Chapter 639: , the Stairway to the Outer Heavens!

PS: I'm home. This is the final chapter of the recent period—a combined 5,200-word super chapter. Starting tomorrow, I will officially resume two updates per day and gradually make up for the previously owed three updates (or is it two updates for those who come?).

PS2: The trip to East Bai was truly a once-in-a-century dream. The only regret is not visiting Harbin, but it was simply too cold—snowfall gave me a freezing cold. If I were to go to Harbin again, the young master's life would likely be forfeited there. Regret~

Kansai, Osaka—deep underground beneath the headquarters of the Unification Church, the core laboratory.

This place is not like an evil lair, but more like a fusion of an extremely rational yet anomalously chaotic top-tier research institution and an archaeological warehouse. One wall is lined with workbenches covered in precision measuring instruments; the other is piled high with ancient stone tablets, twisted metal relics, and tissue samples soaked in special solutions—indescribable, unnameable specimens.

The air carries a mix of ozone, old books, and a cloyingly sweet, nauseating scent from burning spices.

Anbei Masomi stands at the center of the laboratory, sleeves of his white robe rolled up, revealing pale, slender arms.

Before him lies a complex, dizzying ritual array composed of copper wires, crystal fragments, animal bones inlaid with runes, and several still-faintly beating hearts emitting a ghostly glow (source unknown). Suspended at the array's center is a small, constantly twisting dark mass, struggling to break free from some unseen bond—like a miniature spatial rift.

Yet now, this darkness emits unstable crackling sounds; its light rapidly dims and collapses, finally vanishing with a soft "puff," leaving only a faint odor in the air, reminiscent of burnt hair.

Anbei Masomi stands motionless.

He does not shout, nor does he throw things. He simply removes his glasses slowly, very slowly, and presses his fingertips firmly against the bridge of his nose.

A deep, soul-level exhaustion and despair replace his usual gentle, detached demeanor. The eyes behind the lenses lose focus slightly, gazing at the failed remnants, as if beholding a futile hundred-year endeavor of his own.

Anbei Masomi believes that to leave this world, he must construct a "ladder"—an energy core powerful enough to tear through the world's barriers.

He plans to hold a grand ritual deep underground in Umeda, Osaka, to open the gate to Takamagahara, even to rend the veil of the Logic Tide, seeking a response and return from the old gods.

Yet, for one such as him—a "new god" who can only become so by relying on the power of the old gods—how difficult it is to break through the Logic Tide set by the last old god!

"Still not right————" he murmurs hoarsely, "The resonance frequency of the 'ladder' can never synchronize with the void's echo"—is it the anguished purity of the anchor material insufficient? Or, when calculating coordinates, did we overlook this world's subtle axial 'sigh' deviation?"

At this moment, the laboratory's heavy lead door slides open a crack.

His assistant enters cautiously; the crystallized parts of her face seem more extensive than last time, glowing faintly in the dim light. She senses the low pressure in the room, her voice more careful.

"Your Lordship, I apologize for the disturbance. There is— a piece of secular news from Tokyo."

"Speak." Anbei Masomi's attention remains fixed on the experiment before him.

"The Uesugi clan of Yonezawa, whom we monitor— that one— called the ace of the Metropolitan Police and the final line of defense, who has repeatedly used his special abilities and influence to block our entry into Kantou, Uesugi Muneyoshi— will hold his wedding in three days at the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo."

She pauses, her tone carrying a faint, probing chill.

"This is a moment when his social ties are concentrated and his guard may be lax. Should we arrange a diversionary blessing"—as a gift? Perhaps we could make his wedding"—unforgettable! Especially unforgettable!"

Anbei Masomi does not respond immediately; he keeps his focus on the experiment.

Only after confirming that this high school student's entire spiritual power has been exhausted does he slowly turn, adjust his glasses. His face shows no expected chill or calculation, but rather a near-flat helplessness—gentleness.

He gently shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in an extremely faint, genuine arc: "Gui, how long have you followed me?"

「」

"—Sixteen years ago, you awakened me from despair on the street."

"Then you should begin to understand some deeper truths. What are we pursuing?" Anbei Masomi asks gently.

