Chapter Fifty: The Apprentices of Masami Kurumada, Akira Toriyama, and Tsukasa Hojo

Li Xuan was waiting impatiently at the side and said urgently, “Jiangxi Wen, what are you two talking about?”

“Relax, I won’t betray my country. This young Japanese man just wants directions. I’ll take him there in a bit,” Jiangxi Wen replied, then shook his head and sighed, “Ah, ignorance is deadly.”

He said this offhandedly, merely to tease the brawny Li Xuan, but to Ziqing standing nearby, it struck a chord of shame. Her face flushed again; she looked up at Jiangxi Wen and said earnestly, “Little classmate, your Japanese is really good, I…”

Before she could finish, Jiangxi Wen interrupted, “Li Xuan, I’m leaving. Take care of your girlfriend and don’t mess around again.” With that, he nodded to the Japanese youth and turned to walk out of the alley.

“He’s not my boyfriend…” Ziqing hurried to explain after hearing Jiangxi Wen’s words, but Jiangxi Wen had already strode away, leaving the alley with the Japanese youth.

Li Xuan scratched his head and said, “Ziqing, he’s just a kid, a classmate of my old boss’s granddaughter. No need to say much to him—as long as we understand, that’s enough.”

“Luckily Yuling isn’t here; otherwise, she would definitely misunderstand.”

“How could she? She’s your classmate and your good friend,” Li Xuan laughed. “Come on, I’m heading to Yangjiang Normal University to see her. I’ll take you back to school so you don’t run into any more trouble.”

“That wasn’t trouble earlier, and we have to thank that young classmate,” Ziqing said seriously.

Li Xuan scratched his head again, “Got it, Ziqing—you’re so earnest. Let’s go.”

Leaving them aside, Jiangxi Wen took the Japanese youth and hailed a taxi, which soon arrived at Yangjiang’s only five-star international hotel.

On the ride, Jiangxi Wen learned the Japanese youth’s name was Inaba Keinan, a young manga artist. Yet Jiangxi Wen had never heard of him.

What surprised Jiangxi Wen even more was that this thin man with glasses claimed he had studied drawing under Masami Kurumada, Akira Toriyama, and Tsukasa Hojo, but none of their styles suited him. It wasn’t until he encountered Chinese culture that he found his true artistic direction, publishing two or three manga volumes—but unfortunately, they weren’t popular in Japan.

Clearly, he was a talented man underappreciated by his peers, Jiangxi Wen mused. Whether he was exaggerating or not, chatting with him was pleasant, and Jiangxi Wen picked up a good deal of Japanese through guessing and context.

Jiangxi Wen was well-versed in Chinese classical culture and Japanese anime, which made Inaba Keinan even more enthusiastic. He explained his purpose in China: a Taiwanese publishing editor had invited him to illustrate comics in the style of Chinese martial arts stories. Though he loved Chinese culture, he lacked a sense of resonance and feared another failure, so he had not agreed.

This time, he had come alone to China to experience the culture firsthand. After more than two months of traveling, he felt he had found his inspiration and developed a new, China-inspired artistic style.

Soon the taxi arrived at the Yangjiang Hotel. Inaba Keinan was very warm, insisting Jiangxi Wen accompany him to his room. Just as Jiangxi Wen wondered if this fellow might have ulterior motives, Inaba Keinan pulled out some of his drawings and asked Jiangxi Wen for his opinion.

The first picture caught Jiangxi Wen’s attention immediately: Yan Qing the Wanderer, with beautiful lines, a heroic spirit, and a sharp overall style, blending classical and fantasy elements perfectly.

The subsequent drawings included landscapes and beauties. Jiangxi Wen’s thoughts stirred—perhaps, before the age of the internet arrived, he could publish his own works.

“Inaba, do your comics need stories?”

Inaba Keinan nodded eagerly, then bowed and said, “Xiwen-kun, can you help me find someone who can write Chinese stories? My narrative skills are terrible.”

Jiangxi Wen found the thin man endearing and laughed, “Sure, the person who can write stories is right here in front of you.”

“You? That’s wonderful!” Inaba Keinan showed not a hint of doubt, his joy like a child’s. “Why don’t we discuss the details tonight?”

Jiangxi Wen made a helpless gesture, “I’m still a student—I need to go home, or my parents will worry. Tomorrow, I’ll come here to find you.”

Inaba Keinan didn’t hide his disappointment, but soon brightened again, “Alright, Xiwen-kun, I’ll wait for you tomorrow morning.”

The next morning, Jiangxi Wen went as scheduled to Wang Wu’s house, as it was another day to practice boxing. But today Wang Wu was listless. After much questioning, the straightforward man finally revealed he had seen his old captain, but the captain acted as if he didn’t know him and ignored him completely.

Jiangxi Wen comforted him for a long time, but Wang Wu couldn’t let it go. With anyone else, Jiangxi Wen might have invented a story, saying the captain was just teasing—but with Wang Wu, Jiangxi Wen would never lie, not even a white lie.

Being with this mentor-friend, this big-hearted man, Jiangxi Wen saw the purest, cleanest side of himself—no pressure, no restraints: pure manhood, pure fists.

Seeing that the time for his appointment with the Japanese thin man was approaching, Jiangxi Wen had to take his leave. He caught a taxi to the Yangjiang Hotel; Inaba Keinan’s door was open, and the man was engrossed in his drawing.

Jiangxi Wen preferred to call Keinan “the thin man,” as Inaba Keinan’s name sounded awkward to him. Hearing Jiangxi Wen’s greeting, Inaba only responded with a grunt and continued working.

Truly the temperament of an artist—when immersed in his art, nothing else mattered. A few minutes later, another man about thirty entered. He politely shook Jiangxi Wen’s hand and introduced himself as the hotel’s Japanese translator, hired temporarily by Inaba.

That was good; otherwise, if the conversation grew deeper, communication might be difficult. Jiangxi Wen thought Inaba was quite meticulous.

After about half an hour, Inaba finished a drawing: Hong Qigong facing Ouyang Feng, seven consecutive fighting moves, dazzling and brilliant, yet retaining the essence of martial arts culture.

As Jiangxi Wen admired the artwork, Inaba apologized for his earlier lack of manners, bowing repeatedly to both him and the translator, fully displaying the Japanese sense of humility.

Jiangxi Wen let him bow. Back when he worked at ssun developing programs for Japanese companies, he had experienced plenty of such etiquette. At first it seemed strange, but over time, he simply took it as their way of apologizing for past invasions of China—and so felt at ease.