Chapter 206: Xiang Shuishang’s Happiness! The Fanaticism Effect From 《late-night Diner》!
“In the end, it’s still us writers with our soft pens that can’t twist the leg of capital.” Ono angrily crushed the bottle of oolong tea that was barely touched, making it creak, his young and sharp face filled with the unwillingness and anger unique to idealists after being struck head-on by reality.
Kimura Senior just smiled bitterly and shook his head, starting the car. The old Toyota Century let out a steady yet slightly fatigued roar, like a sigh from an old man who had seen through the ways of the world in the dead of night.
Inside the car, the oppression and silence brought by money lingered like thick mist, refusing to dissipate for a long time.
“But speaking of which, Kimura Senior.” It was still that bespectacled, refined-looking middle-aged film critic, Suzuki, who first broke the suffocating silence.
He pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose, curiosity gleaming in his eyes: “You said… Tokyo Television Station letting Hiroshi Nohara film this 《Late-night Diner》 live-action version, what are the odds of success? I admit that manga is a masterpiece, but between manga and live-action drama, there’s still that bottomless dimensional wall. Even for Hiroshi Nohara, crossing it probably won’t be easy, right?”
His words were like dropping a stone into stagnant water, instantly rippling outward in circles.
“More than just not easy!” Ono immediately picked up the thread, as if he had finally found an outlet to vent his misplaced “professional spirit,” his voice full of affirmation: “This is hell difficulty! Let me tell you, what’s the biggest taboo in adapting manga to live-action drama? It’s the deprivation of ‘definition rights’! Why did 《Late-night Diner》 become legendary? Because it gave readers enough imaginative space! In each of our minds while reading the manga, there’s our own boss—what his scar looks like, what his tone of voice is like, what that bowl of pork lard rice he makes really tastes like… These are all us readers engaging in secondary creation with the work! It’s a very intimate experience full of personal emotional projection!”
“But live-action drama? It uses a specific actor, a fixed scene, an unquestionable way to tell you—the boss looks exactly like this! Pork lard rice tastes exactly like this! It brutally destroys the unique, imaginative world in every reader’s heart! That feeling is like your pen pal you’ve secretly loved for years suddenly appearing before you in a completely unacceptable image! That disillusionment, that betrayed anger, is enough to instantly zero out all previous fondness!”
Ono spoke passionately and incisively, every word like the most precise scalpel, accurately dissecting the core and most fatal pain point of the “manga-to-live-action” field.
“Ono is right.” Suzuki nodded: “In communication studies, this is called a conflict of ‘audience decoding.’ Manga provides an open text, while live-action drama provides a closed text. When the closed text greatly deviates from the open decoding result already formed in the audience’s mind, it will inevitably trigger strong resistance emotions. This is the so-called ‘original fans’ backlash.'”
“And don’t forget.” He paused, his tone becoming more solemn: “The core appeal of 《Late-night Diner》 lies not just in the gourmet food, but in that unique ‘atmosphere’ that reveals true flavor in the mundane. That unique loneliness and warmth in the dead of night, that tacit understanding between people that is distant yet unspoken… These are very metaphysical things, extremely hard to capture through the lens. It’s not like action films that can pile on special effects, or romance films that can fill with melodrama. It requires the director to have extremely profound insight and understanding of life and humanity. Hiroshi Nohara is impressive, but he’s only twenty-three after all. Can he really understand that loneliness of middle age, full of helplessness and compromise? I have reservations about that.”
The car fell silent again.
Ono and Suzuki took turns speaking, analyzing every possible minefield in the live-action adaptation of 《Late-night Diner》.
Their professionalism and rationality made the small Toyota Century feel like a mobile academic seminar site filled with elite vibes.
However, amid this atmosphere full of rationality and caution, the usually silent Kimura Senior suddenly chuckled softly.
“You two…” While steadily controlling the steering wheel, he glanced through the rearview mirror at the two juniors who looked slightly stunned by his laughter, wisdom shining in his turbid eyes as if he had seen through the world: “You’ve talked for so long, and you’re all right. But you’ve forgotten the most important thing.”
“What is it?” they asked in unison.
“You’ve forgotten who is wielding the knife.” A meaningful arc curved on Kimura Senior’s lips, his eyes filled with near-blind trust in that young person: “It’s Hiroshi Nohara.”
“A monster who never plays by the rules.”
