Chapter 855: , Yokohama Dehua Street!

Uesugi Muneyuki walked along Dehua Street, feeling a certain familiar aura.

For a moment, his vision blurred, as if he had returned to some distant past—his father had just gotten off work, his mother was cooking rice, the pressure cooker was simmering mung bean porridge, his father glanced at the newspaper and softly hummed, "The evening wind blows over Poyang Lake~," his mother busily stir-fried vegetables, while he stood nearby, secretly eating the actually unappetizing salted duck and cured meat, and casually told his mother about his day at school—how the teacher was, how his desk mate was.

But all of this can no longer be reclaimed.

"Wow, so many foreigners!" Date Nagamune said, both excited and wary: "Expel them! Expel them!

Victory and the power of giants belong to the Erdian people! Across the sea lies the enemy!"

"TMD, the Jomon people also came from across the sea." Uesugi Muneyuki retorted.

"No, that's not the same!" Date Nagamune shook his head.

"The Taiho Code and the current Rank Twelve Crown also came from across the sea, including Buddhism and many other things—all came from over there." Uesugi Muneyuki laughed and shook his head: "Didn't Marxist classics say that the concept of race is artificially constructed, a conspiracy of capitalism?"

"Heh, to them, French, British, German, even Russian people are naturally white-skinned, and can intermarry—they stand up and say they don't get backaches! But we're not the same!" Date Nagamune grew angry: "Only we yellow-skinned people are allowed to marry white-skinned people, but white-skinned people are not allowed to marry women of our Yamato ethnicity!"

"Imperial Way Faction, right?" Uesugi Muneyuki couldn't help but laugh even more: "Forget the Imperial Way Faction—it's now thoroughly declined, isn't it just because Japanese women don't want to bear children for Japanese men? Of course you could go find Southeast Asians or even Black people, but are the children you have with Southeast Asians still considered Japanese? Marrying a Black-skinned person—what kind of Imperial Way Faction are you then?"

"#！！！" Date Nagamune fell silent, thinking for a long while, then suddenly regained confidence: "I have Akane-chan! That's enough!"

"Indeed." Uesugi Muneyuki said nothing on this point—at least Date Nagamune had learned to love specific people, rather than loving or hating abstract ideals.

By now, it was noon. Uesugi Muneyuki and Date Nagamune saw that the several shops of the violent group were closed—they seemed to operate only in the evening and for late-night snacks—so they casually picked a shop: Moshi Chicken Pot.

"Wow, you're that Uesugi Muneyuki, right?" The boss was a bald little old man. Upon seeing Uesugi Muneyuki arrive, he wore a look of disdain: "You came to eat? You can eat my chicken pot if you want, but if you haven't eaten, I'll make you something to eat—but don't make a video, I'm just an old couple, we can't keep up!"

"Alright, alright, alright~" Uesugi Muneyuki nodded.

The two then sat down to eat a meal—coming from the back door, the Dehua pot base and free-range castrated chicken, eaten smoothly and slowly licked, deeply satisfying.

Uesugi Muneyuki watched the boss's busy back view, fell silent for a moment.

It is well known that East Germans large-mindedly went overseas to work; this event even predated the Republic of China era, so Dehua Streets exist all over the world—nothing surprising about that.

The difference lies in that, perhaps the second generation of immigrants in Munich and Frankfurt no longer speak German, but due to many places in East Germany having strong clan and hometown sentiments, it can generally be maintained for up to three generations.

And from a certain angle, these overseas workers can be said to have saved the lives of East Germans' relatives at home.

After World War II, East Germany actually derived at least 50% of its foreign exchange income from "remittances"—these large numbers of East German overseas workers would send their wages back as foreign exchange to their families domestically, and for East Germany, which was economically extremely difficult at the time, this was extraordinarily precious foreign exchange income.

And naturally, not a single cent of this foreign exchange would reach the hands of domestic families; however, to speak more objectively and fairly, it was not entirely like the Soviet Union, where everything was siphoned off—back then, East Germany would convert remittances into "foreign exchange vouchers" based on the remittance ratio and give them to these workers' families, at a ratio roughly around 10:1 to 10:2 of the actual exchange rate, while East German domestic relatives could use these vouchers to buy then-very-precious grain, oil, rice, flour, even sugar, tobacco, and alcohol—this, in that era of excessive grain harvest leading to overindulgence, where many people suffered from edema or even burst from overeating, these relatives survived precisely by this means.

And the Spiers were also somewhat contradictory toward these overseas workers—fighting too fiercely would cause remittances to plummet, drawing Berlin's attention and emphasizing kind treatment of overseas workers to generate more remittances; fighting not fiercely enough would fail to take everything from them—overall, it was just a cyclical pattern of beating and soothing, a sustainable overexploitation—but at least most of these relatives thus survived, even retaining part of their old homes and property, and we must also thank these overseas workers' relatives, whose existence essentially embodies a talisman and united front value—back then, even divorce was not permitted for overseas relatives who had been separated for many years.

But with the fall of the Berlin Wall and the gradual opening of passports and work visas for German reunification, even more East Germans, due to proximity, went to Japan to work.

At that time, Japan had actually already entered the era of bursting bubble economy and nationwide depression—jobs were hard to find and wages were far worse than before—but for East Germans, Japan was simply littered with gold!

