The day Zheng Yi took over the Kyoto Research Institute, there were five people in his group, all Japanese.
Not one of them was normal.
One talked to the corner of the wall every day.
One had spent a lifetime studying charred talismans.
One had kept a dead cat as their master for three years.
One burned incense for more than thirty ancestral tablets every night.
The four women were even more outrageous.
One blushed whenever she spoke, one was expressionless all day, one had no presence at all, and one ran faster than a dog.
Later, all those down-and-out swordsmen, ninja, and onmyoji came looking for him.
Someone asked, “How do you keep all these Japanese people in line?”
Zheng Yi said, “I don’t. I let them do their own thing.”
This isn’t a story about fighting and killing.
It’s about a bunch of misfits who become a family.