He paused, casually tossing the empty oolong tea bottle into the side storage compartment, his voice carrying a hint of the helplessness of someone who had been through it all.
“But speaking of which, even if he really fails this time, whatever he produces will definitely be a hundred times better than that 《Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree》 that Kirin Group made last year, right?”
“Pfft—”
Ono was the first to burst out laughing uncontrollably, his voice full of undisguised contempt.
“Kimura Senior! That’s… that’s insulting Minister Nohara! Comparing trash like 《Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree》 to Minister Nohara’s work? That’s like comparing a pile of shit to Michelin three-star kaiseki cuisine!”
“Hahahaha! Ono, your metaphor is crude, but damn, it’s spot on!” Suzuki also laughed heartily, pushing up his glasses, his eyes gleaming with schadenfreude: “Let me tell you, last year at the premiere of 《Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree》, I nearly fell asleep in the theater! What the hell was that filming? Plot childish like a three-year-old’s pretend play, dialogue awkward enough to dig out a three-bedroom apartment! Except for Shunsuke Kamiki’s face being watchable, it was utterly worthless!”
“More than worthless!” Ono grew angrier as he spoke, even waving his fist: “Is that even a sword-fighting film? It’s clearly a costume idol drama disguised as one! The samurai all have red lips and white teeth, dressed more flamboyantly than courtesans! In fights, they do slow-motion spins, posing longer than actually slashing! I wanted to rush into the screen and slap each of those insulted Sengoku spirits on behalf of them!”
“The funniest part is they dared to release alongside Minister Nohara’s 《Seven Samurai》!” Suzuki’s face was full of gleeful anticipation: “The result? 《Seven Samurai》 final box office eighty-four billion yen, directly breaking the neon domestic film box office record! And that 《Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree》? A measly eight billion yen! Not even a fraction! Utterly self-humiliating and laughable!”
“Eight billion yen? I think that’s overestimate!” Ono snorted coldly, his voice full of disdain: “If not for Shunsuke Kamiki’s braindead fans desperately buying out screenings, I bet that film’s box office wouldn’t even hit one billion! It’s… a disgrace in neon film history!”
“That’s why I say.” Kimura Senior smiled as he summed up: “This time will be the same. Even if Hiroshi Nohara really fails, even if his 《Late-night Diner》 doesn’t adapt well and flops in reputation. At least what he produces has soul, has warmth, is worth discussing and pondering. As for that 《Nan Dao A Feng and His Beloved Dog》? I can guess with my toes it’s the same vein as 《Samurai of the Cherry Blossom Tree》—a flashy but hollow… commodity piled up with traffic stars and exquisite packaging.”
“One is artwork, even if failed artwork. One is a commodity, even if a successful commodity. Between the two, which is superior—we writers should know in our hearts, right?”
His words were like the most precise verdict, instantly drawing a mocking period to this ratings war before it even began.
“But speaking of which,” a solemn expression suddenly appeared on Suzuki’s face: “Tokyo City Television is newly established after all; their first fire will definitely burn bright. I heard that besides this independent original 《Nan Dao A Feng and His Beloved Dog》, their other prime time programs are rebroadcast rights of hot shows bought at high prices from Kansai and Kyushu. They’re clearly concentrating all production resources and promotional resources on this one drama. They’ve invested heavily in this battle; not to be underestimated.”
“Yeah.” Ono nodded too, a trace of worry on his face: “And I heard their ‘promotion fee’ to the media this time is also hefty. When we get back, we’ll probably… have to write insincere praise articles against our conscience again.”
As soon as he finished, Kimura Senior pulled out that exaggeratedly thick envelope from his pocket.
He tossed the envelope casually onto the dashboard; the dull thud hit like the most precise heavy hammer on everyone’s hearts.
“As expected from real estate people, they sure are generous.” He smiled self-mockingly, his voice full of worldly worldliness and helplessness.
“Sigh…” Suzuki let out a long sigh, looking at the bulging envelope, a trace of indescribable fatigue flashing in his usually calm eyes: “When we get back, let’s first ask other colleagues what they thought of the live-action 《Late-night Diner》. At least we’ll have a gauge, know how to write without offending the paymaster or being too conscienceless.”
“How else to write?” Ono smiled bitterly, hurling the mangled oolong tea bottle into the trash bag at his feet, his voice full of self-abandoned helplessness: “Tomorrow, just follow their press release and hype Shunsuke Kamiki to the skies. ‘Explosive acting,’ ‘eyes full of drama,’ ‘lost ten pounds for the role’… I could write three thousand words with my eyes closed.”