"To return to the Whole, to transcend this flawed world." The female assistant replies without hesitation.

Anbei Masomi nods: "Correct. Then, Uesugi Muneyoshi— that stubborn youth clinging to family honor and outdated morality— what is he, fundamentally? Is he an enemy of the Whole?"

The female assistant hesitates: "But he has always obstructed us!"

Anbei Masomi smiles, continuing to shake his head: "He simply has not yet seen the truth of this world. He is deeply worldly, believing in the ancestral spirits and the old gods' teachings of Uesugi Kenshin, trying to maintain order and justice within the framework of old rules."

His stance, his hostility, stems from fear and ignorance—but this very persistence—how precious! In this muddled, confused world, to possess such clarity—even if it is a mistaken belief—and to act upon it, is rare. He and we are alike: both 'divergents' who do not fit into this mundane world. He chooses to turn back and embrace illusion; we choose to move forward.

"He abuses his inner-world power merely for vulgar justice, his power diminishing every second, while my experimental subjects are endless and inexhaustible."

He walks to a nearby sink, calmly washing ritual dust from his hands, voice calm and penetrating: "His marriage is, in this illusory world, the enactment of his belief, seeking connection and continuity—a significant rite. On his joyous day, shall we cause trouble?"

Anbei Masomi turns to the female assistant, his eyes clear, devoid of any malice, only a scholar-like clarity: "What meaning is there in clinging to appearances and illusions? When did the value of our time, the purpose of our experiments, fall to needing to destroy another lonely soul's pivotal moment to gain pitiful satisfaction?"

The female assistant is utterly stunned: "—It is— it is my foolishness. Please, Lord, forgive me."

Anbei Masomi wipes his hands, shakes his head: "No need. Just remember: our gaze should always turn toward the stars, not the reflections in the mud. Send Uesugi a fitting gift—anonymous. A piece— an antique painting or calligraphy with no trace of power. Consider it— a token of respect for a worthy 'fellow traveler.'"

He waves his hand, signaling Gui may leave.

His attention has fully returned to his own dilemma. Gazing at yet another failed experiment, he murmurs: "Perhaps I've always been going in the wrong direction? Does the 'ladder' not need to be built entirely from pain and fear? A sufficiently powerful, voluntary bond"—no, not enough—human bonds are too fragile—but if it were a bond of gods"? Or—

A guided, enhanced, collective cognitive focus directed toward the City of Gods"?

"If we cannot directly build the ladder—then, could we—pry open" a door? When enough consciousness, under specific rules" and symbols", simultaneously gazes and longs for the same nonexistent place"—would that place's shadow" produce even a faint echo" in this flawed world? Even—a brief overlap"?

"Then tear open the Logic Tide? Let me gain a brief chance to commune with the great old gods?"

He walks to the desk, begins writing and calculating rapidly, immersed in the next wave of mad imaginings toward the void.

The gift for Uesugi, in his heart, has become as insignificant as the dust outside the window.

Matters unrelated to the City of Gods, the void, the inner world, or new and old gods—however they may be—are utterly meaningless.

As long as all things may return to unity and glimpse the truth of the void, he would even sacrifice himself without hesitation.

To offer oneself to the Way—so be it.

Third year of the Uesugi Era, November 15, Tokyo, Imperial Hotel.

The Tokyo Imperial Hotel—this legendary establishment standing beside the Imperial Palace, surviving the Great Kantou Earthquake and wartime fires—on the morning of July 15th, appears especially tranquil.

No festive lights or banners, no grand posters—only the newly added, elegant door flags on either side of the main entrance, embroidered with deep green and gold thread in a delicate "bamboo sparrow" pattern, fluttering gently in the breeze, signaling to the informed that today is different.

Yet beneath this surface calm lies a precision operation, as intricate as the inner gears of a clock.

From 5 a. m., plainclothes security officers with tiny earpieces have quietly taken position at key points throughout the hotel.

At the parking lot entrance, officers disguised as attendants use hidden scanners to inspect the undercarriage and license plates of every entering vehicle; in the rear alley, patrol cars of the Metropolitan Police Mobile Unit lie low, windows covered with dark film; on rooftop vantage points, sniper observation teams are in place, their view covering all hotel entrances/exits and surrounding streets.

