Chapter 63

Thinking this, they all glared at Tsumuraimon Kenji, teeth clenched.

Tsumuraimon Kenji!

Look at what you’ve done.

Look at how you’ve spoiled your own granddaughter.

Regarding Takahashi’s suspected suspicions, they believed he must have guessed that Shinto and Buddhism possessed the extraordinary, otherwise Tsumuraimon Xia Mei wouldn’t have the nerve to defy him.

But this was merely their guess at Takahashi’s mindset—it didn’t reflect their view of Tsumuraimon Xia Mei.

In their eyes, Tsumuraimon Xia Mei dared to defy Takahashi not because of supernatural backing, but because she was spoiled.

As the saying goes: raise sons in poverty, raise daughters in wealth.

For girls, especially those from wealthy families, each is doted on like a precious princess.

This kind of indulgent upbringing has both good and bad sides: the good is raising a refined lady, the bad is spoiling her into having a princess complex, believing everyone must cater to her, never daring to defy her.

Tsumuraimon Xia Mei is a spoiled little princess.

As the future Guanxi of Atsuta Shrine, she holds her position in high pride; now that Takahashi has defied her so openly, it’s not just disobedience—it’s an insult—and her princess complex erupted instantly.

Feeling the weight of their gazes, Tsumuraimon Kenji opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t think of what to say.

Because all of this was his own doing.

Tsumuraimon Xia Mei’s defiance of Takahashi wasn’t due to a princess complex or being spoiled—it had another reason.

She simply loved Shinto too much.

Tsumuraimon Xia Mei was fanatically devoted to Shinto, and thus would not tolerate anyone trampling on it, no matter how powerful the person.

Imagine someone publicly insulting your family—wouldn’t you be furious?

This is a matter of principle, unrelated to the status of the offender; Takahashi crossed Tsumuraimon Xia Mei’s bottom line.

Sigh.

Tsumuraimon Kenji wore a mournful face, filled with a thousand regrets.

Why did I ever teach Xia Mei about Shinto…

There’s no cure for regret; Tsumuraimon Kenji could only suffer inwardly, helpless, blaming none but himself.

The sins you create, you must bear—even through tears.

“Director Takahashi, please retract your words. I know this is your provocation, but you’ve unintentionally insulted the gods…”

Tsumuraimon Xia Mei paid no heed to the others’ reactions and spoke bluntly.

Clearly, Tsumuraimon Xia Mei understood.

She was sharp—after Takahashi spoke, she immediately realized he was provoking them, and even guessed he likely knew nothing of Shinto or Buddhism, and had insulted them unintentionally.

Yet even so, she still defied Takahashi.

You don’t even understand Shinto or Buddhism, yet you dare use provocation—that’s an even greater insult to Shinto.

Then,

Amid the varied gazes of all present, Tsumuraimon Xia Mei’s melodious voice rang clear as she explained precisely how Takahashi’s words had insulted the gods.

Everyone’s scalp prickled, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

Tsumuraimon Xia Mei was defending Shinto and Buddhism—they should have been pleased—but seeing Takahashi’s expression, they couldn’t muster joy.

At that moment,

“I apologize for my words.”

Takahashi suddenly understood the reason for Tsumuraimon Xia Mei’s anger.

He had spoken carelessly.

The next instant,

Before all eyes, Takahashi apologized, sincerely, showing no trace of resentment.

This wasn’t performative.

In front of a crowd, publicly scolded by a girl, Takahashi didn’t grow angry—he even felt a touch of delight.

His words were meant as provocation, to test for the extraordinary; now, Tsumuraimon Xia Mei’s defiance proved Shinto and Buddhism truly held the extraordinary—otherwise, where did her confidence come from?

Though the reaction from his provocation differed from his expectation, the outcome was positive: it confirmed the existence of the extraordinary.

How could Takahashi be angry? He was thrilled beyond measure.

The Extraordinary Gene Project had taken another step forward.

Seeing Takahashi’s smile, the others turned icy, filled with despair, glaring murderously at Tsumuraimon Kenji.

Tsumuraimon Kenji, you’ve doomed us all!!

Now, the government will surely believe we have the extraordinary.

The crowd was completely trapped by Tsumuraimon Xia Mei’s actions—forced onto the stage, they had no choice but to pretend.

What could they do? They had no option but to fake it and pretend they possessed the extraordinary!

Unbidden, they recalled today’s “File—Kawakawa Yunhu,” the video showing a secret government meeting mentioning human experiments—horrific, inhumane atrocities.

Thinking of it, they shuddered, nearly wetting themselves.

If the government discovers we’ve deceived them, it won’t be just execution—they might, in rage, drag us all into their human experiments…

In an instant, the senior figures from Sensoji, Meiji Shrine, and others exchanged glances and made a decision.

Pretend!

We’ve been faking as shamans for years—pretending before was pretending, pretending now is still pretending, only the audience has grown to include the government. What’s the difference? We’ll just pretend even harder.

Exactly!!

We must pretend to be utterly extraordinary—only then will the government fear us, hesitate to act, and perhaps even grant us more privileges.

The next second,

Cough!

A soft cough.

“The Buddha is compassionate. Namo Amitabha.”

The abbot of Sensoji, Old Monk Siguang, clasped his hands, his earlier panic vanished, replaced by calm, solemn dignity, neither joyful nor sorrowful.

The villa’s lights blazed fiercely, one lamp directly behind Siguang.

Light shone upon him.

From the front, it appeared as if a halo of Buddha-light crowned his head; combined with his solemn, sacred aura, he looked like a monk who had transcended the mortal world.

Almost simultaneously,

As Siguang clasped his hands, before his chant began, every abbot present simultaneously clasped their hands, closed their eyes, calmed their demeanor, and radiated devout, Buddha-like serenity.

“Namo Amitabha.”

This scene was breathtaking.

The most elite abbots of Japan, gathered here, no rehearsal, as if guided by divine Buddhist revelation, they chanted in unison.

“Namo Amitabha.”

Years of chanting had perfected their recitation—their voices serene, tranquil, echoing with peace.

Now,

Not one voice, but dozens of the finest abbots chanting together, their tones layered, amplifying endlessly; each face serene, each posture solemn, radiating profound calm.

Takahashi, already convinced of the extraordinary, saw this scene and subconsciously accepted its authenticity—he truly felt:

These old monks were no ordinary men.

They had attained enlightenment, received the Buddha’s Dharma in the Pure Land, and descended into this world to save all beings.

Takahashi was stunned and elated.

It seemed they no longer intended to hide—and rightly so; after the Atsuta Shrine’s heir had spoken so plainly, further concealment would be absurd. The truth was obvious.

At that moment, Takahashi’s peripheral vision caught something—he froze.

Not only the abbots, but every Guanxi from the major Shinto shrines had also grown solemn, their aura now inscrutable.

Seeing this, Takahashi’s shoulders trembled with excitement.

This secret gathering was the best decision ever—though they wouldn’t submit, at least they had confirmed the extraordinary truly existed.

He never expected them to submit; with the unknown power of the extraordinary, their strength couldn’t be measured, and the state lacked the military force to compel them.

The strong submit to the stronger—it’s natural.

All Takahashi could do now was court them.

He sought only to bring these Shinto shrines and temples’ extraordinary forces into the same camp—nothing more. If so, Japan’s national power would leap to the world’s absolute pinnacle.

Takahashi felt Japan’s future was radiant!

…