Working 996ICU-style, crazy overtime for one month could earn 300,000 yen! At the time, equivalent to 22,000 German marks!

And at that time, there were extremists who could live on just 50,000 yen a month, or normally 150,000 yen, sending 150,000 yen home—equivalent to remitting 10,000 marks a month!

That was 10,000 marks around the year 2000! Back then, even a house in the pressured state cost only 2,000 marks per square meter!

Many places in Changle Po Qing sent overseas workers for a few years, and an entire four-story self-built building would be erected.

But now the times have changed, adult.

Going to Japan to work is no longer an advantage—it's even become a disadvantage.

Moreover, going to Japan to work still has a very classic paradox: the high-end talent Japan truly wants won't come to you—just take an example: Japan's mid-level financial practitioners of equivalent rank earn about 10 million yen annually, and must follow the seniority system to accumulate experience, while the corresponding mid-level Goldman Sachs in the U. S. generally earns 150,000–180,000 U. S. dollars.

And those who truly want to go to Japan to work—such as Southeast Asians, Indians, and others from other countries—Japan doesn't really want them either; only in recent years has it slightly relaxed some restrictions.

The people you want don't come; the ones who come, you don't want.

Nowadays, those who still go to Japan to work are merely seeking stability, plus they like Japan's environment where privacy isn't probed and no need to deal with massive social interaction—the so-called paradise for people.

Uesugi Muneyuki let out a long sigh.

Who decides rise and fall? Prosperity and decline—surely there must be some basis?

A page of wind and clouds scattered, ah ah ah~

But it's just the great trend of history and objective laws—no one can change it.

Yokohama Dehua Street, afternoon.

After finishing this chicken pot, they finally waited for the door to open—when the glass door of that Dehua cuisine restaurant was pushed open, the wind chime hanging on the door frame rang out with a clear sound.

The wind chime was made of bamboo, its sound more muffled than copper's, but in the empty shop it was still clear enough to be piercing.

The boss stood behind the counter, his apron stained with a mixture of soy sauce and flour.

He glanced at the police handbook Uesugi Muneyuki pushed over, did not reach out to take it, merely lowered his head and looked at it for a few seconds.

Uesugi Muneyuki.

Uesugi Muneyuki?

Uesugi Muneyuki!!!

——————————

His expression didn't change, but his right hand moved from the countertop down to the position below the counter where a knife or stick is usually kept.

"What would you two like to eat?" The boss's voice was very calm, but that calmness was deliberately maintained.

Uesugi Muneyuki took back the handbook, put it in his pocket. "Not eating. Looking for someone. Cao Liangming. You should know him."

The boss's right hand paused on the counter below.

He lifted his head, as light shifted from Uesugi Muneyuki's face to Date Nagamune's face, then from Date Nagamune's face to the doorway.

At the doorway, two people had appeared at some point. One stood outside the glass door, wearing a black jacket, hands in pockets, face showing no expression.

The other walked out from the direction of the back kitchen, holding a Zwilling kitchen knife, blade pointing down, gripped in the palm like holding a dagger.

A baseball bat leaned against the wall beside the cash register, picked up by a third person.

That person was in his early thirties, had a buzz cut, and the tattoo on his neck extended from the collar to the earlobe.

He didn't speak, merely tapped the baseball bat lightly in his palm.

The boss came out from behind the counter.

His gait was not that of a chef's step—he walked with a low center of gravity, steps heavy and steady, each step firmly planted before moving to the next, clearly trained in martial arts, he stood between the counter and the first dining table, blocking the path forward for Uesugi Muneyuki and Date Nagamune.

"Two officers, what do you want with Cao Liangming? That person hasn't appeared on this street in over a decade."

"We are here to inquire about — " Date Nagamune immediately answered habitually in Japanese, but the moment he spoke, his bearing as a former Self-Defense Officer was exposed.

The atmosphere in the shop shifted abruptly; several German expatriates immediately surrounded him, knife light gleaming, and the baseball bat was wrenched from its original purpose, becoming a tool for cracking skulls.

Uesugi Muneyuki immediately waved his hand to signal Date Nagamune to be silent, he pondered, then spoke.

"Yibao, Yibo means no harm, Cao Liangming is already dead. Yibo only wants to clarify what exactly happened back then?"

"How did he become a traitor?"

"???"

"!!!"

"???!!!!"

Everyone was stunned speechless.

Am I mentally unbalanced? Or is it that Uesugi Kenshin actually has German blood?!

Is the legitimate Echigo forcing the state?!???

The boss's finger twitched slightly.

His eyes narrowed, Uesugi Muneyuki, this traffic king, actually speaks Echigo dialect?!???

In that instant, the air in the shop shifted subtly; the young man at the door holding a baseball bat lowered it somewhat, and the one at the back kitchen door holding a Zwilling knife flipped it in his palm, blade facing down.

The boss pondered for a long time, then turned sideways and tilted his head slightly toward the back kitchen.

"Come in to speak."

"Uesugi Chief?!" Date Nagamune was stunned, he grabbed Uesugi Muneyuki's sleeve: "Uesugi Chief, do you really speak German?"

"No mistake, I am the authentic Dehua who studied in Germany." Uesugi Muneyuki smiled faintly: "Ahoho!"

"Well, no delay, let's see what happens next."