“Hahahaha!” Hearing this, Suzuki couldn’t help but smile bitterly too: “You’re getting more and more ‘professional’ in our line of work, kid.”
“Professional?” Ono murmured the word, burying his head deeply between his arms, his muffled voice carrying a barely detectable choke.
“If this goes on, I feel like my soul is about to be completely bought out by this damn capital.”
The car fell into dead silence once more.
Only the brilliant yet icy cold river of stars formed by countless lights outside the window silently watched these three insignificant souls struggling bitterly between ideal and reality.
After a long while, Kimura Senior started the car again.
“Let’s go.” His voice was soft, yet like the heaviest sigh, echoing in everyone’s ears.
“Home, to write the manuscript.”
The black Toyota Century merged silently into Tokyo’s sleepless deep night like a silent beetle.
The voice was filled with endless sorrow.
‘Ding-ling-ling—’
Until a sudden pager vibration rang out, slicing through the suffocating silence like the sharpest blade, opening a crack.
It was Ono; he fumbled hurriedly from his pocket that small black square, the faint screen light illuminating his young face still etched with unwillingness.
“It’s… Editor Mikami’s message, hopes to connect!” He glanced at the number, his voice carrying a survivor-like surprise, “Mikami from 《Cinema Human World》! He must have seen 《Late-night Diner》 too!”
Before he finished, he impatiently pulled over to the roadside and rushed to the lit public telephone booth nearby.
“Hey! Mikami-san! It’s me, Ono! You… you saw it too?! That 《Late-night Diner》!” As soon as the call connected, Ono’s pent-up excitement all night erupted like a volcano, “What’d you think?! What’d you think?!”
From the other end came Editor Mikami’s equally exhilarated voice, even trembling slightly: “What’d I think?! What the hell could I think?! I’m right now in the izakaya downstairs from my place! I rushed down right after watching! Let me tell you, Ono! I just want a chilled draft beer, a plate of freshly grilled chicken skewers, then shout to the moon three times—Hiroshi Nohara boards the ship!”
“Hahahaha! Me too! That’s exactly what I thought!” Ono laughed heartily, his voice full of the exhilaration of finding a kindred spirit: “Which shop are you at? I’m coming right over! No! I’ll bring Kimura Senior and Suzuki Senior too! Tonight, we won’t stop till we’re drunk!”
“Good! I’m at ‘Bird Noble’ in Shinjuku San-chome! Hurry! I’m waiting!”
Hanging up, Ono rushed back to the car like he’d been injected with chicken blood, all gloom swept clean from his young face, leaving only a near-mad glow ignited by pure passion.
“Kimura Senior! Suzuki Senior! Let’s go drinking! Editor Mikami is waiting! He says he’s celebrating Minister Nohara’s new work with us!”
……
The night in Shinjuku San-chome had less of Ginza’s distant nobility, more of the touchable worldly life.
The warm orange lights of “Bird Noble” izakaya spilled from the half-open wooden sliding door, illuminating the red lanterns crookedly written with “yakitori” and “draft beer” in tempting hues.
When the three—Kimura, Ono, and Suzuki—pushed open the door, Editor Mikami was already at a small window booth, having ordered a table full of tempting drinking snacks.
Golden crispy fried chicken nuggets, sizzling grilled chicken skewers, crisp green edamame, and seven or eight large glasses of chilled draft beer topped with dense foam.
And beside him were a few of Editor Mikami’s friends, also fellow editors or film critics.
They had all seen the live-action 《Late-night Diner》.
“Come come! Sit! Sit!” Mikami beamed as he welcomed them, his enthusiasm like not colleagues meeting but long-lost old friends reuniting.
Ono, Kimura, and Suzuki, the three editor-critics, sat down.
After everyone exchanged simple greetings.
The topic naturally turned to Hiroshi Nohara’s 《Late-night Diner》 live-action version.
“Let me tell you, I just rewatched the first episode three times with Editor Kishimoto!” Editor Mikami raised his glass, his usually mild-smiling face now full of irrepressible excitement: “That opening theme! Absolute perfection! Just the simplest acoustic guitar, the most unadorned voice, yet it instantly melted me completely! I even think this song alone could win this year’s best TV drama soundtrack award!”
