Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

But tonight is different.

The two leaders were Sato, a group leader from the Inagawa-kai, and Tanaka, a minor leader from the Sumiyoshi-kai. Their eyes gleamed with an unusual red light, as if they had drunk too much alcohol or were under the influence of some drug. Instead of their usual mutual insults, they stared intently at each other, their eyes filled with undisguised murderous intent and madness.

The air seemed to freeze, with only the heavy breathing of both sides and the occasional car horn in the distance.

They stared at each other for a full three seconds.

"kill!"

Someone shouted first, their voice hoarse and frantic.

The two groups clashed instantly, like wild beasts unleashed. Machetes, steel pipes, short clubs—some even drew pistols. The flashing blades and glint of steel gleamed under the dim streetlights, and blood splattered across the street. The sounds of hacking, screams, breaking bones, and the roar of pistols were particularly jarring in the silent night, carrying far and wide.

When the police arrived after receiving the report, the scene had become a living hell. Seventeen bodies lay sprawled on the cold asphalt, their postures contorted, blood flowing like a river, staining the road a dark red. More than twenty seriously injured people lay on the ground, groaning and convulsing in agony.

The survivors were apprehended by the police and taken to the station for questioning. Their answers, however, sent chills down the spines of even the most experienced detectives. They remembered only one thing—at that moment, their minds were blank, filled with a single thought: kill them all! Regardless of the cost or consequences, they were determined to kill! It was as if their opponents were not competitors, but mortal enemies.

The police officers exchanged bewildered glances, staring at the absurd statement, unsure how to record it. This had gone far beyond the scope of a typical gang fight.

Victoria Peak, 4 a.m.

He Damin still stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, but now, Hong Kong outside had shed its nighttime hues, and the east was tinged with the first light of dawn. His spirit had just returned to its place, and his face was even paler than in the morning. Fine beads of cold sweat covered his forehead, sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto the expensive carpet, leaving a small, dark stain. For three consecutive days, each night he had split his spirit into dozens of parts, possessing gang leaders, violent individuals, and the mentally vulnerable, manipulating their emotions, amplifying their evil thoughts, and creating chaos—all of which had greatly depleted his spiritual energy.

Chen Xueru had woken up sometime earlier. Without disturbing him, she quietly got up, went to the bathroom, wrung out a warm towel, and then went to his side to gently wipe the cold sweat from his forehead. The warmth of the towel made He Damin tremble slightly. He came to his senses and looked at his wife beside him.

"Are you tired?" Chen Xueru's voice was as gentle as water, her eyes filled with heartache. She could feel the exhaustion emanating from him, a weakness that penetrated to the bone.

He Damin took the warm water she offered, took a sip, and the warm water flowed down his throat, slightly relieving the dryness in his body. He shook his head, his voice a little hoarse: "It's nothing. On the path of cultivation, this little bit of exertion is nothing."

Chen Xueru didn't ask him what he had been doing these past few days. She simply stood quietly beside him, reached out, gently wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his cold back. She could feel his body trembling slightly. She stayed with him like that, watching the sky outside the window gradually lighten and the outline of Victoria Harbour slowly become clearer.

A long, long time passed, until the first real ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds and shone upon the earth, before she whispered, "Whatever you're doing, be careful."

He Damin reached out and grasped her hand that was wrapped around his waist; her hand was always so warm.

"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing." His voice, though tired, carried an undeniable firmness.

The fourth night.

Chaos ensues, and it begins to escalate.

This time, it wasn't just a gang fight, nor was it a tragedy within a family. That invisible malice began to spread to ordinary citizens.

At 7 a.m. in front of Shinjuku Station, during the morning rush hour, the crowd surged, everyone hurrying along. A seemingly honest-looking office worker in a gray suit and glasses, carrying a briefcase, was walking with the flow of people towards the subway station. Suddenly, as if provoked by something, he abruptly stopped, his eyes instantly becoming empty and crazed. He let out an incomprehensible roar, raised the heavy leather briefcase in his hand, and hurled it violently at a middle-aged woman he didn't recognize!

With a muffled thud, the woman screamed and collapsed to the ground, clutching her head, blood seeping from between her fingers.

But the office worker didn't stop. He went berserk, waving his briefcase and smashing it at anyone he saw, shouting incoherently, "It's all your fault! You're all the ones who ruined me! Kill you all! Die!"

Those around him were stunned by the sudden violence. Screams erupted, and the crowd scattered like startled fish. Several bold young men tried to subdue him, but were driven back by his frenzied actions. The chaos only subsided when two patrolling police officers arrived and used stun guns to subdue him. After being subdued, the office worker lay slumped on the ground, his eyes glazed over. He looked at his blood-stained briefcase, then at the terrified crowd and the injured lying on the ground, his face filled with confusion and fear: "What...what did I just do?" He had no recollection of his earlier outburst.

Ikebukuro, 10 PM. A group of young people, mostly university students, who had just finished watching a movie, strolled down the street in twos and threes, excitedly discussing the plot. Suddenly, someone bumped into someone, and a verbal altercation quickly escalated. Almost instantly, these usually mild-mannered students inexplicably split into two groups, like two herds of bulls locked in a bloody fight. Fists, kicks, stones, trash cans… anything they could get their hands on became a weapon. They bit and dragged each other, their heads bleeding, their faces and bodies covered in wounds, yet they seemed oblivious to the pain, still shouting incomprehensible words. Afterwards, when the police questioned them about why they fought, everyone stammered, no one could give a clear reason—they just felt a burning anger inside them, an unbearable urge to vent, and seeing each other made them angry and want to fight.

