I watched him stagger toward the washroom, seemingly recovered to his former vigor, and felt immensely relieved.

But just as Da Xiong reached the window, about to turn toward the facilities, he cursed, "Damn it! Hurry! Get dressed quickly, let’s get out of this hospital first!"

Not knowing what had happened, I asked, "What’s wrong?"

Da Xiong yanked the curtain shut with a whoosh, peeling off his hospital gown as he spoke, "A horde of reporters and police are storming this way! The yard is crammed with vehicles. Even though your Xiong-ye has seen every kind of spectacle, I can’t stand this kind of scene."

Hearing that, I peered through a gap in the curtain and indeed saw a throng of noisy people marching toward the building we were in.

When I turned back, Xie Yuting and Da Xiong were already dressed—all of them in crisp suits. It seemed Nie Chuan had only bought suits.

Xie Yuting said to me, "Wasn't I right? Let's make a break for it."

I nodded, opened the door ahead of everyone, saw the corridor wasn't blocked by reporters yet, and waved them on.

The three of us slipped out of the room, closed the door quietly, and hurried toward the stairwell.

When we reached the landing, I glanced back at the nurse's station and saw Hechuan Meizi standing there, smiling at us.

Her smile seemed tinged with apology; she probably knew what was going on.

Truthfully, I couldn't blame her. After all, her fiancé was a journalist, and breaking explosive news was his job.

I murmured, "We’ll handle the discharge paperwork when we come back in a couple of days."

Hechuan Meizi waved, saying with a hint of apology, "The reporters are about to come up; you should hurry."

I nodded and walked toward the stairs without looking back.

Taking the elevator now would certainly get us trapped, and we weren't on a high floor anyway; besides, we weren't in the habit of using elevators, so we took the stairs down.

Only halfway down, a group of reporters carrying all sorts of bulky cameras and lenses suddenly charged up.

The three of us kept our heads down, brushing past them. Though I couldn't understand Japanese, I could hear them repeating one phrase: 602, 602.

They were clearly all aiming for our room.

It was a stroke of luck that these reporters didn't seem to recognize our faces, knowing only the room number, which allowed us to escape.

Once outside the hospital gates, the three of us took a deep, long breath.

Da Xiong said to me, "I never want to stay in this devil’s land again. Let’s go back home immediately; my old mother must be worried sick."

I nodded and replied, "Since none of you are seriously hurt, let's book our tickets and go back."

We hailed a cab right then and headed for the airport.

While the taxi was moving, I asked Xie Yuting if the reporter had orchestrated everything from last night, because the strange things that happened around us afterward couldn't be explained by human action alone.

Xie Yuting replied, "I don't know, but I'm certain the talisman you stuck on our foreheads was useless. It must have been some other force that woke us up."

"Another force?" I didn't know what power he meant, and for a moment, all three of us fell silent.

Recalling the death of the white-haired old man brought complex emotions. And the curse of his thirteen-day revenge seemed to have truly materialized.

I thought that the reporter focusing on us surely wasn't a coincidence, nor was it simply because we were Chinese.

He must have seen some sign on me to have engineered this entire charade.

Perhaps the white-haired old man's spirit had truly been following us; we just never noticed any signs.

As I was pondering this, the driver in front, seemingly overhearing us speak Chinese, switched to English and said, "You must be tourists visiting Kobe? It’s wise of you to choose these days to return home."

Sensing he wanted to tell us something, I asked, "Sir, what do you mean?"

The taxi driver said, "More and more troops have been dispatched to Kobe from all over the country recently. Something must be happening. I heard that in a few days, all flights out of Kobe will be grounded, and there will be a large-scale civilian evacuation."

I frowned, seeming to grasp the situation, but I still asked, "What exactly is going on?"

The driver chuckled and said, "Who knows? Some say a meteorite that landed on Mount Rokkō contained highly radioactive material. Others say aliens have attacked. Still others claim the meteorite smashed open the gates of Hell, and little devils have run out to harm people. In short, we common folk know nothing, except that the troops being sent to Mount Rokkō keep increasing; three waves of bombers headed to the site today alone."

Just as he finished speaking, we suddenly heard a muffled thud in the distance, like the sound of a cannon firing.

Then came a few more thuds, all originating from the distant Mount Rokkō.

Next, we in the car felt the ground shake lightly a few times, followed by a towering plume of black smoke rising in the distance.

Since the direction of the airport was the same as that of Mount Rokkō, we saw it very clearly.