“More than just the soundtrack!” An editor named Kishimoto nearby also raised his glass, clinking it hard, the crisp sound like the most stirring war drum: “And that boss! Seniors, where did this Xiang Shuishang come from?! I searched the entire neon entertainment database—no info on him from twenty years ago! He’s like… like he popped out of a rock specifically for this drama!”
“Yeah!” Another editor chimed in: “I thought the live-action boss would differ somewhat from the manga image. But I never expected him to… achieve 100% fidelity! No! I think he’s even more real, more charismatic than in the manga! That gentle silence, that story-hidden sternness—it’s… alive!”
“Exactly! ‘Alive’!” Mikami slapped his thigh hard, his voice full of irrefutable affirmation: “The boss in the manga is ultimately 2D, needing us to ‘fill in’ ourselves. But the live-action boss breathes, thinks; when you order, he gazes at you quietly with those eyes that see through everything. When you’re down, he silently hands you a steaming bowl of pork lard rice. That feeling, of being gently watched and healed by a real person, can’t be felt no matter how many times you read the manga! That’s where live-action surpasses manga!”
While they exchanged thoughts, the newly arrived Ono, Kimura, and Suzuki exchanged bewildered looks.
They had all gone to see Tokyo City Television’s 《Nan Dao A Feng and His Beloved Dog》 TV drama.
They hadn’t seen Hiroshi Nohara’s 《Late-night Diner》 at all.
Now, seeing their colleagues at the table so excitedly chatting, their hearts were a mix of emotions.
“Is it… really that good?” Ono couldn’t hold back his curiosity and asked.
He also said regretfully: “We accepted Tokyo City Television’s press invite, so we went to their event. Watched that guy Shunsuke Kamiki’s 《Nan Dao A Feng and His Beloved Dog》 TV drama. We missed it! Didn’t get to see Hiroshi Nohara’s 《Late-night Diner》!”
“Mm.” Kimura beside him sighed and said: “Now hearing you all, it seems… Hiroshi Nohara’s 《Late-night Diner》 live-action is extremely impressive?”
“Yeah, tell us, how is this TV drama really?” Suzuki also asked.
Hearing them, Mikami, Kishimoto, and the others let out scoffing laughs.
Though not very mocking, they looked at them with pitying gazes, each sharing their insights.
All words of praise.
And the last veteran editor spoke up: “I even think this drama is no longer just a TV drama.”
He raised his glass, took a gentle sip, wisdom shining in his turbid eyes as if he had seen through the world.
“It’s more like a virtual community personally built by Hiroshi Nohara for us souls wandering lonely in the city…”
“Here, we’re no longer isolated atoms. We’re that yakuza elder brother who loves octopus sausage, that dejected singer crooning dreams in the night, those three single women past prime mocking men yet craving love… We’re each other’s mirrors and comforts.”
“This resonance, this sense of belonging, is the drama’s most powerful—and most… terrifying—aspect.”
The veteran critic’s words, like the most precise verdict, instantly endowed this newborn work with a near-“sociological” height.
“Senior said it perfectly!”
“Cheers!”
“To Minister Nohara!”
“To 《Late-night Diner》!”
Seven or eight chilled draft beer glasses clinked heavily in the air, the crisp sound perfectly blending with the surrounding worldly clamor.
These words stunned Ono, Kimura, and Suzuki, who hadn’t seen 《Late-night Diner》.
They felt immense regret and annoyance.
Especially thinking of the announcement fee from Tokyo City Television still in their pockets, their faces grew extremely complex, unsure how to write tomorrow.
After all, things were what they were.
If they wrote well, they’d end up embarrassed, since Hiroshi Nohara’s 《Late-night Diner》 live-action, judging by their colleagues’ excitement and fanaticism, was clearly another 《Seven Samurai》-level work.
If they didn’t write well.
Then these critics living off announcement fees, how would they explain to Tokyo City Television?
You know, the softer the mouth from eating, the shorter the hands from taking.
This was very important professional integrity!
“Everyone, please explain in detail how Hiroshi Nohara’s 《Late-night Diner》 really is.” Ono was the first to plead.
So Mikami explained in detail.
After finishing, it stunned the three of them.
However, at that moment, Ono suddenly thought of something; he set down his glass, a near-pilgrimage fanaticism appearing on his young face.
“Seniors!” He stood abruptly from his seat, determination shining in his sparkling big eyes: “What’s the point of just drinking here?! Come on! I’ll take you to a great place!”
“To… that real ‘Late-night Diner’!”
