104: Yueyong

The air here was sticky, a mixture of the elegance of Advanced incense and the sour rot of evaporated desire. Looking up, there was no starlit sky, only the never-extinguishing neon lights projected by a massive artificial dome, staining every corner with an unhealthy, ambiguous flushed red. This was Yoshiwara, the dark navel of the Neon District, the gathering place of all shadows and desires.

On both sides of the street, the Pleasure Houses were ornately decorated. Behind vermilion railings, Courtesans dressed in magnificent kimonos sat as still as dolls, their smiles practiced thousands of times, perfect enough to break one's heart.

From behind the curtains of high-end restaurants came the weeping melodies of the Shamisen and the boisterous laughter of men. However, one only needed to deviate slightly from the main road and step into a dark side alley for this layer of gold leaf to instantly peel away.

Water dripped from dilapidated eaves, the air was thick with the scent of trash and despair, and untended children with hollow eyes searched the shadows for anything to fill their bellies.

And at the highest point of this land of eternal night, upon the upturned eaves where even the neon light could not reach, a figure stood quietly overlooking this twisted prosperity.

He was not crouching, but standing tall and proud, his posture as upright as a solitary pine. What seemed out of place in this turbid world was a lock of silver hair falling across his forehead, glinting with a blade-like cold light under the artificial illumination. Most striking was the splash of red makeup around his left eye, spreading out in a radial pattern—magnificent and eerie, like a meticulously drawn war paint. Two gold ornaments adorned each ear, rippling with spots of brilliance as the neon lights shifted.

He wore a specially made black uniform that outlined his lean, powerful frame, yet it blended strangely with his flamboyant face paint and accessories, weaving together an aesthetic of both power and splendor.

“A magnificent place, hiding filth and corruption.”

A deep voice rang out, carrying undisguised disgust and contempt. Uzui Tengen's sharp eyes swept like probes over every inch of the streets below, where luxury and filth were intertwined. His gaze could pierce through this superficial illusion and capture the stench of a 'Demon' hidden deep within.

He had infiltrated this place not to indulge in this illusory paradise, but as the 'God of Festivals,' here to perform a grand ceremony of purging and salvation.

“The scent of a demon... though faint, it definitely exists.” He slightly narrowed his eyes adorned with brilliant colors, the gold ornaments at his ears flashing with a cold light as he turned his head.

On the noisy main street, a minor commotion was unfolding.

In front of a high-class Pleasure House, several gang members in cheap suits and thick gold chains—clearly outsiders—were impatiently pushing away several Courtesans who had stepped forward to greet them.

“Get lost! Don't try to fool us with these common goods!” The bald man in the lead waved his hand rudely, his spit nearly splashing onto the Courtesans' faces. “My brothers and I came from far away to see the beauty of Yoshiwara's number one—Hinowa Oiran! Hurry up and call Hinowa out to see us!”

The pushed Courtesan stumbled, but her well-trained, perfect smile didn't change at all; only an imperceptible flicker of mockery flashed in the depths of her eyes. She steadied herself and responded with a lazy, playful tone: “Oh my, gentlemen, Hinowa Oiran isn't someone you can see just because you want to. With your... style, I'm afraid you won't even catch a breeze from outside her curtain.”

This light mockery was like a spark, instantly igniting the anger the gang members had accumulated from their failed expectations. “You bitch! What did you say?!” The bald man shouted in shame, veins bulging on his forehead. His large, fan-like hand swung up, about to slap the Courtesan's delicate cheek.

The surrounding crowd let out low gasps; some stopped to watch, while others hurried away as if it were none of their business. Under the brilliant neon, this naked violence instantly tore through the harmony of the superficial luxury.

However, that thick arm did not fall as intended.

Just as it swung into mid-air, an almost inaudible sound of breaking air tore through the sticky atmosphere.

“Swoosh!”

In the next instant, the bald man let out a pig-like shriek. His raised palm had been completely pierced by a long, thin Kunai! Blood dripped down the blade of the Kunai, blooming into a small patch of dark red on the neon-lit ground.

“In Yoshiwara, laying a hand on a woman is the lowest form of behavior.”

A cold, somewhat raspy female voice came from the shadows above the Pleasure House.

Everyone looked toward the source of the sound and saw a figure sitting quietly on the vermilion railing, though no one knew when she had arrived.

All eyes were instantly drawn to her. A figure sat quietly on the vermilion railing. She wore a black Yukata decorated with maple leaf patterns on the left sleeve and hem, with a matching belt tied casually around her waist, outlining her graceful curves while revealing a sense of power that could not be underestimated. Her brownish-yellow medium-length hair was tied up behind her head, and the Kunai-shaped ornament pinned in her hair was as sharp and distinctive as she was.

She slowly exhaled a ring of blue-white smoke. Amidst the lingering haze, her purple eyes looked down coldly at the gang members below who were grimacing in pain, as if she were looking at a pile of eyesore trash.

“It's... it's Lady Tsukuyo!” someone in the crowd whispered in alarm.

“The leader of the Hyakka, the ‘Guardian of Yoshiwara’...”

The air seemed to freeze at this moment. The previous noise and commotion were quietly suppressed by an invisible pressure the moment this woman appeared.

The gang members were stunned at first, then became completely enraged—especially under the gaze of the crowd.

“Bitch! You're looking for death!” the bald man's companions roared. A fierce light flashed in the eyes of two of them, and they reached into their coats without hesitation.

On the neon-flickering street, the cold light of metal suddenly flashed—they had actually pulled out handguns! Before the dark muzzles could be fully raised, the air seemed to freeze.

However, someone was faster than them.

“Swoosh! Swoosh!”

