Meanwhile, less than fifty kilometers outside Kyoto.
Countless lush green trees formed an endless sea of forest, adorning the pristine white buildings in the valley like a fairyland. The sign reading "Soul's Homeland" above the gates remained spotless.
Publicly advertised as a sanatorium renowned for its cutting-edge soul therapy, it was actually the headquarters of a private religious organization. In a country famed for all manner of bizarre religious groups, such places were hardly uncommon—if anything, there were too many to count.
The cult leader claimed to be the reincarnation of the Holy Son and never showed his true face, merely preaching to the faithful from behind a curtain and banishing misfortune. That was nothing unusual either. Its followers and sponsors included many wealthy merchants and magnates, and this headquarters alone had cost several billion Yingzhou dollars to build, designed by a renowned architectural master.
In the eyes of the believers, this was an earthly paradise. Only those who had followed the leader for years were qualified, after donating all their assets, to enter this place and live a self-sufficient pastoral life—farming, cultivating crops, enjoying a fulfilling existence far from the world—and after death, enter Soul's Homeland in Heaven forever, free of all worries.
No matter how one looked at it, it was merely an ordinary scam operation.
The clearheaded scoffed at it, but there was no need to pick a fight with a religious group full of fools. And once every side had received enough money, naturally no blind police officers would come looking for trouble.
Under the noon sun, at the most sacred hour of the day, pious praise and song rose from the chapel.
"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me; I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but