This book is being republished under the same title: "Tokyo: These Labels Don’t Seem Quite Right."

At the heart of Ning City stood its tallest building—the Brushed Dust Tower. Not long ago, a certain incident had thrust the Brushed Dust Group into the center of public attention.

"Why is everyone looking at us?" Hua Luoyu asked, puzzled. Out of curiosity, she glanced outside and saw that everyone’s gaze was fixed upon her, though the stage itself was now empty.

When Su Yushan spoke of this matter, she deliberately used a polite form of address, which was enough to show just how outstanding a doctor Chen Feng was.

Owing to Lord Qin’s immense influence and complicated web of connections, any one of his associates could easily surprise someone.

Still wondering, she followed Ning Fuchen as he strolled through the garden. This was near the rear rooms of the compound; to dine in the city’s Jincheng District, they had to walk from the back to the front and exit through the main gate.

“Haha, that’s hilarious. If you can recite it backwards flawlessly, I’ll kneel down right now and call you ‘Master,’ and even write you a huge ‘Concede’ character,” the official scoffed.

To them, Master Lin had truly soared—no longer famous only online, but now publicly recognized. He had reached new heights, a pinnacle they might never in their lifetimes be able to touch.

After being struck by Xiao Xiwei’s cold words, Aunt Zhou felt a heavy blockage in her chest.

In truth, apart from a touch of fame and some money, Mingyue now possessed nothing tangible; even his fiefdom was merely honorary. Yet that didn’t stop him from scheming for more. He was determined to win over the farming clan, vowing repeatedly that upon his return he would promote agriculture and create opportunities for them in Zhao. He anxiously awaited their reply.

Observing Chen Xian’s calm demeanor, the Carefree Hermit nodded again, his approval unmistakable.

The young man of the Yin-Yang clan now revealed his yang aspect. His chiseled features were adorned with eyes as bright as stars, captivating all who looked upon him. His aura alternated between masculine strength and feminine grace, yet in either guise, he left others breathless.

“By the way,” Zhang Ye suddenly asked, “how’s your lifespan these days?” He had a particular interest in such matters, likely because he was the eldest among them. Perhaps, deep down, he simply sought a sense of accomplishment in his own longevity.

Zheng Huangwu knew that Chu Ming might not believe him, but he still felt compelled to speak his mind.

Not only was the cost of a single transmission prohibitive, but there were also strict requirements for users—martial practitioners had to be at least third rank, while Taoists were best at fourth or above.

Le Tao nodded, showing his understanding. He’d studied under Zhang Ye for five or six years and knew that when Zhang Ye ordered a fire attack, it was to be done at night for maximum effect. By day, the source of fire was visible, but at night, it was nearly impossible to detect.

“Tsk. After all these years, I didn’t expect you to develop a talent for sarcasm. That’s very manly,” Lu Yun thought as the wave of demonized people surged toward him in his final moments.

"Forget it, I'll ask myself," Mu Xiao muttered, overturning his earlier plan before Shi Po could answer. He tapped his own head, reminding himself that if he needed something from someone, a personal visit was the only way.

Ye Xingyan’s beautiful eyes sparkled as she softly said, “Given time, Master will surely become as formidable as they are!” The “they” she spoke of referred, of course, to the man in the purple robe and Nan Yinmeng.

Mu Kuangfu, his face bloodied from a kick, dared not utter a word and could only curl up on the ground, clutching his head.

Lin Chuxue shook her head as well. She knew that Xiao Zhan would never run the solo special forces’ eight-hundred-meter obstacle course.

Seeing this, Qing Feng couldn’t help but shout, drawing a coin-shaped magic sword from his talisman pouch. He bit his finger to light it with blood and hurled it with force.

“Your husband’s looking for you?” Somewhere nearby, Li Li, who had just tried on another outfit, emerged from the fitting room, teasing Ye Li, “Once I’m done with this dress, you’d better hurry home. I certainly don’t want to be responsible for keeping a married couple apart.”

During those days, Qin Lang stayed with her in the hospital. The doctor ordered her to remain in bed, and Qin Lang dutifully watched over her all day. He wouldn’t even let her get up by herself to use the bathroom, instead carrying her back and forth, until she scarcely dared to drink water anymore.

Yet, after Li Hao donned his new clothes, he felt they weren’t nearly as dashing as his Daoist robe—so rustic, he looked exactly like a country bumpkin. Which, of course, was the original intent.

When she left the Liu Building, she saw Liu Tianqing one last time. He was just as he’d always been—after everyone else had left the rooftop, he stood in front of Ye Li alone, holding a snow-white handkerchief.

Iron Demon took the cigarette Zhang Xiaofeng offered and examined it from every angle, none the wiser for his efforts.

Qian Delu was notorious for his misdeeds; even though the incident happened right inside the garrison office, none of the nearby officers stepped in to help. Each stood by, arms crossed, content to watch.

The entire organization was tightly linked, one segment connecting to the next. Yet, despite their apparent cohesion, no one truly knew what the others were doing.

Tang Shiyun kept smiling, but truly could not continue her questioning. Lin Feng had already claimed a poor memory, and there was little point in pressing the issue any further.