At the entrance of the hotel stood a sign that read:
"Closed for renovation today. Business suspended for one day."
When Guan Xing and his group entered the hotel, people were already waiting for them—sixteen Yamaguchi-gumi strongmen in neat black suits, along with a middle-aged man wearing glasses, lined up to welcome them.
"Respected Mr. Tom, Group Leader Yōsen has been waiting for some time. Please follow me," the middle-aged man said. With Lan Fo's reminder, Guan Xing knew this man was the hotel's general manager, and also the head of a Yamaguchi-gumi branch.
The Japanese people's servility had a long tradition, but in this man's eyes, Guan Xing saw boundless malice. It was an instinctive feeling. Guan Xing knew that this negotiation might truly be a trap.
Old Tom's proud bearing showed no restraint. Here, he had no need to give anyone face.
He merely nodded lightly. The hotel manager immediately bent forward obsequiously and led the group upstairs to the second floor.
At the door of the largest private room, the middle-aged man said nothing extra. He knocked lightly. From inside came a cold, steady voice: "What is it?" It was spoken in Japanese, but Guan Xing understood it well enough.
"Group Leader, Mr. Tom has arrived," the man replied respectfully.
With a creak, the door opened.
Looking inside, there was a long table, about ten meters in length. At the far end of the table, a middle-aged man knelt in a formal seated position. He looked refined and scholarly, wearing a clean pair of glasses. His face and demeanor were gentle and broad-minded. Judging from appearances alone, no one would associate him with the most cunning fox of the Yamaguchi-gumi.
But from the information gathered the day before, Guan Xing recognized him at once—this man dining on his knees was none other than Yōsen, the formidable vice leader of the Yamaguchi-gumi.
Yōsen immediately set down the soup spoon in his hand and stood up. The smile on his face was extremely sincere—so sincere that even Guan Xing could not detect the slightest trace of falseness.
"Mr. Tom's honored visit truly brings glory to this humble place. Please, have a seat, have a seat." Clearly, the Yamaguchi-gumi's understanding of "God" was no small matter. At the very least, they were no strangers to the Tom family's background—one glance was enough to identify Old Tom.
Guan Xing did not pay much attention to Yōsen. Instead, his gaze moved to the two warriors standing silently at the end of the long table.
Yes—two people. Completely identical. Even the length of their hair showed no difference. They wore distinctive samurai attire, with two long blades at their waists and a finely crafted dagger strapped to the base of each thigh.
A chilling aura of killing intent leaked faintly from their bodies. Others only felt a coldness from them, but Guan Xing sensed the lethal intent brewing within.
Old Tom neither put on airs nor acted polite. He gave a brief greeting and sat down slowly at this end of the long table. He did not remove his shoes, nor did he kneel like the Japanese. Instead, he sat cross-legged. He had once joked that the Japanese obsession with etiquette was far too hypocritical—something he disliked.
Yōsen froze for a moment, then quickly concealed his inner emotions. Old Tom's blatant lack of courtesy naturally stirred something in him, but being as cunning as he was, Yōsen did not show it.
"Mr. Tom, there's no need for so many people to wait by our side during our discussion. You are my most honored guest. Your safety will be guaranteed by me."
Yōsen narrowed his eyes, smiling warmly. His words carried a hidden provocation. Old Tom, not a hot-headed youth, simply smiled faintly and waved his hand. The bodyguards behind him all withdrew, leaving only Guan Xing, Lan Fo, and Wolf Head.
Yōsen returned to his seat, knelt down again, wiped his mouth with a napkin in a gentlemanly manner, then clapped his hands. Soon, two women in traditional Japanese kimonos entered. Their makeup was heavy, and their high wooden clogs made sharp tapping sounds as they walked.
One cleared away the leftovers on the table. The other placed a cup of tea down. One left, while the woman with the tea knelt beside Yōsen, head lowered and body curled, serving him with extreme caution and submission.
Japanese men were servile at heart, bullying the weak and fearing the strong, yet wildly arrogant. They showed no respect for women at all—so-called women's rights in Japan were nothing but a joke.
Only after Yōsen finished drinking his tea and let out a long breath did he begin to speak.
