Courtyard House: Home Alone

The more than four hundred Japanese "employees" who were standing guard in the lobby were engulfed by the sudden explosion before they could even react to what was happening. Blood and flesh flew everywhere, and cries, screams, and explosions mingled together, turning the once heavily guarded bank into a living hell in an instant.

Before the heavy machine gun, pointed at the door, could even unleash its fire, the Japanese soldier operating it was reduced to pieces in the blast wave.

Lin Yifan moved through the chaotic crowd like a ghost, and somehow he had two Nambu Type 14 pistols that he had picked up from the corpses of Japanese soldiers.

His eyes were cold, and his marksmanship was precise. Every time he pulled the trigger, a Japanese soldier who tried to resist or escape fell to the ground.

His mental power was like an invisible net, covering the entire bank, leaving no room for any Japanese soldier who tried to hide or launch a sneak attack.

Lin Yifan showed no mercy to these executioners whose hands were stained with the blood of Chinese people, and his attacks were swift and deadly.

Although the Japanese soldiers inside the bank were numerous, they were thrown into complete panic and chaos by the sudden explosion and Lin Yifan's ruthless reaping of lives.

They were not a regular army after all, and their weapons, which were as useless as fire pokers, and their so-called combat strength were no match for Lin Yifan.

Some Japanese soldiers tried to rush out of the bank, but were forced back by the corpses at the door and the bullets constantly being fired from inside; others huddled in a corner, trembling, praying that death would not come upon them.

Lin Yifan didn't give them much time. He moved through the hall littered with corpses as if strolling in a garden, the sound of his pistols ringing out crisply and deadly, coupled with the continuous firing of bullets from his spatial storage.

Soon, the gunfire inside the bank gradually subsided, eventually falling completely silent.

More than four hundred Japanese soldiers, even those hiding in the latrines, were all slaughtered by Lin Yifan. The air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder, and dark red blood flowed on the ground, forming small streams.

Lin Yifan glanced at the bank lobby, which resembled a slaughterhouse, and expressionlessly put away his pistol. Without pausing, he used his mental power to scan every corner of the bank again, confirming that no one had escaped. Then, with a thought, he vanished from the spot.

The next second, he appeared in another part of Dongjiaomin Lane—the heart of the Japanese expatriate community.

The area was also heavily guarded, with many Japanese residents, especially young adults, organized and armed, nervously protecting their homeland.

Even in their homes, there were Japanese civilians armed with various weapons. This could be considered the Japanese version of universal conscription.

Lin Yifan circled around, his mental energy sweeping across most of the settlement like a tidal wave.

He discovered that there were about two thousand Japanese residents gathered there, nearly a thousand of whom were armed, including rifles, pistols, and even a few light machine guns.

They set up sentry posts at various intersections and key locations in the settlement, as if facing a formidable enemy.

"Heh, quite wary." Lin Yifan's lips curled into a cold smile.

These Japanese expatriates, who enjoyed privileges in Beiping for many years, should now pay the price for everything their compatriots have done.

Instead of acting rashly, he began to carefully observe the layout and defenses of the settlement, searching for the best breakthrough point.

At the same time, he was also assessing the combat effectiveness of these expatriates. Although there were quite a few of them, most of them were hastily assembled and lacked formal military training. Compared to the Japanese "employees" in the bank earlier, their combat effectiveness was probably even inferior.

Lin Yifan's gaze finally settled on a three-story building in the center of the settlement. According to his mental probe, it seemed that some high-ranking Japanese expatriate leaders were gathered in that building, discussing something.

"To catch the thief, first catch the king." Lin Yifan had a plan in mind. He moved swiftly, like a cheetah in the night, silently creeping towards the three-story building.

With his masterful use of mental power, he easily evaded the gazes of the sentries along the way, rapidly approaching his target like a shadow blending into the darkness.

When he was about 30 meters away from the small building, two sentries carrying Type 38 rifles were talking in hushed tones with their backs to him, their leather shoes making a slight rubbing sound on the stone pavement.

Today is going to be another tough battle. Just in case, we should use teleportation less often to conserve mental energy.

Lin Yifan's eyes narrowed, his right hand forming a knife-like shape, and his body accelerated again, almost turning into a blur as he swept past.

The two sentries didn't even notice anything unusual. They only felt a numbness in the back of their necks before collapsing to the ground. Lin Yifan then easily put them into his spatial storage without making a sound.

He clung to the wall, nimbly circling around to a window on the side of the building, where he could faintly hear suppressed arguing in Japanese coming from inside.

Lin Yifan held his breath, his mental energy seeping in like a fine spider web, taking in the entire scene inside.

Inside, the room was filled with smoke. Eight Japanese men dressed in kimonos or suits sat around a round table made of rosewood. One of them, a middle-aged man with a mustache and gold-rimmed glasses, was slamming his fist on the table and speaking with a ferocious expression. The others either looked anxious or had sinister eyes, clearly engaged in a heated argument.

"This is it." Lin Yifan knew in his heart. He gently pushed open the half-closed window latch with his left hand and took out the captured Nambu Type 14 pistol from his waist with his right hand. The cold touch of the gun made him even calmer.

He silently slipped through the window and landed as lightly as a raccoon, his toes barely leaving a mark on the floor.

The arguing inside the room masked his movements. The man with the mustache seemed to sense something, abruptly stopped speaking, and looked suspiciously towards the window.

When he saw Lin Yifan's cold face, his pupils suddenly contracted, and his mouth opened wide as if to call for help, but he could only let out a "hoarse" gasp—Lin Yifan had already approached like a ghost, his left hand tightly gripping his throat, while the muzzle of the gun in his right hand was pressed against his temple.

"Don't move!" Lin Yifan roared in fluent but chilling Japanese.

The other seven Japanese leaders froze instantly, their faces drained of color. Some instinctively reached for their waists, but under Lin Yifan's sudden, sharp gaze and the tightening of the gun barrel, they recoiled as if electrocuted.

The man with the mustache whose throat was being choked frantically scratched at Lin Yifan's arm with both hands, kicking his feet wildly on the ground. His eyes were filled with fear and despair, and his once meticulously combed hair was now disheveled, making him look utterly wretched.

"Tell me the location of your armory, and the layout of the guards outside."

Lin Yifan's voice was completely calm, as if stating an undeniable fact: "I'll give you ten seconds to consider. For every second you spend more, I'll pick one of you to kill."