Era of Mist

「That night.」

On a 10.8-kilometer mountain circuit outside Tokyo City, the battle was on.

VRRROOOM! The Black Venerable tore through the finish line like a bolt of lightning. Li Xiuzhen didn’t catch up until a full forty seconds later.

Another name was crossed off the list, and another sliver of Celestial Golden Light was added to his account. This time, it was 0.3 points, a slight increase from before.

’It’s still not enough.’ Shi Tiexin looked further up the list.

John Thompson, also known as the Rap King.

’He’s next.’

「The third day.」

"Hey, hey, did you hear? Li Xiuzhen, the one they call Sister Hua, lost too."

"I heard that before the race, Li Xiuzhen called him a ’country bumpkin’ a couple of times. Now, her nickname has officially been changed to ’country girl’!"

"Savage. Absolutely savage."

"Today he’s challenging the Rap King, Thompson. The Black Venerable Rider versus the Rap King. This is gonna be good!"

「That night.」

A street circuit in Tokyo.

VROOOM— A heavy hovercar launched off a ramp, its balance and form absolutely perfect. The blinding headlights made the faces of the spectators ahead turn pale, forcing them to look away.

BANG! It landed smoothly. The suspension was incredibly stable, with excellent rebound suppression. Then, it sped away like the wind.

A moment later, WHINE— another hovercar launched from the ramp, but its form was not nearly as good.

CLANG! The car slammed into the ground, its chassis sinking too low and throwing off a shower of sparks. Something must have been wrecked on impact, because the car skidded to a stop. The black driver behind the wheel couldn’t get it to budge, no matter how hard he hit the gas. Finally, he furiously flipped off the car in front of him and roared, "You... motherfucker—!"

「The fourth day.」

With the mass migration and settlement of Chinese people, various trades from the Eastern Realm had taken root in Japan, including the ever-popular performing art of crosstalk. In the Chinese-controlled districts, a number of underground "dark crosstalk" shops were flourishing.

These venues were called "dark" not because they were illegal, but because their routines and punchlines were often off-color, the language far from refined, and the content closely tied to gang life. As a result, they were wildly popular among gang members.

On this day, a straight man and a funny man once again took the stage. The straight man was endearingly earnest, while the funny man was mischievous and clever.

One table, two men, long mandarin jackets, and white paper fans. The duo began their performance amidst a round of applause.

Straight Man: Did you hear? A couple of days ago, the Black Venerable Rider raced the Rap King. The Rap King lost, and he lost bad.

Funny Man: That’s nothing, my friend. My sources are way better than yours. You know how the Rap King runs his mouth, right?

Straight Man: Of course. He’s always been a trash-talker. He’s famous for it.

Funny Man: Well, all that trash-talking never got him into real trouble before. But this time, he finally met his match.

Straight Man: What happened?

Funny Man: John Thompson was running his mouth before the race—a whole rap of ’motherfucker’ this and ’fuck your mother’ that. He pissed off the Black Venerable Rider, so they made a bet before they even started.

Straight Man: What kind of bet?

Funny Man: The Rap King said that if the Black Venerable Rider lost, he’d have to squeal like a monkey!

Straight Man: That’s way out of line! He’s calling us yellow-skinned monkeys.

Funny Man: Exactly! The Black Venerable Rider wasn’t having any of it, so he laid down a counter-bet on the spot. If the Rap King lost, he would get a tattoo!

Straight Man: A tattoo? Ah, I get it! It’s like that old story of Yue Fei’s mother, tattooing a lesson onto him. He wanted to teach this guy who’s so disrespectful to his own mother a lesson, make him remember to honor her. Is that it?

Funny Man: Look at you, showing a little culture.

Straight Man: So, the Rap King lost. Did he get the tattoo?

Funny Man: Oh, he got it alright. Got it good and proper. He still hasn’t gotten back on his feet.

Straight Man: That bad? Was the tattoo... "Serve the country with utmost loyalty"?

Funny Man: Something like that. A little different.

Straight Man: Then was it... "The thread in a loving mother’s hand, a wanderer’s son’s garment"?

Funny Man: Now you’re getting creative. That one’s pretty long.

Straight Man: Gotta make that old black-skin suffer a bit so he learns his lesson, right? So, what did he end up getting tattooed?

Funny Man: The tattoo was— "When you~~"

Straight Man: When you?

Funny Man: start school~~"

Straight Man: Start school?

Funny Man: "Someone carries your new book~bag~~"

Straight Man: ...

Funny Man: "You’re in the rain, and someone holds your pretty umbre~lla~~"

Straight Man: ...

Funny Man: "You love three-delicacy shrimp, and someone makes them for~ you~~ Your tears of sorrow, someone wipes them for~~~ you! Ahh, that person is your mother~~ Ahh, that person is your mom~~ That person gave me life, and gave me a home~~~! Ah~ no matter how far you~ go~~ whatever you may be~ do~ing~~ you can never leave~ behind, ou~r~ mo~m~~~!"