Almost the instant the guns were revealed, two subtle yet sharp sounds of breaking air had already rung out.

In the next heartbeat, there were two even more shrill screams. The wrists of the two men with guns were each accurately pierced by a Kunai! The blades of the Kunai directly severed the tendons they used for grip, and the handguns fell from their hands, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Tsukuyo remained sitting on the railing, her posture not even changing. She had simply picked up two more Kunai at some point and was playing with them casually between her fingers, as if that lightning-fast precision strike had been effortless for her.

Another blue-white smoke ring slowly drifted from her lips as she looked down coldly from her high vantage point at the men curled up in pain below.

“Using violence in Yoshiwara,” her voice remained flat but carried unquestionable authority, “and especially using such... unsavory things, do you think your lives are too long?”

The remaining gang member had long since lost his nerve. Looking at his companions' bleeding wrists and then fearfully at the ghost-like figure on the railing, his legs went weak and he slumped directly to the ground.

Tsukuyo didn't even give them another look, merely nodding slightly to the Hyakka members waiting nearby.

“Clean this up. Don't dirty the streets.”

Her voice had no fluctuation, as if she had just dealt with a few buzzing mosquitoes.

This kind of commotion didn't attract the attention of the higher-ups, nor did it even leave this main street. Because here, no matter what happened, everything was normal.

In the crowd, a particular gaze retracted from Tsukuyo and quietly departed with the other guests.

Just as he turned the street corner, a Kunai silently pressed against the back of his neck.

The cold blade pressed against his skin with the characteristic chill of metal. A woman's cold, temperature-less warning came from behind him: “Hey, kid. How did you sneak in here?”

Lin Luo, his vitals held at Kunai-point, stiffened slightly before raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. His tone carried a hint of appropriate helplessness and confusion: “Ah? Why pick on me alone? There are so many guests here; do I really look like a troublemaker?”

Tsukuyo's gaze was as sharp as an eagle's, scanning him quickly. This person before her was dressed plainly, had a clean face, and his eyes lacked the greed, intoxication, or urgency common in guests here. Instead, they held an... ill-timed clarity and scrutiny.

“Guests of Yoshiwara,” her voice was ice-cold, “come either for pleasure or to get drunk. Your face shows neither desire nor relaxation, only a pair of eyes that see too clearly. This look doesn't belong to someone here for fun. Speak, you're acting suspicious—what is your purpose?”

Lin Luo took a few steps back, his calm gaze landing on Tsukuyo. In his keen perception, this female ninja before him had a pure Aura and a transparent mind. Though she had a sharp edge, there was no evil mixed in, making her stand out in this filthy place—she should be a trustworthy and upright person.

Having reached this judgment, Lin Luo stopped being indirect. Looking straight into her eyes, he said bluntly: “There are demons here!”

Upon hearing this, the corners of Tsukuyo's lips curled into a slightly mocking arc, as if she had heard something naive. She flicked the Kunai in her hand, reflecting a cold light.

“It would be abnormal if Yoshiwara didn't have demons.” Her voice carried the indifference of one who understood the darkness of this place. “This is a lawless land. Desire, greed, betrayal... who here is clean?”

“You're talking about the human heart, about malice. I'm talking about a species, about anomalies.” Lin Luo shook his head, looking her in the eye. He slowly opened his palm, and a ball of blazing golden flame leaped into existence, making the ambiguous neon lights around them seem dim by comparison. “You hold a high position in Yoshiwara; you should know... this world is far less simple than it appears on the surface.”

The flame was pure and scorching, completely out of place in Yoshiwara's sticky air. Tsukuyo's gaze lingered on the dancing golden light for a moment, her pupils shrinking, and the Kunai between her fingers instantly tightened. "You are a Cultivator." Her Aura suddenly became dangerous. "Someone from the Special Affairs Department? Or..."

Before she could finish, Lin Luo waved his hand to interrupt: "If I had malicious intent, would I be standing here talking to you?" The golden flame in his palm suddenly vanished, and he spread his hands to show he was harmless. "I approached you because I can see—in this quagmire, you are someone who understands."

He took half a step forward, his gaze passing over Tsukuyo's tensed knuckles: "I plan to start from your side. After all, to clean those things up, I'll need a local to lead the way."

The Kunai between Tsukuyo's fingers remained ready, but the hostility in her eyes softened slightly: "Lead the way? Do you know the price of leading someone around in Yoshiwara?"

Tsukuyo's Kunai didn't move an inch, but her gaze was as sharp as a knife: “The price is that you might become a corpse even sooner than an ‘intruder’.”

Instead of backing down, Lin Luo took a step forward to meet her gaze: “I heard the ‘King’ here hates the feeling of losing control most of all.” He lowered his voice, yet his words were perfectly clear. “However, wouldn't it be fine if he simply didn't know?”

He observed the subtle changes in Tsukuyo's expression and continued: “We don't plan to turn Yoshiwara upside down. If it can be solved quietly, it's better for everyone. That is a demon that specifically feeds on humans—isn't the duty of the Hyakka to guard the peace of Yoshiwara? Can you really sleep soundly while harboring such a monster?”

In the last sentence, he deliberately slowed his speech: “If this matter were known by your King... would he think this is a failure of the Hyakka's duty?”

Tsukuyo's fingertips tightened slightly, the Kunai's blade reflecting cold light under the neon. She was silent for a moment before finally speaking, her voice carrying a cold warning: “Remember, in Yoshiwara, those who walk out of here alive are usually the ones who know when to shut their mouths.”

With a flick of her wrist, the Kunai silently disappeared into her sleeve. “Follow me. If you alert someone you shouldn't, I will end you myself.”