Slay the Gods: The spokesperson for Zhulong, starts with the God-killing Gun

Chapter 386 Black Phoenix Tree (Page 12)

The sea breeze howled, carrying a salty, damp scent that rushed towards us. Tiny waves lapped against the dark rocks, and the splashing water droplets reflected a golden halo in the setting sun, like scattered gold dust.

Zhang Yun, dressed in black, had his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. The wind lifted the hem of his coat, revealing the dark red pattern on the lining—upon closer inspection, it turned out to be fine, blood-red runes that gleamed eerily in the sunlight, flowing slowly as if they were alive.

"Tsk, the wind here is even fishier than the East China Sea." He said lazily, with a hint of disdain in his tone, "And it smells of money... No wonder it's called the City of Sin."

Garan stood beside him, her bare feet on the damp sand. Strangely, the fine sand did not touch her skin, as if it were isolated by some sacred power. With each step, faint blue ripples appeared under her feet.

"It's not the wind that's foul, it's the murderous aura emanating from you." She replied calmly, her gaze still fixed on the distance. "Which city did you slaughter last night?"

Zhang Yun shrugged and said in a flippant tone, "Don't wrong an innocent person. I'm a law-abiding citizen."

Jialan glanced at him sideways, her eyes clearly saying, "No one would believe you."

"Really!" Zhang Yun said innocently. "I just went to 'pay a friendly visit' to the mysteries of the deep sea in Osaka Bay. Who knew they were so fragile, they would break at the slightest touch."

Garan: "..."

"You call that a 'friendly visit'?" She pointed expressionlessly at the sea. "Then why are all the mysteries in this entire sea area fleeing for their lives?"

Following her gaze, beneath the once calm sea surface, countless enormous shadows could be vaguely seen frantically swimming towards the deep sea, as if something terrifying was chasing them.

Zhang Yun stroked his chin thoughtfully: "Maybe it's because... I was too enthusiastic?"

Garan: "..."

She decided to stop discussing logic with this lunatic.

Before them stretched an endless expanse of azure sea.

The seawater shimmered under the setting sun, yet a huge shadow could be vaguely seen swimming deep beneath the surface—creatures not of this world, who instinctively retreated upon sensing the presence of the two.

On the other side of the sea—

The Osaka metropolitan area resembles a crouching steel behemoth, casting a continuous shadow on the skyline.

The towering skyscrapers reflected a cold, metallic sheen, and the glass curtain walls sliced ​​the setting sun into countless fragments, like countless pairs of cold eyes indifferently watching the two people on the shore.

The most eye-catching feature is the massive, entirely black building in the city center—its shape resembles a samurai sword stuck upside down in the ground, with dark red energy pulses constantly emanating from its tip, forming a semi-transparent, blood-red barrier in the sky that envelops the entire city.

"Heh..." Zhang Yun suddenly chuckled, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes, "It seems we've arrived just in time."

Garan's wings trembled slightly; she could sense that countless familiar auras mingled within this city.

The scent of Anqingyu, the scent of Jiang'er, the causal threads of Baili Pangpang...

And then there's the unfortunate guy who's forced to wear a sparkly suit and is being stared at by a group of rich women.

The sea breeze, carrying a salty, fishy smell, swept past, ruffling the stray hairs on Zhang Yun's forehead.

He casually tossed his hair with his hand, but the smile on his lips grew even wider, as if he had thought of something extremely interesting.

"Guess if Lin Qiye is being forced to drink right now?" He suddenly turned his head, his tone laced with undisguised schadenfreude, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light.

"I bet he's already flushed from drinking too much, and he might even be playing drinking games with someone."

Garan: "..."

Jialan tilted her head slightly, paused for a second, then looked at the neon-lit city in the distance and said calmly, "I don't know."

"How about we make a bet?" Zhang Yun suggested enthusiastically. "I bet he's already surrounded by more than three rich women and has been forced to drink at least five glasses of strong liquor."

Garan glanced at him: "The bet?"

Zhang Yun grinned: "The loser is treating tonight to the most expensive kaiseki cuisine."

Garan thought for two seconds and nodded: "Deal."

The two then stepped inside.

The neon lights of the wicked city flickered behind them, casting long, long shadows of the two, like two ghosts wandering on the edge of light and darkness.

Zhang Yun had his hands in his trench coat pockets, and his black leather boots made a soft "tap-tap" sound on the wet asphalt road.

He tilted his head back slightly, took a deep breath, and let the city's scent fill his lungs—the salty smell of the sea breeze, the pungent odor of engine oil and metal, and the desires and decay hidden beneath the neon lights.

"Can you smell it?" He turned his head to the side, a faint smile playing on his lips. "The smell of decadence."

Jialan walked half a step to his side, her light blue gauze dress swaying gently in the night breeze, and the bronze bell at her waist jingling softly with each step.

Her gaze was calm as still water, but it paused slightly when it swept over the homeless children huddled on the side of the street.

A girl of about seven or eight years old was rummaging through the trash can with her dirty little hands, and when she found half a piece of moldy bread, she couldn't wait to stuff it into her mouth.

“Number D-7742.” Zhang Yun followed her gaze and softly uttered the number engraved on the wooden tag hanging around the girl’s neck. “What an interesting system.”

Garan's fingertips unconsciously caressed the bell at his waist, the ancient runes engraved on the bronze surface gleaming faintly under the neon lights.

She didn't respond to Zhang Yun's words, but her steps subtly shifted towards the girl's direction.

"Don't meddle in other people's business." Zhang Yun seemed to see through her thoughts and reached out to stop her. "The rules here have nothing to do with us."

