The Versatile Master Artist

City center, outside the train station, a black Mercedes GLE hotel vehicle weaved through the bustling roadsides, like a massive rock splitting the tidal flow of pedestrians.

“…Apologize? I don’t need them to come and apologize. If apologies worked, why would we need the police? Ha, I almost forgot, it’s the police causing trouble this time. These corrupt bureaucrats only know how to do this kind of superficial paperwork after the fact! When you joined the Great Golden Pagoda project, it was the cultural department that officially promised us everyday safety!”

The Blond Auntie sat in the wide boss chair in the rear of the SUV, her legs crossed, stacked together, muttering into the phone.

Her brow was furrowed, sunglasses pushed up to her forehead, her whole being exuding a sharp aura, even the layered sound-insulating doors of the luxurious SUV couldn’t block her machine-gun-like complaints, fiercely majestic like a general preparing for battle, or perhaps—

A thousand noisy ducks.

“So, this is a diplomatic incident!”

After a ten-minute tirade of spittle-flying critiques, the Blond Auntie delivered her verdict in an indisputable tone.

“My wife is right!”

On the other end, Uncle Sakai, whose eardrums were bombarded fiercely, seized the opportunity to nod frantically like a chicken pecking at rice.

“Yes, this is indeed a diplomatic incident.”

To be honest.

The officer at the train station who tried to detention Koizumi Katsuko this morning for a quick profit obviously miscalculated and hit a wall.

Even if Chen Shenglin didn’t intervene, given enough time for the situation to escalate.

Master Jiu’s darling daughter isn’t someone a small Southeast Asian police officer can extort at will.

While Gu Weijing and Koizumi Katsuko were still enjoying lakeside intimacy in the botanical garden.

Receiving a report from the bodyguard about the incident, Mrs. Cruz was livid, called her husband enjoying himself in Osaka to scold him thoroughly, directing him to ensure such things wouldn’t occur again.

Uncle Sakai, after being berated by his wife, hung up the phone.

Immediately called the Japanese officials who invited them to international projects, roaring at the consulate to make an informal protest to Yangon, reminding them to assure local citizens’ safety.

Artist Yakai Ichiro is considered a major cultural celebrity across Asia.

His daughter being extorted was no trivial matter, drawing considerable attention, and in half a day, this complex process was accomplished.

No matter how privately handled, Yangon Tourism Bureau’s attitude remained good.

Though officially stating it was a misunderstanding from a routine check, they would still send someone to apologize to Koizumi Katsuko personally.

Uncle Sakai, seeing as his daughter was unharmed, felt the response was adequate and reported the situation to his wife to earn some credit.

Unexpectedly, he was met with a harsh rebuke.

“It’s fortunate nothing happened to Katsuko this time; I’m not being hypocritical. If anything were to occur, wouldn’t it be too late to panic…”

“Yes, yes, you’re right, very sensible. Wife’s criticism is justified.”

A thousand kilometers away.

Uncle Sakai leisurely lay on a beanbag in the studio, watching a replay of the highly anticipated Koshien dark horse Yingqing Yishu competing against Mugokou Middle School on TV, two large boxes of fried onion rings on his lap, passively agreeing.

He’s very well-behaved, never challenging his wife on minor household issues.

Such a good wife is hard to find, and a few words of chastisement don’t cost him a few pounds.

Like a docile, 120-kilogram, gentle giant.

With his wife and daughter away, and his son sent off to boarding school, he enjoys whatever happiness he wants.

Even lying on the couch, eating messy junk food while sleepily watching high school baseball, feeling the long-lost passion and joy in the footage, no one comes to interfere.

Occasionally, he could indulge in an excessive calorie barbecue.

What defines a middle-aged man’s happiness?

This undisciplined, lazily sprawling life, it’s the unique pleasure of middle-aged men.

Over the past two months, Uncle Sakai’s enjoyment has been so satisfying he’d want to bleat happily.

“But, since it’s already resolved, and the tourism bureau faces its own difficulties, let them apologize, and that’s it. Anyway, it’s at most for one semester, or if you’re still worried, we could hire a couple more bodyguards for Katsuko?”

Uncle Sakai, living heartily and happily recently, holds a good attitude.

Uncle is mellow, Uncle doesn’t get angry.

He’d also visited underdeveloped regions similar to Kenya’s art gardens before. A nation gradually developing faces this sort of issue.

Since Katsuko hasn’t lost a hair, he’s too lazy to argue with foreign ministry officials anymore.

This trivial matter, if the embassy is willing for informal protest, that’s already giving much face, raising it to higher levels.

Is neither necessary nor meaningful.

Strictly speaking, his and Katsuko’s visa obtaining country passage for [Master Project on Monument Restoration] has officially ended.

His daughter’s extended stay in Myanmar is a personal choice.

Even if he continues to berate the small agency official connecting Japan, other than bowing and uttering “Sumimasen,” there’s not much more they can do.