Every guest on the list has undergone two or more cross-background checks by the public security system; anyone with even the slightest ties to extremist—

groups or criminal organizations has been politely but firmly refused.

Inside the hotel, the atmosphere is equally cautious and efficient.

The banquet department manager personally oversees all staff serving the Peony Hall and adjacent areas today—employees with over five years' tenure and clean records, core personnel who have received additional security briefings. Flowers, ingredients, and alcohol entering the hotel are all inspected by designated personnel.

Even the instrument cases of the old Kyoto band "Aiyoiyo Mother Chicken" members are required to be uniformly opened and inspected in the lounge.

This is an invisible battle waged under the banner of "absolute security."

The wedding of the Superintendent General's daughter absolutely cannot have any slip-ups!

In the Peony Hall, the final preparations are currently underway.

Mrs. Watanabe, Watanabe Michiko, is fully responsible for the wedding's visual design on her side, her ingenuity is admirable.

The hall's main color scheme is not the traditional red and gold, but instead uses the moss green of "bamboo" and the ochre of "sparrow" from the Uesugi family crest, along with a pale gold symbolizing the history of the peerage.

Countless crystal bead curtains hang from the ceiling, and under the light, they refract like a fine rain in a bamboo grove. The floral arrangement at the center of each dining table is not Western-style roses and lilies, but uses bamboo tubes as vessels, holding variously postured gentians (the "Vaisravana" element beloved by Uesugi Kenshin), platycodons (a flower commonly used in samurai family crests), and several slender sparrow-marked bamboos, interspersed with small gold sparrow decorations.

The napkins are folded in a way that, when unfolded, subtly reveals a bamboo leaf shape, and the menu covers are stamped with a raised bamboo-sparrow crest.

"The Watanabe family this time has truly pushed the 'Uesugi' elements to the extreme." A veteran employee in charge of floral arrangements at the Tokyo Imperial Hotel whispered to a colleague: "Hey, look at this scale—those who don't know would still think it's the Uesugi family's eldest son's wedding."

"Isn't that right," another senior staff member glanced around: "Since Watanabe Director took over more than three years ago, he's been spring wind proud and successful, while the Yonezawa Uesugi 'Dragon of Echigo' Uesugi Kenshin, the old peerage feudal lord baron family's elegance, is far more noble-sounding than just 'Watanabe.' This counts as————the highest standard of 'shell listing'?"

Watanabe Eiji is indeed proud.

Our Superintendent General arrived early this morning, standing in the center of the Peony Hall where no guests have yet arrived, hands behind his back, scrutinizing every detail.

He whispered to his secretary beside him: "Has the Uesugi family head seen these and said nothing?"

"The Uesugi family head merely gave a slight nod, saying 'Thank you for your trouble.'" The secretary replied respectfully.

Watanabe Eiji smiled satisfactorily.

What he wanted was exactly this effect—fully respecting the in-laws' status while also deeply imprinting this wedding with the mark of "the Uesugi returning to the core social circle and forming a strong alliance with the Watanabe family."

This is the stepping stone for Watanabe to reach the heavens!

Those political and financial magnates attending the ceremony will naturally read the message behind these details.

I am also Uesugi! I am Uesugi!

No, I should say.

I am the true Uesugi!!!

In the morning, the Uesugi family also arrived.

In the luxurious suite reserved for both families on the hotel's top floor, Uesugi Kuninori stood alone by the window, looking down at the orderly preparations below.

He still wore his formal kimono outer jacket, his spine straight, but if observed closely, one would notice his hand holding the teacup, the joints of his fingers slightly whitening.

His eldest grandson, Uesugi Sadanori, should also be preparing somewhere in the hotel at this moment.

As the elder brother of Sōsetsu, Uesugi Sadanori must attend today, fulfilling the role of eldest grandson and future family head.

But Grandfather knows, Uesugi Sadanori's arrival itself requires tremendous effort—severe vegetative nervous disorder has left Chitokumaru long in a state of anxiety, insomnia, and unexplained bodily pain, requiring medication to cope with crowds; the treatment effects these past months have been not great, merely barely alleviating Uesugi Sadanori's neurasthenia, but not truly solving his issue of psychological pressure exploding when his wife approaches, necessitating the completion of a major project before he can have any physiological response on the night of release, making intimacy very difficult and causing Uesugi Sadanori great pain.

