fingertips slightly numb.

Being kissed so forcefully and having her ownership declared in front of her father should have made her feel ashamed and resentful.

I couldn't resist it at all.

Zhang Yang took a step forward and picked her up by the waist.

Chika let out a short gasp, her body lifted into the air, and she instinctively reached out to hug his neck, curling up in his arms. Her long pink hair swayed in the air like a flag being blown by the wind.

Excuse me.

Zhang Yang uttered three words, stomped his foot, and the ground cracked open. He soared into the sky, carrying Fujiwara Chika as he leaped dozens of meters into the air.

The evening breeze rushed towards her face, and Qianhua's hair flew backward. She subconsciously closed her eyes, but couldn't help opening them a crack. She saw the ground getting farther and farther away, and the trees and houses shrinking beneath her feet.

The entire city unfolded before her eyes, like a scroll that had been folded for a long time and was finally being unfurled.

Fujiwara Daichi, who was on the ground, covered his face and lifted it up.

Dragon Ball Momo, standing nearby, simply offered a word of comfort: "Please accept my condolences."

As dusk seeped across the city skyline, layers of orange-red light danced on the glass curtain walls of distant skyscrapers, like some kind of grand breath.

Zhang Yang leaped through the air above the city with Fujiwara Chika in his arms, leaving behind blurry afterimages in the air.

The wind rushed into Qianhua's collar, causing her long pink hair to fly backward. She instinctively hugged his neck tightly, her heart pounding like a drum.

Beneath my feet are shrunken streets, matchbox-like houses, and beetle-like flowing car lights.

The entire city of Tokyo unfolded before her eyes, with countless lights lighting up one after another, as if someone had scattered a handful of gold dust on the earth.

"So high..."

During a break in one of his jumps, Zhang Yang glanced down at her.

Chika's cheeks were as red as the sunset, her blue eyes reflected the city lights, sparkling brightly. Her lips were slightly parted, as if she had a lot to say but it was stuck in her throat, and she could only let out a low gasp.

After a few more jumps, they landed on the roof of a high-rise apartment building.

This is one of Zhang Yang's residences.

The house isn't big, with two bedrooms and a living room, simply decorated, and you can see half of the city's night view from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He doesn't usually live here, but someone comes to clean every few days, so it's fairly clean.

Zhang Yang placed Qianhua on the sofa, then turned and closed the French windows.

Qianhua sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands resting on the cushions on either side. Her gaze swept around the surroundings before returning to him. She was a little nervous, a little expectant, and a little at a loss. She looked like a student sitting in an exam room, her back ramrod straight.

"here it is?"

“My house.” Zhang Yang walked up to her, looking down at her. “What, you’re already here, and you still want to run away?”

Chika's face flushed even redder, her fingers clutching the fabric of her skirt, her voice barely audible, "I...I'm not ready yet..."

Zhang Yang squatted down, his gaze level with hers: "Just now in front of the school gate, in front of your father, I didn't let go of you, and you didn't push me away either."

She did not push him away at the time.

To be precise, she never intended to push him away.

Chika's heart was still pounding in her chest, like a fawn trapped in a cage made of ribs, desperately trying to break free.

She felt she should say something more to buy time—at least to calm her heart a little, at least to cool her cheeks down a bit, at least to have enough time to process everything that had happened that day.

"How about... we decide this through a game!"

Chika grasped at a straw, as if by using the game as an excuse, everything in front of her would become less serious, less scary, and less like a question and answer she already knew the answer to.

Zhang Yang stopped what he was doing and looked at her: "What game?"

"It's...any game!" Chika said quickly. "Rock-paper-scissors, cards, board games—whatever it is, the winner gets to decide!"

Zhang Yang stood up, his gaze sweeping across the living room before landing on a black upright piano in the corner.

"Let's play a little game then." Zhang Yang walked to the piano, lifted the lid, and lightly glided his fingertips across the keys, producing a series of crisp sounds. "You play a piece. After you finish, we'll each give our opinions on whether it was good or bad. If we agree, we'll stop here for tonight. If we disagree..."

Chika's heart suddenly leaped into her throat: "So what if we disagree?"

Zhang Yang turned around: "Then you'd better just let me eat you up."

Chika blinked, as if she were quickly calculating the odds of winning the game.

She can play the piano.

I started learning when I was little, and although I gave up later, I still have no problem playing a piece of music.

As long as she plays well, and then admits that she plays well, and we agree, we'll be safe tonight.

this is very simple.

“Okay!” Qianhua agreed immediately. “But I have one condition—you have to tell me first, and then I will tell you.”

"can."

Chika stood up from the sofa and walked to the piano to sit down.

Won!

Zhang Yang agreed, and she agreed as well.

Zhang Yang said he couldn't say, and neither could she.

Oh, it was just a joke after all. How could he possibly eat her?

Fujiwara Chika adjusted the height of her chair, took a deep breath, and then placed her hands on the piano keys.

The first note fell.

Her fingers danced nimbly across the black and white keys, and notes flowed from the piano case, echoing throughout the living room.

The rhythm of the piece is precise, with every note in its proper place. Breathing, pauses, and dynamic variations are all technically flawless.

This is a skill developed from childhood.

Chika Fujiwara was a piano prodigy from a young age and was considered a future Chopin Prize winner who would go on to become a world-renowned pianist.

Although she later gave up the piano, the skill she had honed since childhood remained.

After playing the last note, Qianhua withdrew her hand, turned to look at Zhang Yang, and asked with a hint of smugness in her eyes, "How was that?"

Zhang Yang leaned against the window, arms crossed over his chest, and said, "You played very well."

Qianhua's smile was about to bloom when Zhang Yang continued speaking.

"But that's fake."

Chika's smile froze in mid-air: "...Fake?"

"Like a jade branch from Penglai."

Chika was taken aback.

“In the Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, Princess Kaguya asked Prince Kurumamochi for a jade branch from Hourai.” Zhang Yang’s voice was unhurried, as if he were telling a bedtime story. “Prince Kurumamochi went to a craftsman to make a fake one. The roots were silver, the stem was gold, and it had white jade fruit growing on it. It looked very beautiful.”

"There is a flower in Buddhism called Udumbara."

"Legend has it that the flower only blooms once every three thousand years. It takes a thousand years for the bud to sprout, a thousand years for the flower to bud, and three thousand years for the flower to bloom. In the blink of an eye, it withers away."

"The piece you just played demonstrated technique and fundamental skills; every note was correct."

Zhang Yang paused, "But it's fake. Real music should be like the Udumbara flower, appearing only once every three thousand years, stunning everyone when it appears, and then disappearing. Your performance is just repeating what someone else has written."

Chika lowered her head, her gaze fixed on the piano keys. After a long silence, she finally looked up and asked, "Are you saying I didn't play well?"

“I already said,” Zhang Yang’s voice was calm. “You played very well because the person playing was Fujiwara.”

Chika was stunned.

She discerned an unexpected meaning in those words.

The character of Prince Kurumochi in "The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter" is said to be based on the historical figure Fujiwara no Fuhito.

In other words, the Fujiwara family has always been the ones who propose marriage with fake treasures.