163: Chapter 163 Destruction

Blood slowly dripped down the blade, blooming into a red flower on the wooden floor.

In Yamamoto Ryuichi's eyes, the last glimmer of life quickly faded, and he slumped down limply.

The remaining Japanese people huddled together, shivering in the corner; some were even so terrified they lost control of their bladders, soaking their pant legs.

A refined-looking middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses suddenly grabbed the woman beside him and pushed her forward with force.

The woman was wearing a kimono and exquisite makeup, but now her face was covered in tears as she looked at her husband in terror.

"Excellency! Excellency, spare my life!"

The man fell to his knees with a thud, pointing at the woman and speaking at a rapid pace:

"This woman, my wife—as long as you spare my life, you can do anything to her! I can even help you!"

Before he could finish speaking...

Song Yang's hand gripped his chin, forcing his mouth open.

A grenade was crudely stuffed into his mouth, pressed against his upper palate.

Expressionless, Song Yang pulled the pin and kicked him in the chest.

The man crashed through a wooden Shoji door and rolled into a pitch-black room.

"Boom—!"

A deafening explosion, accompanied by a scorching airwave, surged out of the room.

The entire basement shook violently, with wood chips and dust raining down.

Song Yang's gaze swept over the remaining people once more.

His gaze suddenly stopped.

At the very back of the crowd was a white-haired old man in a suit, trying his best to hide himself.

That face looked somewhat familiar.

Before the apocalypse.

This man, as a well-known figure, had more than once used his silver tongue in public to whitewash the crimes of aggression committed by Japan in the past.

He distorted the truth and falsified history, beautifying aggression as 'Co-prosperity' and claiming the massacres 'never happened.'

A complete and utter traitor who sold out his country for personal gain.

Now, he was actually here, hiding with this group of Japanese people.

He wouldn't mistake that face.

Realizing he could no longer hide, the man's legs gave way, and with a thud, he knelt and crawled toward Song Yang.

"Slap!"

"Slap! Slap!"

He raised his hands and used all his strength to frantically slap himself across the face, left and right.

The old face swelled up at a visible rate, and blood seeped from the corners of his mouth.

"I am guilty! I have failed my country! I have failed the people!"

The old man wept and sniveled, kowtowing incessantly.

"I am worse than a pig or a dog! I was blinded by money! Every word I said went against my conscience! I deserve to die! I deserve to die!"

"But I don't want to die, I want to live. Please, I beg you, give me a chance."

Song Yang just watched his performance quietly, then the long red blade that had just pierced Yamamoto Ryuichi's chest cut into the man's neck.

The head fell to the ground, eyes wide in death.

Having finished all this, Song Yang pulled out a box of grenades.

He placed the box of grenades in the center of the basement and pulled the pin on one of them.

Then he turned and walked up the steps one by one.

The moment he reached the surface...

"Boom—!!!!"

A terrifying airwave, mixed with flames and debris, surged out from the basement entrance, blowing the entire building to pieces.

A real man never looks back at an explosion. Song Yang didn't turn his head, heading straight toward the Villa area and soaring through the air.

Returning to the safe house, Song Yang walked right past the women in the living room who were casting concerned glances at him.

He didn't feel like being intimate right now.

"Bang."

The bathroom door closed, shutting everything out.

He took a metal container out of his storage space; inside was the Pool water taken from the Black Dragon's lair.

The liquid wasn't watery but thick and crimson, like melted cream, emitting a faint scent of rust.

He poured all the crimson liquid into the bathtub.

The liquid slowly spread in the white ceramic tub, looking like a piece of congealing blood amber.

Song Yang took off his clothes, revealing a lean, powerful physique, and then lay down inside.

The moment his skin touched the liquid, an indescribable pain surged, as if billions of red-hot steel needles were piercing through every pore, reaching straight to the bone marrow!

Song Yang's body stiffened abruptly, his muscles tensing instantly.

This was the second time he had experienced this near-death agony.

But the pain didn't last long.

Just before his consciousness was about to be torn apart by the pain, an opposite warm current emerged from his heart, instantly sweeping through his entire body.

It wasn't lukewarm water but a moist warmth full of vitality, like a parched, cracked earth welcoming its first rainfall.

The pain from being pierced by steel needles was now being gently soothed and repaired by this warm current.

Every cell was greedily and thirstily devouring this energy.

A refreshing sensation of being reborn made him almost want to groan aloud.

The color of the thick crimson liquid in the bathtub faded at a visible rate, from deep red to light red, finally turning into clear water.

All the essence had been completely absorbed by his body.

Song Yang slowly opened his eyes, a faint golden light flashing deep within his pupils.

He looked down at his hands.

The power beneath his skin was like a surging river, full of an explosive feeling.

The minor wounds from the previous battle had long since vanished; his skin had become tougher, faintly shimmering with a jade-like luster.

"Click."

The bathroom door lock clicked softly, and a slender figure pushed the door open and entered.

The mist swirled, outlining the woman's graceful curves.

Zhang Xinmei wore only a silk nightgown as thin as a cicada's wing, and the humid air made the fabric cling tightly to her body.

Her gaze fell upon the naked man in the bathtub.

That body was more imposing than before, every inch of muscle line seeming like an artist's most perfect masterpiece, full of powerful beauty, with a faint luster flowing over the skin.

"Oh my..."

Zhang Xinmei seemed startled, half-covering her eyes with her hand, yet her fingers were wide apart. There wasn't a hint of shyness in her eyes, only unabashed heat and admiration.

She said coquettishly:

"You, why didn't you say anything while you were in here? You don't know the meaning of the word 'shame' at all."

Before she could finish, Song Yang had already stood up from the bathtub.

Droplets of water slid down his well-defined abs, creating a series of ripples.

He didn't speak, stepping out of the bathtub in a single stride.

Zhang Xinmei's vision blurred, and a scorching masculine scent rushed toward her. In the next moment, she was swept off her feet by a pair of arms as powerful as iron pincers, her feet instantly leaving the ground.

As the world spun, she was pressed heavily against the cold wall.

"You..."

Song Yang lowered his head, his nose almost touching hers, his warm breath fanning across her face.

"Sister Xinmei, I have even more shameless ways to play."

"Want to try?"