Chapter 91: The Japanese Who Are Crazy to Eat Soil (Happy New Year!)

Being stared at by Xiang Cimu and Master Kūkai, Tsuchimikado Natsumi felt at a loss.

These were two world-shattering figures—if she performed poorly, would they grow displeased and wipe out her entire family…?

The next moment.

Like a girl rushing to school and fearing she’d be late, she hurriedly bowed to Master Kūkai and Xiang Cimu.

In Japan, the Japanese place great emphasis on etiquette, which comes in many forms: juniors toward seniors, newcomers toward company veterans, and so on.

Immediately afterward, under countless girls’ envious, jealous, and resentful gazes, Xiang Cimu gave a faint smile back to Tsuchimikado Natsumi.

“Kūkai, I hope we may meet again in the future.”

After resolving the matter of the Phantom Demon Realm, Xiang Cimu had no intention of staying long; he turned to leave, and as he went, he softly spoke to Master Kūkai.

“Amitabha.”

Master Kūkai clasped his hands together, returning the smile, but offered no reply—as if unwilling to make any promise about an uncertain future.

Demon light rippled, radiance flowed gently.

Xiang Cimu’s figure, like a reflection in water, rippled and vanished, as if he had never been there.

Then, Tsuchimikado Natsumi also departed.

But she did not leave alone; after Master Kūkai spoke a few words, the two left together.

Buddhist light blossomed; Master Kūkai carried Tsuchimikado Natsumi, as if treading upon the Great Dao or soaring through the heavens, ethereal and boundless, and in a few blinks, vanished in one direction.

Watching them depart, Director Takahashi remained stunned for a long time.

Not long after.

“Quick, quickly record every single person who was revived—I want their most trusted data: identity, medical records, everything—I need it all!”

Director Takahashi bellowed, frantic and urgent.

Only when he snapped out of it did he remember one thing.

Revival!

Throughout history, across all nations, no human has ever been free from longing for resurrection and immortality; the ultimate goal of humanity’s medical research has always been perfect health and eternal life.

Though Master Kūkai had left, he had revived a thousand people—these thousand individuals were the breakthrough to the secret of revival.

Perhaps, by studying them, we could uncover the secrets of the transcendent, beyond even the secret of revival.

If we could uncover this secret, Japan would leap to become the world’s strongest nation, without question.

Meanwhile.

In Tokyo, Japan, the Diet.

Clearly, the Prime Minister and the Cabinet shared Director Takahashi’s thoughts, each frantically issuing orders.

“Deploy all military and police forces in Higashiozu to surround the battlefield zone—I want every inch sealed off, not a single person allowed in, not even a fly!”

“Send all scientific collectors there to gather soil and plants—I want them to analyze the composition of those plants and soil in the fastest time possible.”

“Hurry, prepare a press conference—I will hold one to explain the Higashiozu incident.”

“Deploy troops immediately and issue the highest-order directive: forbid anyone from touching any plant, soil, or grass—anyone caught taking even a single blade will be arrested on the spot.”

“Send the fastest helicopters immediately—bring all the scientists there, and have the infrastructure department set up a research institute on-site.”

“Quickly notify Director Takahashi in Higashiozu—have his team search for remnants of the six-eyed demon! Blood, hair, anything—preserve them at all costs.”

“None of the revived individuals are to be allowed to leave—temporarily restrict their international travel.”

…

They issued orders chaotically, eyes bloodshot, gaze never leaving the screen showing the Higashiozu battlefield zone.

This battlefield zone was no longer a nightmare, no longer despair.

It was hope—it was Japan’s future, the path to supreme power and wealth.

“No, I must go to the scene.” The Prime Minister rose too abruptly, knocking over his chair.

Then he ordered a Cabinet minister.

“If America tries to contact me, say I’m unavailable. If they want to discuss Higashiozu, make up your own excuse to refuse.”

Upon hearing this, the Cabinet minister, who had just begun to step forward to join him, froze mid-motion, his mouth twitching violently—he wanted to curse.

Meanwhile.

Across the nation, people burst from their homes, eyes blazing with fanaticism, wild and frenzied.

Especially the citizens of Tokyo—they had nearly gone mad, swarming toward Higashiozu like a swarm of hornets.

“Damn! Those grasses!”

Near Higashiozu, a middle-schooler with otaku delusions donned a long robe and black jacket, mounted his bicycle he’d named “Fujin,” and pedaled furiously, using every ounce of strength, speeding like the wind.

Along the way, he encountered many others.

Men and women, old and young—all without exception—were rushing toward Higashiozu, muttering the same words as the otaku boy.

“Grass! I want grass!”

They thought exactly like the otaku boy: they wanted the grass that had been revived by Master Kūkai’s “Amitabha” in the battlefield zone.

No wonder they were insane.

The transcendent had always existed only in human fantasy—the pursuit of illusion, the dream they longed for; once one became transcendent, wealth and power would be within easy reach.

After witnessing Master Kūkai’s power, everyone’s longing for the transcendent grew even fiercer, more feverish.

This was no longer about wealth or power—it was the path to immortality, the road to godhood.

Though Master Kūkai and Xiang Cimu had left, that didn’t mean hope was gone—the grass, plants, flowers, and even the healed soil of the battlefield were hope, the possibility of transcendence.

These plants and soil were no ordinary matter—they were created by Master Kūkai’s supreme power, forged from the six-eyed demon’s energy.

Therefore, these plants and soil must be extraordinary, possibly containing special power—perhaps even a single bite could grant transcendence.

Even if you didn’t eat them, just plucking a few flowers to take home and inhaling their scent might extend your lifespan.

In short, to everyone, these plants and soil were extraordinary—even if they offered no transcendence or longevity, selling them would surely attract collectors.

These were plants and soil grown by transcendent power—immensely valuable as collectibles.

Madness.

Frenzy.

The citizens of Tokyo had gone mad, all desperate to claim a share.

This was an unprecedented scene.

Countless Japanese wanted to eat soil, eat grass…

……

Drip—

Car horns blared incessantly.

Streets and highways across Tokyo were jammed with vehicles, paralyzing all traffic in the city.

Not only that.

In Setagaya Ward, Tokyo.

This was a residential area for Japan’s wealthy; now, private helicopters lifted into the sky, flying toward Higashiozu.

As those who had enjoyed wealth, luxury, and the thrill of power, they were obsessed with money and authority—and naturally valued life above all else, terrified of dying young, craving more time to savor wealth and power.

Now, seeing Master Kūkai, the monk from a thousand years ago, and witnessing his revival of a thousand people—how could they not go mad? This was precisely what they had dreamed of.

……