Chapter 12: Two Slaps Before Getting Off the Car

Chen Jiehua and the system continued their review.

“First, let’s talk about your tone. You carried on with your previous emotional outburst and didn’t rein it in in time. That emotion doesn’t fit the persona you’re supposed to have, and the act was too obvious. That’s probably what made the other party suspicious.”

“Second, although you spoke in Japanese, your word order followed Chinese syntax—subject-verb-object. Proper Japanese uses subject-object-verb order.”

“Aoki Nobumoto is a Sinophile. That subtle difference, combined with other suspicious points, was enough for him to confirm you’re an impostor posing as Aoki Seigen. That’s why he had to move to the final step: the unique family confirmation mark, ensuring there’s no mistake.”

“The final step, the secret mark? At the end, he grabbed my right hand and pulled me over—was that the check?”

“No, wait! Let me think! He pulled me over, grabbed my right hand! At that moment, he was rubbing the inside of my wrist with his thumb!”

“You’re right this time! When he touched the inside of your wrist, within at most half a second, the system detected a sudden surge of hostility toward you—the threat to your life hit a critical level.”

“The inside of the wrist… There must be a unique mark on the inside of Aoki Seigen’s right wrist!”

“So before I arrive in Miyazaki Prefecture, I need to find a chance to look at Aoki Seigen’s body in the storage space and confirm exactly what that mark is on the inside of his right wrist?”

“Otherwise, when I arrive at Miyazaki Station and the Aoki family comes to meet me, if they deliberately check, they’ll find out I’m a fake. That’ll be the end of me.”

“It might not be that bad, but you do need to confirm and replicate the mark as soon as possible.”

“Damn, what’s with this Aoki clan, so cautious! Even family marks are hidden like this!”

Chen Jiehua steeled himself and sat for over five hours, during which the two guards took turns visiting the restroom.

Another three hours went by. After passing an intermediate station and as night fell, Chen Jiehua signaled to one of the guards to take his place, then headed to the restroom himself.

Now that he understood his previous mistake, all he could do was learn from it, train himself, and maintain the aloof persona—speak as little as possible.

Rookie agent Chen Jiehua was utterly defeated in his first encounter with Japan’s legendary spymaster, Aoki Nobumoto!

This served as a wake-up call: the enemy was no fool. Those over-the-top anti-Japanese dramas had done more harm than good.

Once inside the restroom, Chen Jiehua locked the door, took out Aoki Seigen’s corpse from the storage space, and carefully examined the right wrist. As expected, there were three scars running along the lines of the wrist—perhaps wounds, or perhaps marks.

Were these actually injuries, or the family’s unique identifier?

“System, come in! There are only a few hours left before the next crisis, but there’s no way I can carve these three marks onto my wrist now—they’d be fresh wounds!”

“The host should create the marks as soon as there’s time, but right now is not advisable.”

“Fine, I suppose I have no choice.”

Chen Jiehua put the corpse back into storage, flushed the toilet, left the restroom, and returned to his seat, still cradling Aoki Nobumoto’s body.

Though it was a little revolting, he had no choice but to keep up the act.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. He quietly reached for the right wrist of Aoki Nobumoto’s corpse and gently stroked it.

Sure enough! In the same spot, in the same direction, there was a scar—or rather, a mark!

Could it be that in this generation, Aoki Nobumoto bore one mark, his father’s generation had two, and Aoki Seigen now had three?!

Damn, these people were devilishly clever! Anyone unaware of this would be instantly exposed if they tried to impersonate a member of the Aoki family—perhaps fatally so, without ever knowing what gave them away.

Chen Jiehua stared out the window. Outside, the night was pitch-black, and nothing could be seen—but he just kept staring, his eyes vacant.

To the two guards, the young master Aoki Seigen’s reaction after the loss of his grandfather seemed entirely normal. Hadn’t he been clutching the general’s body the whole way?

The train was drawing near its destination. Chen Jiehua reckoned that getting past the Aoki family reception at the station shouldn’t be too hard, but the real trial would be Aoki Nobumoto’s funeral. Which important figures would attend? Whether he could pass unnoticed remained an open question.

Thankfully, Aoki Seigen’s father, Aoki Saburo, was not the eldest legitimate son, and Aoki Seigen himself was not the eldest legitimate grandson, so he wouldn’t be expected to interact much with the high-ranking attendees. All he needed to do was remember the faces and relationships of those present.

The real challenge was adapting to Japanese customs. It was so easy to slip—a careless gesture or a single line of dialogue with Chinese structure instead of Japanese could betray him.

How was he supposed to know all this?

“System, do you have a comprehensive guide to Japanese etiquette from this era? Give me a crash course.”

“Sorry, the system cannot provide this. The host must observe and learn gradually.”

“Ugh, survival is too hard.”

December 12th, 11:30 p.m.

The train arrived at Miyazaki Station. The Aoki family, having received advance notice, waited on the platform.

Chen Jiehua stepped off the train, still cradling Aoki Nobumoto’s body, and was immediately met by four middle-aged men. One of them matched the memories—a confirmation: Aoki Seigen’s father, Aoki Saburo!

The four brothers’ names were straightforward, from Ichiro to Shiro. Aoki Nobumoto’s own name was rather poetic, but he had named his sons with casual simplicity.

The four brothers saw Chen Jiehua emerge carrying the body. Aoki Saburo rushed forward first. Without a word, Chen Jiehua, knowing what was expected, stood up straight. Aoki Saburo delivered a loud, resounding slap across his face.

Chen Jiehua took the blow head-on, straightened his head, and received a second slap on the other cheek. He said nothing, gave no protest, and instead knelt down, cradling the body before him with bowed head.

That’s how it always went in TV dramas. All those hours spent watching TV as a child had finally paid off—but at what cost? Even being slapped, he had to look grateful.

Having studied etiquette at school, Chen Jiehua’s wits were sharp. His behavior matched local customs, fit Aoki Seigen’s persona, and was appropriate for his position in the family.

He also understood that Aoki Saburo’s two slaps were not punishment, but protection.

In those days, most Japanese families were ruthless within, especially toward sons who were not direct heirs. The grandfather’s special status meant his death would have a profound impact on the entire clan—one serious enough to potentially shift the family’s future! Handled poorly, Chen Jiehua’s life could be at risk.

Though Aoki Nobumoto had died of a sudden heart attack, the fact that he saw Aoki Seigen on the train and became overly emotional would be blamed. If he’d taken an earlier or later train and not met him, he wouldn’t have died.

That was their logic. So Aoki Saburo had to come up and deliver two slaps. If Chen Jiehua had argued or dodged, the family’s disciplinary code would come into play—he might not die, but he’d be bedridden for months.