……
When the seven arrived in two taxis back at that familiar yet strange alley, the “scene” rivaling Shibuya on New Year’s Eve still petrified them all on the spot.
A dense crowd like fish stranded on the beach after the tide receded packed the already narrow alley impenetrably.
The crowd like ants pilgrimaged tirelessly toward that faint yellow light source.
“My god… this… this is too exaggerated, right?!” Ono stammered, staring at the endless line ahead, the bone-deep shock making him feel like he was in a fantastical dream.
“And it’s… just after the first episode aired! How… how did so many people come?!” Mikami sighed too, disbelief filling his usually mild-smiling face.
“Listen, what they’re talking about.” Suzuki pushed up his glasses, signaling everyone to listen carefully.
Amid the noisy crowd, discussions full of excitement and expectation surged like waves one after another.
“Hey! Front! How much longer till we get in? I came from Ota Ward! Just for a bowl of boss’s handmade cat food!” A boy in a baseball uniform, looking like a college student, anxiously tiptoed forward.
“Who knows! I heard at 9 PM opening tonight, over a hundred were already lined up!” His similarly dressed companion shrugged helplessly: “All Hiroshi Nohara’s fault! He made this place too appealing! Probably all Tokyo night owls are here now!”
“More than Tokyo!” At the other end of the line, a young girl in professional suit like a company white-collar excitedly told her camera-wielding bestie also holding a camera: “《Late-night Diner》 filming location! On site! Real! Alive! Wow! It’s a sea of people here! More exaggerated than our last Disney line! The boss himself is super handsome! Super stylish! Just like on TV! Ah—! I feel like I’m gonna faint from happiness!”
“I think the best part is the atmosphere!” Her similarly dressed bestie got excited too, her sparkling eyes full of emotion: “Look, so many people, so crowded, but no arguing, no complaining. Everyone quietly lining up, softly sharing their love for the drama. It’s like… like we’re really family.”
“Yeah… yeah…”
This sentiment instantly drew a chorus of agreement.
Mikami, Ono, Kimura, and the others stood quietly at the crowd’s edge, watching this warm scene; their brains, numbed by countless commercial flops, froze in that moment.
However, just then, a few more taxis stopped at the alley mouth.
Doors opened, a dozen equally excited young people rushed over waving cameras like discovering new land.
“Wow—! Found it! Found it! This is the place!”
“Hurry hurry! Let’s line up! Heard if later, no food!”
“Tomorrow Saturday, no work! Tonight we’ll overnight line here! I must eat boss’s handmade octopus sausage!”
In minutes, the line’s end grew by thirty or forty more.
“Sigh…” Ono sighed deeply, looking at the ever-lengthening snake-like queue, his young face full of despair: “Done for, we definitely won’t eat tonight.”
“No food, no food.” Mikami was open-minded, smiling and shaking his head, calm in his eyes like one who had seen through the world: “I think witnessing a cultural phenomenon’s birth is far more meaningful than a meal.”
“But…” Ono still said unwillingly: “I… I really wanna go in and see! Just a peek! See what that real ‘Late-night Diner’ is like!”
Before he finished, the wooden door deep in the alley, scorched by countless gazes, suddenly creaked open a slit.
A ponytail girl in middle school uniform poked out her small head. Her slightly pale face from fatigue now beamed with maturity and pride beyond her years.
“Very sorry, dear customers!” Her clear, loud voice like a wind bell piercing the night instantly drowned the alley’s chatter: “Store ingredients are all used up! Dad and Mom are exhausted to the point of collapse! Business ends tonight! Thank you so much for your support!”
She bowed deeply to the dense crowd at the alley mouth.
“Eh—?!”
“No more?!”
“How can this be! I’ve only lined for two hours!”
“Please, little sister! Let us in for just a beer!”
The crowd erupted in disappointed, unwilling wails.
Yet amid the clamor, a young girl in professional suit like a company white-collar suddenly shouted loudly at the uniformed girl.
“Little sister! You… you’re the boss’s daughter, right?! I… I’m your father’s fan! He acted so well in the drama! Can we go in for a photo with your father?”
“Yeah yeah! Can we take a photo?!”
“Yeah! Your father is truly the best boss in our hearts! We want a photo!”
The crowd boiled again, all gazes like scorching spotlights focusing on the girl named Sayuri Shuishang.
The girl paused slightly, then a brilliant smile bloomed on her tired little face.
