Chapter 336: A Terrible Enough Day

Feng Xue's reasoning was clear: he had no idea what the Long Wang Temple's foundation stone was for, and staying here was no different from just leaving behind a small bell to watch over it.

Better to take this chance and cause chaos in Uota, and strengthen my divine duties as Kidorah, the God of Calamity.

But how to do it?

Feng Xue didn't want to draw too much attention; after reviewing the cards in his hand, he suddenly smiled—a slightly deranged grin.

"You use karmic intimidation against cultivators? Let you see what true karma is!"

……

The salty sea wind, thick with coal smoke, swept across the waterway; Heitaro sat before his door, staring blankly at the last three sardines in his wooden basin. The dried bonito hanging under the eaves had long been torn away by creditors; the newspaper pasted on the walls still bore half-ripped headlines from the rice riots: "The Dawn of the New Era of Ko-Sha—".

"……" He clenched his cracked bamboo basket, too numb even to curse, mechanically mending his nets in silent hope for a turn of fortune.

The Mitsubishi steamship chugged past the bay; those iron-hulled boats with German diesel engines dragged away three hundred thousand saury daily, while his cedar skiff had caught only seven mixed fish today—four of them still bore the scrape marks of trawling nets.

This day's catch would barely buy him a few moldy pickled plums; feeding his five-family members was plainly impossible. His eldest son carried his younger sister to the harbor to scavenge fish bones; his wife still peeled sardines at the cannery; his old mother had survived the winter, but her heavy breathing told him she had little time left.

The sky wasn't good today, but he still planned to go out to sea again tonight…

"I'll sleep a bit first—it'll save some food," Heitaro thought, turning to enter the house—when suddenly his vision blurred.

The real world turned unreal; the ruined fishing village now resembled a refined ink-wash painting. Heitaro didn't understand refinement—he only knew he had two children to feed, and he couldn't vanish like this.

He ran, ran—then suddenly saw a tree, its branches hanging one fruit, so alluring, so sweet. He wanted to pluck it, but remembered his mother's childhood tale: "Never eat food from the spirit-realm." Yet the fruit radiated a strange magic; merely smelling its fragrance made him feel years younger.

"Delicious…" When he came to his senses, the fruit was already gone. Heitaro froze—

"Oh god, what do I do!"

Before he could even consider whether eating it would trap him, the world snapped back—his body still sat outside the door, the hanging nets still dripping.

"So I can come back? Damn it! Why didn't I save half for Sachiko!"

He savored the lingering sweetness in his mouth, regretting how hastily he'd eaten—then, suddenly, a cascade of information surfaced in his mind.

"Thousand-Year Long Wang… Blessing… Revenge, Judgment, Destruction…"

The flood of knowledge overwhelmed him; he felt his body had changed utterly, and according to the voice in his head, all he needed to do was…

"No! How could I kill anyone!"

His peasant's cowardice crushed the mad thought; he reasoned that with such a strong body, he could surely catch more fish…

But just then, louder than ever, wooden geta clacked on the muddy path. Heitaro's heart lurched. Ignoring his condition, he spun to rush inside—but too late. The tax collector, dressed like a gentleman, toyed with a gilded pocket watch; his thugs immediately kicked open the door:

"Plot 37, Hachiri Town. Outstanding fishing tax: two yen, seventy sen."

Heitaro said at once:

"Give me a few more days. I'll go out tonight—I'll definitely…"

Who would believe a fisherman, even in peak season, earning only seventy sen (0.7 yen), could scrape together this sum?

So no one listened. The taxmen kicked him aside, clubs in hand, watching as they reached for his last store of grain—the final thread snapped.

"Pthsh!"

Hot, foul blood gushed from the tax collector's pierced chest. He stared in disbelief at the fish spear impaling his man—his mind went blank. The other taxmen, seeing this, surged forward. Unlike their lofty superior, they lived to bully; now someone dared resist—naturally…

"Pth!"

The fish spear, which looked utterly powerless, became in Heitaro's hands like a veteran general's long spear—easily skewering the taxmen like candied haws.

Heitaro had lost all thought. His last shred of reason only told him: his family could not lose this last grain.

No turning back.

He impaled the dying tax collector—no different from a peasant—and stared blankly at the scene before him. Fear rose, yet the knowledge and power flooding his mind entranced him.

"Lower over upper…" He chewed on the old Warring States tales he'd heard, letting the stench of blood fill his nose.

Quietly, as the knowledge in his mind instructed, he prayed. One by one, the corpses turned to dust. He wrapped the items in scattered clothes and hid them beneath the tatami's hollow. He stepped out of the house—the door now splintered open.

Whether by coincidence or not, at that moment his gaze turned toward the center of Uota City. There, so prosperous, so distant. Yet even though he'd lived near Uota Bay his whole life, for the first time he felt—impossibly, terrifyingly—how close it was.

He seized the fish spear, tore a strip of cloth, tied it around his head, and walked toward it.

With every step, his form changed: the hunched, shuffling gait of a fisherman straightened into proud, powerful strides; his breath grew long, rhythmic; his movements subtly refined.

And within him, a force began to flow—slowly, steadily…

Leaving the village, he saw fishermen dressed like him, yet resembling samurai. On the road, laborers exiting factories looked like samurai. Entering the city, he saw porters, carters, servants—all like samurai.

Passing a shop he'd never entered, he caught his reflection in a glass display window.

Without realizing it, he now looked like a samurai too.

(End of Chapter)