In the western part of the city lay the Foreign District.
A strange stench hung thick in the air, and addicts could be seen collapsed along both sides of the street from time to time.
*Clunk.*
The vehicle jolted. Out of the corner of his eye, Lu Zhao caught sight of someone slumping onto the road behind them.
Xu Fang said, "Ran someone over."
Lin Zhiyan replied, "Pay it no mind."
After that brief exchange, the vehicle continued driving normally.
They traveled all the way to Kabukicho. The twenty operatives split into three groups: the firepower team remained on standby in the vehicles, the assault team wandered the streets in plainclothes, and the support team kept watch along the key thoroughfares.
Lu Zhao and Lin Zhiyan stepped out of the car and stood before the arched gateway of Kabukicho. Looking inward, dense rows of signs hung from the buildings flanking both sides.
Fusangese touts spoke in Wu dialects as they solicited passersby, most of their clientele being Hua.
Lin Zhiyan caught the scent of weed drifting on the breeze and could not help but frown.
"Let's keep moving."
Lu Zhao and Lin Zhiyan walked through the clamorous, chaotic Foreign District, virtually indistinguishable in appearance from the crowd around them.
Before the Cataclysm, the middle school he attended had several non-Hua students: one from Fusang, one from Annam, and one from Luzon.
Back then, unless someone went out of their way to bring it up, Lu Zhao had never felt any strong sense of regional division.
The Annamese were foreigners who spoke with a Nanhai West Circuit accent, those from Luzon had Cangwu accents, and the Fusangese spoke with Wu accents.
Only farther out toward the Siamese regions did the differences become truly pronounced.
Language and writing had always been matters of power throughout history. The East, never having been reshaped by outside civilizations, continued to rely on Standard Speech through the sheer inertia of history.
The Federation's integration of the East was likewise a product of historical inertia.
For the peripheral regions, the power of the Central Plains dynasties was like the tide: it might recede at times, but one day it would always return.
A decade after the Cataclysm, Central Plains Standard Speech had become the sole universal language. Other ethnic tongues might have survived, but even among their own peoples, they were no longer dominant.
"Hey handsome, want to come upstairs and have some fun?"
A heavily made-up *wakashu* stepped in front of Lu Zhao, his gaze sticking to Lu Zhao's face like a glob of mud.
In Kabukicho, female prostitutes were known as *yūjo*, male prostitutes dressed as women were called *wakashu*, and those who did not dress up were called *yarō*.
Each catered to a different demographic.
"No, thank you."
Lu Zhao stepped around him, but before he had walked more than two paces, another exquisitely made-up *wakashu* leaned in close. This one was far more refined than the streetwalkers.
In a soft, cooing voice, he said, "Young master, won't you come up and sit for a while? Our rates are very reasonable, and first-time guests get a discount."
A chill ran down Lu Zhao's spine, and he shoved the man away.
"*Pfft...*"
Beside him, Lin Zhiyan let out a faint chuckle. Rather than just watching the show, she stepped forward, hooked her arm through Lu Zhao's, and pulled him along.
Glancing at Lu Zhao's stiff expression, she smiled. "Senior, just think of it as part of the mission and let me take advantage of you a little."
The corner of Lu Zhao's mouth twitched. "The honor is all mine."
In an instant, the many leering eyes vanished.
Once they cleared the gauntlet of pimps, the surrounding storefronts shifted from the flesh trade to billiard halls, also referred to in Nanhai West Circuit as ball houses.
Lin Zhiyan looked around curiously, as if seeing such a place for the first time, or perhaps having heard of them for ages.
"Let's go inside and take a look."
Releasing Lu Zhao, she took the lead and stepped into the pool hall.
Lu Zhao began to suspect she was merely out to have fun, while he had been reduced to the Lin family heiress's bodyguard.
He followed her inside and immediately felt several gazes turn their way.
One came from the girl behind the counter, another from the bouncers watching the floor, and a third from a group of fresh-faced youths with bleached yellow hair.
The largest gang in Nanhai West Circuit was known as the Tong Gang, a syndicate composed of adolescents. The organization was exceedingly loose, functioning essentially as a label that any street hoodlum could claim for themselves.
Many Hua dropouts idling about ended up joining the Tong Gang.
Because they were minors, they were often the most vicious and heedless of consequences.
The blond leader, dangling a cigarette from his lips, ambled toward Lin Zhiyan with a swagger.
With a mere thought from Lu Zhao, a white worm invisible to the naked eye shot toward the blond youth and sank straight between his eyes.
*Thud!*
The blond collapsed instantly, his head slamming against a pool table as blood pooled onto the floor.
The older bouncers guarding the premises had sharper eyes. Sizing up the situation, they swiftly ordered their men to throw the Tong Gang members out.
Lin Zhiyan acted as if she had not even noticed the brief commotion. She picked up a cue stick and attempted to strike a ball, mimicking the other players.
Standing nearby, Lu Zhao said quietly, "Team Leader Lin, acting like this has already exposed us."
"Do you really think we could stay hidden?"
Lin Zhiyan leaned over the table to strike a ball, her graceful figure on full display before him.
"If I were truly here to search for someone, I wouldn't have brought you along, Senior. Your looks aren't suited for undercover work."
"In this day and age, no organization can stand against the Federation in any form. Whether it's the Greenwood or street gangs, whether beyond our borders or within them, they are nothing more than offshoots of certain factions inside the Federation."
"All struggles, all conflicts, boil down to—"
*Clack!*
The ball dropped neatly into the pocket.
Lin Zhiyan wore a faint smile. "A question of power."
With that, having finished clearing the table, she walked straight out of the pool hall without paying.
Lin Zhiyan led Lu Zhao on an aimless stroll, moving from the pool hall to an arcade, and from street-level establishments down into an underground casino.
Lu Zhao could already see firearms clearly tucked into people's waistbands. The places they visited grew increasingly dangerous, and the eyes watching from the shadows multiplied.
By four in the afternoon, Lu Zhao and Lin Zhiyan walked out of Kabukicho.
Not a single accident had occurred the entire time; not even a lone gangster had come to pick a fight.
Having no trouble at all was the biggest problem of all.
***
West Street Bar.
A finger parted the slats of the venetian blinds, letting a sliver of sunlight creep inside.
Holding a phone in his right hand, Lü Bowen said with deep anxiety, "How about we just hand the guy over? We can't keep a living person hidden forever."
The Greenwood bandit's escape into Kabukicho had caused a massive stir. As disorderly as this district was, it wasn't chaotic enough for an injured man bleeding from gunshot wounds to run through the streets unnoticed.
Besides, there were very few organizations in the world capable of keeping a real secret.
At the end of the day, all of them were just street hustlers who had never received any specialized training.
Tight-lipped mobsters only existed in the movies. Not a single thug who fancied himself tough had ever kept quiet once hauled into a Federation interrogation room.
Lü Bowen was a businessman; he only cared about making money.
Lü Jinshan's voice barked from the other end of the line, "Hand him over and we're all dead! You don't have a single drop of political sense!"
Lü Bowen countered, "Then let's just kill him and dump the body on the street. That ought to count as an answer for the special investigation team."
Lü Jinshan snapped, "And what about the goods? The special investigation team and Elder Zhao aren't after the man—they're after what's in their hands!"
The Greenwood robber had fallen unconscious from severe injuries the moment he fled into the Foreign District, likely suffering severe psychic trauma, and had yet to wake up.
"Just stall for time until I get back to the border defense station. Whatever you do, don't let him slip away. Someone else will handle the rest for you."
Chapter 55