Seeing this sight, the driver slammed on the brakes, stopping the car.

It wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't stopped, as all the cars ahead had already halted—the road was completely blocked.

From the back seat, I saw the driver's face turn ashen, his hand trembling as he reached for the door handle.

He stumbled out, like the other Japanese people, and stood by the roadside, watching the slowly ascending black cloud.

I understood why the Japanese were so sensitive about huge explosions; I understood their feelings.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki had taken so many lives back then, becoming an eternal shadow over the nation of Japan.

However, such a massive explosion shocked even the three of us, and we too got out of the car to gaze into the distance.

No one spoke on the street; everyone stared toward Mount Rokkō with pale faces.

If what happened a few days ago was merely speculation, then this explosion involving weapons of mass destruction now signaled that war was imminent.

No matter who the enemy was, war would bring unimaginable trauma, so everyone fell silent.

We stood by the roadside watching the distance. After about a minute, a murmur began to rise from the crowd.

They must all have been worried for themselves and their families.

At that moment, the driver turned to me and said, "My grandfather died in the Hiroshima blast, did you know that?"

Seeing the sorrow in his eyes, the three of us didn't know what to say.

In fact, I could have told him some of the truth, but that would undoubtedly have caused greater panic.

Then, the traffic on the street began to move slowly, but most cars turned around, perhaps rushing home to be with their loved ones and ensure their safety immediately.

The driver gestured for us to get back in the car and drove forward without a word.

Because fewer cars were moving forward, the speed was much faster than before.

All four of us in the car wore heavy expressions, unsure of what to say.

A while later, the iconic Japanese cherry trees appeared on both sides of the road, blooming profusely and vibrantly.

At this time of year, cherry blossoms shouldn't have been in full bloom, but due to the deep love for them, many places in Japan had planted varieties that bloomed in autumn. What we saw ahead were these autumn-blooming cherries.

But for some inexplicable reason, I thought these cherry blossoms were even more vivid than the spring ones, as if they had been dyed red with blood.

The driver also saw these clusters of brilliant crimson blossoms and said, "Crimson cherry blossoms scatter—this is an inauspicious sign. It seems something truly major is about to happen in Kobe City."

About ten minutes later, our car stopped in front of the airport entrance.

The three of us got out and walked straight into the main hall, only to find it packed shoulder-to-shoulder.

It wasn't just crowded; it was a crush of people.

Upon looking closer, most were foreigners, few locals. Clearly, these were tourists from overseas desperate to buy tickets to leave.

Whenever a country experiences war or turmoil, this phenomenon occurs; I wasn't surprised.

At the entrance, we saw a sign that read: Ticket Sales Terminated for Local Residents; Overseas Tourists Priority.

I had initially thought we’d be waiting until tomorrow to reach the ticket counter, but that rascal Da Xiong put on his sunglasses, leveraged his height of nearly two meters and his solid frame, and pushed through the crowd as easily as parting beans with chopsticks, leading the two of us straight through.

Seeing his bear-like physique, not a single person around dared to utter a complaint. Xie Yuting followed with a cold expression, while I kept apologizing to people, explaining we had an urgent matter, until we reached the front.

We left the hospital at ten in the morning and boarded the plane at nine that evening.

Breakfast and lunch were spent surviving on instant noodles at the airport. Only once we were seated on the plane did we finally breathe a sigh of relief, as the cacophony of various foreign languages during the day had been deafening.

Despite being tormented all day, the three of us didn't rush to sleep once we boarded. Instead, we gazed out the windows.

The flight seemed to deliberately avoid flying over Mount Rokkō, yet we could still see strings of tiny bright trails lighting up the night—a phenomenon caused only by the firing of weaponry, and it appeared the fighting was intense.

Everyone on board looked astonished, and many took out their phones to snap pictures, but the flight attendants came over one by one to stop the passengers from looking out and repeatedly ordered them to switch off their devices.

Finally, the plane pulled away from Kobe’s wound, preparing to cross mountains and seas toward China.

I noticed that the small clusters of lights that should have marked villages on the ground had vanished into the night.

The sound of distant explosions still echoed in my ears, and gradually, I succumbed to drowsiness and fell asleep.

When I finally awoke, the plane had landed at the Capital Airport. The flight attendants woke us all up, reminding us to disembark.

I rubbed my eyes and inhaled the air unique to my homeland—an atmosphere that seemed to carry a hint of sweetness.