“No can do, my father doesn’t like photos or fame, and I’ll handle the refusals, so don’t disturb my father!”
She straightened her small back, bone-deep pride making her shine: “Just care about the dad in the drama! We’re… just an ordinary Late-night Diner open from 9 PM to 4 AM!”
She paused, pulling the wooden door tighter, her tone pleading: “And my father is really tired, please understand!”
She bowed as she said it.
The customers outside, seeing this, could only disperse in the end.
……
In the kitchen, the last of the night’s clamor finally ebbed away like a receding tide.
Xiang Shuishang leaned fatigued on the bar counter, feeling his arms aching too much to lift.
He watched his wife Misaki Shuishang listlessly put the last clean plate back in the cabinet, her usually gentle face full of despair.
“My back… feels like it’s not mine anymore.” Misaki Shuishang thumped her lower back, complaining weakly with a hint of coquetry: “I swear, I’ve never washed this many plates in my life!!”
“You’ve worked hard, Misaki.” A apologetic smile appeared on Xiang Shuishang’s face as he stepped forward to gently massage his wife’s shoulders.
“Saying ‘worked hard’ does nothing!” Misaki Shuishang shot him a grumpy glance, but her eyes hid irrepressible sweet amusement.
She turned, looking at the scar on her husband’s face that looked especially charming under the dim light, and those eyes that seemed to see through everything, muttering half-annoyed half-amused.
“Especially earlier! Didn’t you see?! Those girls in pink sweaters at the bar! Their eyes like they wanted to devour you alive! Calling ‘boss so handsome,’ ‘boss so gentle’—gave me… goosebumps!”
As she spoke, she mimicked the girls in a pinched, coquettish voice, her jealous cuteness making Xiang Shuishang chuckle.
“Okay, okay, don’t be mad.” He smiled, shaking his head, gently embracing his wife: “In my heart, you’re the prettiest.”
“Hmph, smooth talker.” Though Misaki Shuishang said that, she obediently leaned her head on her husband’s broad, warm chest.
“But speaking of which,” she suddenly thought of something, jerking her head up, worry filling her gentle eyes: “You’ve been busy all day; tomorrow… still going to the film crew to shoot? Can your body take it?”
“Don’t worry, tomorrow even if I go it’ll be easy.” Xiang Shuishang smiled, shaking his head.
“Not easy? Why?” Misaki Shuishang asked puzzled.
“Because…” An helpless yet admiring smile appeared on Xiang Shuishang’s face: “Minister Hiroshi Nohara is really too strong! Just follow his instructions; even I can’t describe the details in words.”
“Eh?!” Misaki Shuishang’s eyes widened again.
Just then, her daughter’s clear voice came from outside the bar again.
“Dad! Mom! Come out quick and see!”
The two hurriedly supported each other out of the kitchen.
Their daughter Sayuri Shuishang had sent the guests away, closed the shop door, and now stood by the cash register holding a thick envelope in her small hands, her little face beaming with uncontrollable ecstasy.
“Guess! How much did we make tonight?!”
“How much?”
“One hundred ten thousand yen! A full one hundred ten thousand yen!” Sayuri was so excited she was incoherent, looking at her parents with uncontainable ecstasy: “Oh my god! We used to work weeks hard for this much! This… this is unbelievable!”
Xiang Shuishang and Misaki Shuishang smiled honestly too.
“Yeah, this is the advertising effect Mr. Nohara brought us.” Xiang Shuishang said softly, a trace of emotion in his tone.
“No! More than advertising effect!” Misaki Shuishang said excitedly, looking at her husband with infinite longing for the future: “This is… the start of our new life! With this money, we can give Sayuri a better life! We… can vacation in Hawaii, shop in Paris like the rich!”
Xiang Shuishang looked at his wife’s flushed-with-happiness face, reached out, and tightly embraced his wife and daughter: “Yeah, Misaki, Sayuri!”
“From now on, I’ll make sure you two live good lives.”
He paused, indescribable pride in his tone: “We… we’ll soon be rich.”
“Mm!” Misaki Shuishang and Sayuri nodded vigorously, burying their heads deep in this man’s broad warm chest, heartfelt happiness making them feel they owned the world.
“Meeting Mr. Nohara was truly great.” Misaki Shuishang murmured, her voice thick with inseparable sweetness and gratitude.
“Yeah.” Xiang Shuishang sighed too, looking out the window; his heart dormant for twenty years beat fiercely again in this moment.
“Truly great.”