How could he have offspring under such circumstances?

Grandfather sighed, thinking the brutal competition in academia and the family's invisible expectations ultimately crushed this originally talented eldest son, rendering the marital relationship nominal but dead, let alone offspring.

Uesugi Kuninori's gaze turned toward the distant forest of skyscrapers, his eyes holding a faint, hard-to-detect fatigue and heaviness.

Could the Uesugi family's hundreds of years of inheritance possibly face the hidden worry of weakened bloodline at the peak of academic glory?

Uesugi Sadanori's condition is a deeply guarded secret within the family; the younger grandson Sōsetsu, sent away, is theoretically already a Watanabe, but he retains the Uesugi surname, and his children will also bear the Uesugi name——————

This may be an arrangement of twisted fate, another possibility for the Uesugi family to continue in this era; Uesugi Kuninori never spoke it aloud, but he tacitly permitted or even facilitated the Watanabe's appropriation of the Uesugi family name—perhaps this is the deeper reason.

Yukimatsumaru's independence, strength, and health form a stark contrast to Chitokumaru's fragility; the family's future may need to rely more on this "outsider" grandson.

A knocking sound came from outside the door; it was Uesugi Yūken's careful voice: "Father, it's almost time—time to change clothes."

Uesugi Kuninori withdrew his gaze, adjusted his collar slightly, and restored his usual dignity: "Come in."

In short, first marry off Yukimatsumaru (big fog), send her out—this is a settled matter; as for how to later sneak this "Uesugi" back, that's for later consideration!

Anyway, I'm retiring next year, and Watanabe Eiji is busy, so there are plenty of ways!

Uesugi Kuninori inwardly calculated how many children Minami's belly could hold, and couldn't help but think again: if Ikeda Erena were pure-blooded Japanese, that would be great—then one look and she could bear five!

Meanwhile, in a temporarily established security command center on the hotel's underground level two, the atmosphere was like that of a war command post.

Dozens of monitor screens displayed real-time footage of every corner inside and outside the hotel, and radio communications were low and concise.

Chief Nango Yui of the Special Mission Unit was reporting the final update to Minami: "————All staff have re-verified, no abnormalities. Guest channels are divided, with VIP channels fully guided by our personnel."

"Air monitoring and metal detection doors are in place. Emergency teams are on standby respectively on the second floor, in the underground parking lot, and in adjacent buildings. The sniper team reports clear vision, no abnormalities. Public Security says, they've monitored several persons of interest", today all showed no abnormal approach movements."

Minami Ojou-sama today has already changed into the undergarment layer of the white pure kimono, wearing a simple morning robe over it, but her gaze remains as sharp as that of a Police Management Officer.

She carefully examined the monitor feeds of several key positions, especially the hotel's several entrances and exits and the corridor outside the Peony Hall.

"What about the media?"

"Exactly as required, only NHK, Fuji TV, and Tohoku Broadcasting are allowed to film in designated outdoor areas of the hotel, strictly prohibited from entering. All photo releases must first be reviewed by the Metropolitan Police Department's Public Relations Division."

"Food safety?"

"From procurement to cooking, everything is supervised by our personnel, with samples retained for inspection."

Minami Ojou-sama nodded, her gaze falling on one of the screens—it was the hotel's main entrance, where Uesugi Sōsetsu's motorcade should arrive soon.

Her fingertips twitched slightly, but her voice remained steady: "Thank you all. After today, I'll treat everyone to drinks."

"Management Officer, you are today's bride." Nango Yui rarely showed a hint of a smile: "Leave security to us. Please be sure to enjoy today."

Minami also smiled, that smile carrying a touch of the bride's warmth: "Yes. Thank you."

"Rest assured, Management Officer, leave it all to us!" Okada Masayoshi even vowed: "Absolutely nothing will happen, just like in that German TV drama—three thousand soldiers, fighting to the last moment, committing seppuku to return to heaven!"