Asakusa, 1 a.m. An elderly woman, well past sixty, suddenly sat up in her sleep, her eyes vacant, a strange smile on her face. She silently climbed out of bed, walked to the dressing table, and picked up a sharp pair of paper cutters. Then, she walked step by step towards her sleeping husband, raised the scissors, her eyes showing no hesitation, only a cold madness. Just as the scissors were about to fall, her son, who had gotten up to use the night, witnessed this. Terrified, he rushed over, grabbed his mother, and snatched the scissors away. The old woman struggled for a few moments, her eyes gradually regaining their clarity. When she saw the scissors in her hand, and then looked at her husband, awakened and terrified, she instantly broke down, hugging him and wailing incoherently, saying, "I don't know what happened... all I could hear in my head was the voice saying 'Kill him, kill him'... I couldn't control myself..."

The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department's phones were ringing off the hook. Emergency calls poured in from every corner of the city, reporting various acts of violence, assaults, and suicides. All police stations were mobilized, police sirens blaring throughout the city, yet they were still stretched thin. Jails were overcrowded, hospital emergency rooms were packed with long lines, corridors overflowing with injured people and anxious families, the air thick with the stench of blood and disinfectant—utter chaos.

The Metropolitan Police Department's top brass held an emergency meeting overnight. The atmosphere in the smoke-filled conference room was so tense it was almost palpable. The chief slammed his fist on the table, his face ashen as he stared at the reports: "What on earth happened?! How did Tokyo become like this overnight?!"

A police inspector in charge of criminal investigations adjusted his glasses and analyzed the situation with a grave expression: "Chief, based on the current situation, these cases share a common thread: the perpetrators all exhibited extreme violent tendencies and mental instability at the time of the incident, but afterwards had only vague or complete amnesia about their actions. We suspect... the emergence of a new type of drug that can induce intense violent hallucinations and temporary mental confusion."

This explanation seems to be the only reasonable conjecture at present. The director nodded, wearily rubbing his temples: "Immediately issue an order! Conduct a thorough investigation of the drug source throughout the city! Block all possible smuggling channels! We must find out the truth as soon as possible and bring the situation under control!"

However, they were destined to gain nothing. The root of this chaos did not come from any chemical substance, but from a man far away on Victoria Peak in Hong Kong, and his Soul-Refining Banner that had absorbed countless vengeful spirits.

The fifth night.

The chaos reached its peak.

At 2 a.m., the tranquility of the night was shattered by a sudden burst of gunfire and explosions from the headquarters building of the "Matsuhakai" near Tokyo Bay. The gunfire lasted for more than ten minutes before gradually subsiding. When the police, acting on a tip from an informant, cautiously rushed in, the scene before them made even seasoned detectives feel nauseous.

The building was littered with corpses; corridors, offices, and even stairwells were filled with fallen bodies. Gang members had killed each other, some shot, some stabbed, and some even beaten to death. Blood stained the walls and floors, and the air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder. Even more shocking was the fact that the leader of the "Pine Leaf Gang," the once powerful and influential figure, had been shot in the head by his most trusted bodyguard and died in his luxurious office. The bodyguard, too, had taken his own life, a sinister smile on his face.

At the same time, the remnants of the Inagawa-kai and Sumiyoshi-kai clashed in an unprecedented large-scale battle on the bustling streets of Ginza, Tokyo. This time, it wasn't a small-scale skirmish between dozens of people, but a melee involving hundreds. Machetes, steel pipes, homemade bombs, and even modified homemade guns clashed. Gunshots, explosions, screams, and the shattering of glass mingled together, turning this street, usually a symbol of luxury and prosperity, into a bloody battlefield. Flames leaped from the burning shops, illuminating the night sky.

The U.S. military police stationed in Japan received an emergency report and, believing that a riot had occurred against U.S. troops, immediately dispatched a company of soldiers. A convoy of armored vehicles and jeeps sped toward Ginza.

When the U.S. military convoy of jeeps appeared on the street with their blinding headlights, the gang members, already in a bloodthirsty frenzy, had their nerves completely warped. Seeing the uniformed, heavily armed U.S. soldiers, they instinctively mistook them for enemies. Some fired at the jeeps, others threw Molotov cocktails.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" Bullets struck the armor of the jeep with dull thuds. A Molotov cocktail struck the hood of a jeep with pinpoint accuracy, flames erupting instantly. The American soldiers inside screamed as they jumped out, their bodies engulfed in flames.

The American soldiers were caught off guard by the sudden attack. Two of them were shot and fell to the ground, and one was burned into a fireball by a Molotov cocktail.

"Fire! Return fire!" The U.S. commander shouted, both shocked and furious.

The vehicle-mounted machine gun and the soldiers' M1 Garand rifles opened fire simultaneously, a dense hail of bullets sweeping over the crazed gang members. The gang members fell like wheat being harvested, but the remaining men seemed utterly fearless, instead becoming even more frenzied, brandishing their weapons and roaring as they charged at the American troops.

The melee lasted for nearly an hour, until dawn broke and both sides ran out of ammunition, at which point it gradually subsided.

The scene was a mess, littered with corpses, shell casings, and burning rubble. Statistics showed that 47 gang members were killed, while the U.S. military suffered heavy casualties, with 11 killed and over 20 seriously wounded.

The U.S. military kept the incident strictly under wraps, forbidding any media coverage. However, high-ranking Japanese government officials learned of this serious "military-civilian conflict" through clandestine channels. They were horrified to discover that the situation was completely out of control, spiraling towards an unpredictable direction. Tokyo, the city, was dancing madly on the edge of chaos.