Chapter 143: Blood of Yanagawa

Within 78 hours, create a standard puppet.

That was the single, straightforward sentence written on Ji Li’s card—the true content of this mission.

Under the glow of the wall lamps, he turned the card over and over. The information was that simple.

All seven staffs received cards with the same task.

But after comparing them, Ji Li found two exceptions: Fang Shenyan’s card and Chi Rou’s card.

The front of both bore the same task, meaning the Seventh Branch’s main mission was unified.

But Fang Shenyan’s had an extra line on the back:

Remove the heads of the two characters.

Chi Rou’s back also had an extra line:

Disaster comes from the mouth.

On the surface, they were cryptic riddles, but clearly hints for survival within the task.

Fang Shenyan exchanged cards with a Japanese audience member beside him.

Ordinary spectators’ cards were simple—introductions to Bunraku, traditional plays, nothing important.

Which meant only the staffs received special cards.

Ji Li pondered deeply on how to create a standard puppet.

The hotel’s choice of wording was interesting.

It used create, not make.

They seemed close, but create clearly implied a broader scope.

Which meant that creating a proper puppet might require twisted, exaggerated, or irregular methods—

not limited to normal crafting processes.

Thinking this, Ji Li turned his gaze backstage. At the very least, they needed to first understand what a puppet truly was.

“What are you looking at?”

Mei Sheng’s cold words drew everyone’s eyes to her.

She was glancing sideways—at the staff member who had just finished handing out cards, the white-faced Japanese woman.

Hearing Mei Sheng, the woman froze, her eyes flickered nervously, then she hurried to leave.

Ji Li frowned. This woman wasn’t Akira, but a stranger.

This run-down theater was barely staying afloat—why hire someone solely to hand out cards?

More importantly, she acted far too uneasy, avoiding their eyes yet stealing glances, leaving a strange impression.

“She understands Chinese.”

Mei Sheng murmured to Ji Li as the woman’s back disappeared.

That was wrong.

Mei Sheng had deliberately spoken Chinese as a test, and the woman’s reaction confirmed she understood.

Her white makeup isn’t cleanly applied—clearly rushed. Compared to Akira, it’s crude.

This woman is not from the Bunraku troupe!

The third persona immediately spotted the flaw in her disguise and warned Ji Li.

Ji Li hesitated. Two options lay before him: intercept the suspicious woman, or track the Bunraku troupe.

It looked like they’d need to do both.

The audience began leaving, the hall growing chaotic.

Seeing the strange woman slip backstage, Ji Li knew there was no time to waste. He stood abruptly.

“We’re going backstage,” he said to the others, and rushed ahead.

Their move wasn’t hard to understand—even the newcomers, after seeing the cards, had guessed the Bunraku troupe was the key.

The group headed backstage.

But there, Akira had vanished, and even the puppeteers were gone without a trace.

They hadn’t even bothered to clear the dressing tables—only the puppets had been taken away.

“Why leave in such a hurry?”

Where there is anomaly, there is something sinister.

Ji Li frowned, darted into another passage, and gave chase.

The corridor was narrow, twisting like a maze, but with only one way forward, there was no risk of losing them.

Climbing the stone steps, he pushed open a small door and emerged onto the lawn.

Before him sat a van. The last black-clad puppeteer had just gotten inside.

As the door slammed shut, Ji Li locked eyes with the leader for an instant before the van roared away.

They came in haste, left in haste, as if tonight’s final Bunraku show had only been a prelude to their escape.

Ji Li memorized the license plate.

On the back door, a black coiled serpent was painted.

“Looks like this group isn’t simple,” Cui Yanqing remarked, also committing the plate and emblem to memory.

Ji Li ignored him, turning his gaze to Fang Shenyan. They exchanged no words, but each understood the other’s intent.

Fang Shenyan, the ever-sharp blade, nodded, then called on Chi Rou and Cui Yanqing. The three left by taxi.

Chi Rou turned to Ji Li, bewildered. “What were they doing?”

“Tracing the van,” Ji Li answered absently, humoring her foolish question.

“Then why are we still here?”

Ji Li glanced down at the footprints in the snow and hurried forward.

The strange woman wore wooden clogs—she couldn’t move fast. With snow leaving a natural trail, tracking her was easy.

Soon, Ji Li, Mei Sheng, and Chi Rou entered a dim alleyway.

The woman, panicked, was trying to slip through to the bustling Sunset Bridge.

Too late.

The moment she saw Ji Li, her mind screamed death.

She knew exactly how terrifying this man was.

“Name.”

Ji Li advanced slowly, unmoved by her frailty.

“Yanagawa… Tomiko.”

Ji Li wasn’t surprised. He had suspected Xue Tinghai would send someone like her to probe.

“The Fourth Branch truly has no one left? Where is Xue Tinghai?”

“N-no, I really don’t know. The assisant manager told me to attend the Bunraku show, so I came…”

Tomiko answered everything, but Ji Li gained nothing useful. If anything, Xue Tinghai became harder to grasp.

Tomiko was their only Japanese member—yet he sent her directly to contact the Seventh Branch?

Yes, it could reveal their task, but how could Xue Tinghai not know she would be exposed?

Was Ji Li underestimating Xue Tinghai? Or was Xue Tinghai underestimating him?

On the snowy ground, Tomiko knelt with hands clasped, praying desperately for her life.

Ji Li didn’t understand, but he knew one thing clearly—this woman, stripped of all color, was a pawn Xue Tinghai had handed him to kill.

If he killed her, he fell into Xue Tinghai’s trap.

If he didn’t, he couldn’t let her return to the Fourth Branch as a spy.

That left only one path: detain her, keep her with the Seventh Branch.

But as Ji Li hesitated, Tomiko’s body went rigid.

On her knees, she convulsed. Her face froze, and blood-tinged froth spilled from her lips.

Her eyes dimmed. In less than a second, her life was gone.

“She was poisoned in advance… the timing, so precise…”

Realization struck Ji Li. He shouted, “Move! The police are lying in wait at Sunset Bridge!”

At once, sirens wailed all around.

Xue Tinghai’s move was ruthless—killing three birds with one stone.

He’d obtained the Seventh Branch’s task, sicced the police on Ji Li, and as for the third…

Tomiko’s frozen body suddenly twitched.

From her hollowed eyes, blood gushed forth.

Blood. Snow.