"Mr. Tom, this time I come on the orders of our group leader, bringing the Yamaguchi-gumi's request. The Japanese market is far too small for us. We hope that God will hand over the Asian arms and drug trade to us. The Yamaguchi-gumi is willing to offer thirty percent of the profits in return."
The Japanese really were ruthless—ants trying to shake a tree, overestimating themselves. Did they think all of Asia belonged to the Yamaguchi-gumi alone?
Old Tom did not respond, maintaining a calm, indifferent silence.
Yōsen continued, "In recent years, the Chinese market seems to have shrunk. God's business hasn't found an opening there. Such a vast nation, such profitable trade—if God doesn't value it, why not let us handle it? Mr. Tom, all you need to do is provide sufficient supply. We guarantee thirty percent of the profits to God—no less than ten billion U.S. dollars per year."
A powerful temptation indeed. Asia, as a developing region, was precisely where drugs and arms thrived. Its population alone accounted for two-thirds of the world. The profits were naturally staggering.
China had not been fully infiltrated largely because of Guan Xing's request back then. He did not want to see God's drugs enter China. Thus, Chinese drug lords only dealt in small private shipments, unlike God, whose consignments weighed hundreds of kilograms at a time.
To a normal businessman, such immense profits would be impossible to refuse—doing nothing and earning over ten billion a year. Even Guan Xing thought Old Tom might be tempted.
But Old Tom's thinking went far beyond that of ordinary men.
Although the Yamaguchi-gumi was not yet worth fearing in God's eyes, there was no denying their rapid rise. Handing over Asia for ten billion a year was not impossible—but the Yamaguchi-gumi's power would expand without limit. Old Tom worried that in three to five years, they would stand on equal footing with God.
One mountain cannot accommodate two tigers. With his far-sighted judgment, Old Tom had no intention of nurturing a future enemy—especially not a treacherous Japanese one.
After sitting there so long, only Yōsen had spoken, tempting and probing. Everyone else waited in silence, unmoving. Guan Xing did not move either, but his focus remained firmly on Shadow Image and Shadow Imprint, guarding against any sudden assassination.
"I can give you the business in North and South Korea," Old Tom finally said, "but the entire Asian market is too much for the Yamaguchi-gumi to swallow. Go back and tell your group leader—fat people also eat one bite at a time."
With a single sentence, Old Tom rejected Yōsen's proposal.
Yōsen's expression darkened slightly. A playful smile appeared on his face as he said, "Mr. Tom might want to reconsider. Our Yamatō warriors of the Yamaguchi-gumi are the elite of humanity. Ruling Asia's underworld is not a difficult matter."
"As long as we cooperate, the entire world can be ours." His tone grew increasingly arrogant, like that of a madman.
Old Tom had no interest in such fantasies. Having already seen through the Japanese's sinister intentions, he said calmly, "No need. My position is clear. Tell your group leader to restrain the Yamaguchi-gumi's members. Otherwise, you won't get even a single gram of drugs."
God controlled more than half of the world's drug-producing regions, especially the Asian Golden Triangle, which was almost completely monopolized. Those mercenaries were all under God's control. Without Old Tom's approval, the Japanese truly wouldn't get even a gram.
No one spoke anymore. The atmosphere turned abruptly tense, the oppressive pressure growing heavier.
Suddenly, Yōsen clapped his hands again. A strange look of delight appeared on his face. At that moment, a heavy, muffled thudding sound echoed from afar, drawing closer and closer.
Before long, frantic screams erupted from outside. Several figures were thrown into the room. The door shattered into pieces, and several of God's elite bodyguards rushed to shield Old Tom.
Soon after, accompanied by another heavy thud, a muscular man appeared at the doorway. His upper body was bare, drenched in blood. Yet there was no expression on his face—utterly calm, as if the blood flowing wasn't his own. His numbness was terrifying.
Old Tom stood up, his face icy as he glanced at Yōsen. "Is this how the Yamato nation treats its guests? Are you trying to test God's bottom line?"
"Mr. Tom, please don't misunderstand," Yōsen replied. "I merely wish to show you the strength of our Yamaguchi-gumi—to prove that we are capable of unifying Asia's underworld. This is our latest creation: a cold-blooded killing warrior, trained through new methods. His strength is boundless. I wonder who would like to verify it?"
The negotiation had clearly failed. Yōsen had already begun to resort to force.