Chapter 139: The White-Faced Puppet

The world froze still within Ji Li’s mind.

Under the bright lights, he couldn’t see his own hair whipped by the wind, nor the strands of the aged Japanese woman. Their shadows tangled together for a moment, then separated instantly.

Ji Li slowly closed his eyes. He did not recognize this elderly woman, yet he accepted her words of being an old acquaintance.

He was stirred—this was one of the few lucid moments in his long life.

Today, Ji Li had met someone from his past whom he could not remember.

Perhaps this was tied deeply to the life he had once lived.

“…What is your name?”

Ji Li opened his eyes again, carefully studying every wrinkle on her face, trying to confirm some connection. But he failed.

“Haruyama Mirai.”

Her Chinese was fluent. Looking at Ji Li, her expression softened, as if recalling many memories—forgetting even her own old age.

Ji Li searched his mind, testing whether the name might crack open his lost memories. Again, he failed.

“I don’t remember that name…”

Haruyama Mirai only smiled. As the candlelight dimmed, her figure grew faint, as though she were about to disappear.

“I’m only allowed to say three sentences to you. Go to Hanshan Temple. Beneath the cherry blossom tree is the seed I left for you… a seed of hope…”

Her figure faded, ghostly power swirling around her. Indeed—it was supernatural power again.

Ji Li watched the motes of light rise from her body, drifting into the wind. He instinctively reached out, but grasped only cold emptiness.

A tentative phrase in Japanese pulled him back to reality.

The fortune-telling blanket was still before him. Seated on it was still the same elderly woman—but her demeanor had changed.

She had become again a stranger, her face confused, speaking words of Japanese he could not understand, as if asking a question.

At once Ji Li understood: this elderly woman was not Haruyama Mirai.

Haruyama Mirai must have been someone from his past, using some special Sin Artifact to achieve this.

To wait fifty years here, just for the chance to tell him three things…

Go to Hanshan Temple. Beneath the cherry tree lies the seed I left for you… the seed of hope…

The words echoed endlessly in Ji Li’s mind, unforgettable.

Could it be… a soul from a past life, come now to guide you? the third persona said, half in jest.

Ji Li no longer lingered before the elderly woman. As for Fang Shenyan’s fortune-telling, true or false, he set it aside.

All his being was shaken by this woman called Haruyama Mirai. A secret spanning fifty years had pointed him toward a new path.

This was the answer he had always sought. At last, he had found a trace of it.

Perhaps fifty years ago, Ji Li had left this clue for himself. But for what purpose?

“Did you get your answer?”

As Ji Li drifted forward in thought, Fang Shenyan’s figure appeared, pulling him back to reality.

“No.”

In an instant Ji Li returned to himself. He glanced at his watch, frowning.

“Forty minutes remain. The task will be issued. But right now…”

He pressed thoughts of Haruyama Mirai deep into his heart. He had no choice but to focus on the mission at hand.

The seven staffs regrouped. They had already explored Sunset Bridge in full. Now it was 11:20 p.m.

Yet the promised task still had not appeared.

The hotel email had said it would be delivered by other means—but what means? And still, no sign of the Fourth Branch’s shadow.

Not far away, a woman in traditional kimono approached, holding a thick stack of flyers.

As she walked, she sang an old Japanese folk tune—slow, carrying a somber sadness.

Gracefully she waved her scarf, but no one accepted the leaflets from her hand.

Ji Li frowned, wary of her as she neared. But when she merely passed by without acting, he turned his thoughts elsewhere.

Chi Rou watched her closely. Something about her makeup unsettled her—the face painted in stark white powder, expression stiff and lifeless.

Even her gait seemed unnatural, like some ghost walking the earth.

Chi Rou shivered, asking Kondo Sei,

“What kind of costume is that?”

Kondo Sei glanced casually, then nodded. “That’s a ningyō costume, from traditional Japanese puppet theater. Looks like there’s a Bunraku performance coming up.”

“Bunraku? What sort of performance is that?” Cui Yanqing felt a chill, inching closer to Kondo Sei.

“It’s a traditional Japanese puppet play, as famous as Noh. Typically, actors manipulate special puppets on stage.

These puppets, called ningyō, are the main performers. Masked handlers control them from behind. It’s said that although not alive, the puppets are given human souls.

The upcoming performance will be a period drama—an ancient tale. That’s why she’s using this pale white promotional makeup, the style known as oshiroi white-face.

In Bunraku, the puppets also wear white masks. But the audience for this kind of performance is very small nowadays, so it’s not very popular anymore.”

Kondo Sei explained the basics of Bunraku puppet theater in one breath. The more she spoke, the more unsettling it felt to those around her.

Chi Rou’s imagination was already running wild—those special ningyō suddenly coming to life, possessed by ghosts!

“Bunraku… puppet theater…”

Ji Li had been listening carefully. From her words, he suddenly seized on a few key phrases.

He turned to meet Fang Shenyan’s gaze. Both nodded slightly.

Back at the Cube Tower, what they experienced was eerily similar to Bunraku puppetry!

They had become marionettes, manipulated by an unseen hand—the method of killing was almost identical.

Ji Li suddenly realized: this kimono-clad woman promoting Bunraku might be the other method the hotel had spoken of!

Yet, out of caution, he didn’t rush to approach her. He wanted to be sure his guess was right.

Soon, the kimono woman came walking back from the opposite end. Not a single flyer missing—no one had taken one.

Nor did she approach Ji Li and the others directly. Just as Ji Li began to wonder if he was mistaken…

A sudden gust of wind rose without warning. Her song was cut short. Flyers burst from her hands, scattering into the air!

They drifted straight toward Ji Li and the others.

Ji Li’s eyes locked onto one. The image on it was a puppet wearing a white demon mask!

It leered with bared teeth, twisted and terrifying, lunging straight for Ji Li’s face.

And by coincidence, there were exactly seven flyers, each blown toward the face of one staff.

The trap was sprung—the task had begun.