"Rules?" Garan finally spoke, his voice as cold as frost. "Or shackles?"

Zhang Yun chuckled softly, withdrew his arm, and made an exaggerated "please go ahead" gesture.

Jialan knelt down in front of the girl, took out an oil paper package from his sleeve, inside were a few pieces of still warm osmanthus cakes—he had brought them with him when he left the inn this morning.

The girl took a half-step back warily, but couldn't help swallowing when she smelled the sweet fragrance.

Garan placed the oil paper package on the ground, gently pushed it over, and then got up and left without saying a word.

"You've softened your heart?" Zhang Yun followed up, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

Jialan glanced at him indifferently: "I'm hungry."

"Ha!" Zhang Yun laughed loudly, his laughter sounding particularly abrupt in the noisy street, attracting the wary glances of several passersby. "Come on, come on, I'll take you to eat dragon beard noodles."

"You're treating," Garan interrupted him, and walked straight ahead.

Zhang Yun raised an eyebrow and quickly followed: "What, you can't even afford a bowl of noodles?"

"The purse is with you, and I really can't afford to hire you; you're a complete glutton," Garan said without turning his head.

Zhang Yun touched the inside pocket of his trench coat and found a brocade pouch embroidered with blue lotus flowers—it was the one that Jialan had asked him to "keep temporarily" last night.

His lips twitched: "You've been planning this for a long time."

The noodle shop is hidden in a narrow alley. The signboard has faded, and only the two characters "Dragon Beard" can be vaguely made out.

Pushing open the creaking wooden door, there were only four low tables inside. At the innermost table sat a man in an old samurai outfit, drinking with a plate of peanuts.

"Two bowls of dragon beard noodles, extra spicy." Zhang Yun found a seat by the window with practiced ease and tapped a rhythm on the greasy wooden table with his fingers.

Garan sat down opposite him, his blue sleeves brushing against the table without getting a single oil stain on them.

She looked around, her gaze lingering on a faded old photograph on the wall—a picture of the shop owner in his youth with a man in military uniform.

The boss looked up at them, his gaze lingering on Jialan for a moment before he lowered his head to continue cooking the noodles.

Jialan sat opposite Zhang Yun, her fingertips lightly tapping the table, the bronze bell swaying slightly with her movements.

"What's wrong, nervous?" Zhang Yun rested his chin on one hand, looking at her with a half-smile.

Garan: "..."

"Tsk, you're really boring." Zhang Yun curled his lip. "At least give me some reaction."

Jialan raised her eyes, her gaze calm: "What kind of reaction do you want?"

Zhang Yun narrowed his eyes, then suddenly leaned closer and lowered his voice, saying, "For example... dining and dashing?"

Garan expressionlessly reached out, gently touching his forehead with her fingertips, and pushed him away: "Boring."

Zhang Yun laughed loudly, his laughter echoing clearly in the small noodle shop, drawing the attention of other diners.

Soon, two steaming bowls of dragon beard noodles were served.

Zhang Yun picked up his chopsticks, took a bite of noodles, and his eyes lit up: "Not bad!"

Jialan lowered his head, took a bite, and nodded slightly.

Zhang Yun raised an eyebrow: "Oh, it's rare to see you nod."

Garan: "...Shut up, eat your noodles."

Zhang Yun: "..."

...

After dinner, night fell.

The city's neon lights shone brighter and brighter, and the noise of traffic was deafening.

The two walked aimlessly down the street. Zhang Yun put his hands in his pockets and lazily glanced at the shops on the street. Suddenly, he stopped and a playful smile appeared on his lips.

"Ah……"

Garan followed his gaze—

A brightly lit neon shop with a sign that prominently displays the name "Black Phoenix Tree".

Zhang Yun's eyes suddenly lit up, and his smile gradually became unrestrained: "Hahaha, isn't this the place where Qi Ye was a gigolo?"

Garan: "..."

Zhang Yun had already excitedly pulled a handheld camera out of his pocket, grinning like a child about to play a prank: "Let's go watch a show!"

Garan looked at him speechlessly: "Are you serious?"

Zhang Yun raised an eyebrow: "What, afraid he'll see you?"

Garan: "..."

She took a deep breath and turned to leave.

Zhang Yun grabbed her wrist, grinning mischievously, "Don't go! You're already here, it would be a shame not to see anything!"

Garan: "..."

The two stared at each other for three seconds.

Finally, Garan walked straight towards the Black Phoenix Tree with a blank expression, his blue sleeves fluttering in the night wind.

Zhang Yun was laughing so hard he was slapping his thigh.

"Haha, Galan, you really do care about Qiye after all!" He took out his phone and started recording. "Wait for me! This touching team spirit has to be recorded!"

Garan paused, a blue light flashing between his fingers: "Take one more step and I'll let you experience freefall."

"Don't be so fierce~" Zhang Yun nimbly hid behind a street lamp, only peeking out half his head. "I just wanted to see what the legendary host club manager looks like..."

Before he finished speaking, Jialan had already pushed open the door of the gilded relief sculpture of the Black Phoenix Tree.

"Welcome~ Oh dear?" The hostess's sweet smile froze on her face, and the feather fan in her hand fell to the ground with a "thud".

She watched in horror as Jialan walked barefoot across the multi-million dollar Japanese-style carpet, each step leaving a smoky footprint on the solid wood floor.

"Excuse me, do you have an appointment?" the young woman asked, her voice trembling.

Garan's gaze swept across the hall: "Looking for someone."

At this moment, the customers in the store were as quiet as chickens.

A wealthy lady tilted her champagne glass at a 45-degree angle, and the wine spilled all over the floor without her noticing.