Straight Man: ...I don’t even know what to say... It was that long?

Funny Man: That’s not even half of it! Listen— "You live in a faraway place, and someone is thinking of~~ you..."

Straight Man: Alright, alright, stop! Just tell me how many words it was!

Funny Man: Don’t talk about words! A cultural treasure like this has to be measured in lines. A full thirty-two lines! I saw it myself. After the Black Venerable Rider won, he took out a pen and paper and personally wrote it all down, SWISH SWISH SWISH. And let me tell you, the handwriting was amazing, you could even sing it to a melody. The calligraphy, I’m telling you, was master-level standard script. Each stroke was like a soaring dragon or a dancing phoenix, truly beautiful!

Straight Man: So the Black Venerable Rider is quite the scholar. What about the Rap King? Did he just accept it?

Funny Man: Nope. That old black-skin has no spine. He refused to honor the bet and tried to play tough, even pulled a knife.

Straight Man: And then?

Funny Man: Then the Black Venerable Rider knocked him flat with a single punch, dragged him backward to a tattoo parlor, and THUMP, threw him onto the table and tied him up tight. He tossed the paper with the lyrics to the tattoo artists and told them to tattoo it exactly as written. The artists looked down at the paper and were just stunned. Holy crap. Thirty-two lines of standard script. What were they supposed to do?

Straight Man: Did they end up tattooing it?

Funny Man: They sure did! They had to call in three artists to work in shifts! Man, you should’ve seen it. They stripped the Rap King, spread-eagled him, and tattooed his entire backside—from his left fingertips to his right, from the scalp on his head to the soles of his feet! They didn’t even spare his fat ass. Only then did they barely manage to fit all thirty-two lines.

Straight Man: Whoa! Those tattoo artists must have been exhausted.

Funny Man: You bet they were. They worked all night and all day before they were finally done.

Straight Man: So they went to get some rest, right?

Funny Man: Nope. No rest for them.

Straight Man: Why not?

Funny Man: The parlor owner, Old Chen, thought the great work was complete. He stretched his aching back and was about to take a break. He picked up the paper to compare it to the work, see if he missed any spots. But when he held it up to the light... Houston, we have a problem.

Straight Man: What was wrong?

Funny Man: Old Chen discovered that the paper... had writing on the back!

Straight Man: Oh? So it was written on both sides!

Funny Man: Exactly! They didn’t notice it during the night, but when they held it up to the light the next day, they saw the characters on the other side.

Straight Man: What was written on the back?

Funny Man: Folks, my guess is that the Black Venerable Rider figured that since ’Motherfucker’ Thompson, that old black-skin, was disrespectful to his mother, he was probably just as disrespectful to his father. The Rider must have assumed the guy had both parents and felt he shouldn’t be biased. He had to stand up for the dad, too. So!

Straight Man: So?

Funny Man: So, ahem— "Thinking of your back~ view, I feel your resil~ience. Touching your~ two hands, I feel your hard~ship..."

Straight Man: Another thirty-two lines?

Funny Man: More on the back—thirty-six lines!

Straight Man: Looks like the Rap King’s front side is doomed too. They’ll have to tattoo his eyelids.

Funny Man: Forget his eyelids, they’ll have to tattoo his fore~skin! Holy hell, that old black-skin is going to look like a purple eggplant. You won’t be seeing ’Motherfucker’ Thompson for at least three months. The swelling won’t go down before then.

Straight Man: So in three months, once the swelling is gone, he’ll walk down the street covered head to toe in standard script. Culture even on his fore~skin. Hmm, yeah, that’s pretty stylish. They shouldn’t call him the Rap King anymore. Call him the Cultural Ambassador. By the way, who is this Black Venerable Rider, anyway? Does he have a proper nickname in the underworld?

Funny Man: The man comes and goes like the wind, never staying to take credit for his good deeds.

Straight Man: But he still needs a name people can call him, right?

Funny Man: That’s true. Let me think... Hey, I’ve got it! How about we just call him... the ’Black Venerable’?

Straight Man: The Black Venerable? Hmm, not bad. I like it. That name has a nice ring to it!

As the crosstalk routine and its punchlines spread throughout the Chinese community, and as more and more racers were defeated, the name "Black Venerable" gradually shifted from being the model of a car to the exclusive call sign for its driver. Shi Tiexin’s moniker in the Tokyo underworld officially became the "Black Venerable."

「On the morning of the sixth day after his string of challenges began, in the gym.」

"There’s definitely a difference."

Shi Tiexin wiped the sweat from his brow as he silently assessed the changes.

The challenges of the past five days had been fruitful. As he challenged higher-ranked opponents, as the races drew wider attention, and as the number of spectators grew, the amount of Celestial Golden Light he gained from each victory had indeed increased. It started at 0.2 or 0.3 points, but later grew to one or two points per win.

Over the five days, he had earned a total of five points of Golden Light, enough to recoup the cost of upgrading his Basic Driving Technique to the first level.

Not only that, but his Basic Essence Nourishment Technique had also leveled up.