Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

The door to the east courtyard was ajar, carrying the chill unique to a winter night. The instant his spirit returned to his body, He Damin felt a subtle electric current coursing through his limbs, the heaviness and warmth of his physical form enveloping him once more. He opened his eyes, his pupils adjusting to the dim light for a moment before he could clearly see the waning moon outside the window, its clear light like water, casting dappled shadows on the blue brick floor through the holes in the window paper, like a cracked net.

The room was filled with the smell of coal smoke mixed with old cotton wool, and the clutter piled in the corner was covered with a thin layer of dust. He didn't lie down immediately, but instead groped under the straw mat and pulled out a pencil stub and a few crumpled sheets of straw paper. The moonlight wasn't bright enough, and the writing was a bit blurry. He leaned closer, his nose almost touching the paper, and the "rustling" sound of the pencil scratching across the rough straw paper was particularly clear in the still of the night.

His fingertips were icy cold, and the knuckles holding the pencil were slightly white. He began to sort through the information in his mind: the outlines of those steel behemoths, the menacing Rising Sun flag on the fuselage, the pungent smell of gasoline outside the warehouse... all flashed before his eyes, corroborating fragments of memories from his past life.

「第3飞行师团……中薗盛孝……菅原道大……」他低声念着这些名字，铅笔在纸上划出歪歪扭扭的线条和符号，「独立飞行第10中队、83中队，飞行第90战队……还有17中队、44中队……」

The night wind slipped in through the crack in the door, carrying the faint barking of dogs in the distance, causing the candlelight (if he had lit it, but he hadn't, only the moonlight) to flicker. He pulled his old cotton-padded coat tighter around himself and continued to think back. Those iron contraptions parked at the airport, the Type 1 "Hayabusa" fighter jets, with their long, slender wings, like a raptor poised to pounce. He could even "smell" the mixture of metal and engine oil emanating from them, and feel the cold, powerful, dormant energy of their engines before they started.

"It was deployed in May 1940... quick, very quick..." He tapped the paper with the tip of his pencil. "It was indeed agile, but the armor... was like paper, a bullet would leave a hole in it. The firepower was even more pathetic, in the early days there were only two 7.7 mm machine guns, which was almost like tickling."

There were also a few Type 2 "Zhong Kui" fighters, with more rugged lines and an air of menace. He remembered that those things seemed to be more effective at high altitudes and had more firepower, but their numbers were too few, like precious Buddha statues in a temple. As for the old Type 97 fighters, their bulky fuselages looked like plucked chickens; they should have been in the graveyard long ago, but they were still being used to make up the numbers at Nanyuan Airport. Perhaps the Japanese also felt that resources were scarce.

"More than thirty planes..." He Damin wrote the number on the paper, the pen tip almost tearing through the paper, "and so much fuel, black and gritty like gold, with a pungent gasoline smell that makes you dizzy, piled up in huge cans... and ammunition too, bombs and bullets, piled up like small mountains, heavy and exuding the aura of death... quite a lot!"

He heavily circled the four characters "Nanyuan Airport," the pencil marks deeply embedded in the scrap paper. In the moonlight, his eyes gleamed with excitement and cold ruthlessness. Take them all down? Unrealistic; he didn't have that kind of appetite. But sneaking in, killing a few pilots and officers, reaping their filthy souls, and then casually "stealing" a few planes and a batch of fuel and ammunition—he was confident he could do it.

The night deepened, and the chill intensified. He could hear his own breathing, coming and going in the silent room. He thought of the people of Beiping, barely surviving under the iron heel of the Japanese invaders, their numb eyes and hunched backs. "The airport's been attacked, the devils must be panicking," he muttered to himself. "If they panic, they'll have to strengthen defenses, they'll have to bring troops from the city to guard this precious gem. With the city's defenses weakened..." He paused, a bitter smile playing on his lips, "The lives of ordinary people...maybe they can catch their breath a little, get a tiny bit better...even if it's just a tiny bit."

"It's settled then, we'll make our move tomorrow night!" He Damin clenched his fist, and the pencil tip snapped off with a crack. His eyes suddenly sharpened like a knife, as if they could pierce the deep darkness of the night.

But before taking action, thorough preparation is essential.

With a thought, the surrounding air seemed to distort slightly, and the figure that had been sitting by the kang (a heated brick bed) vanished into thin air, as if it had never existed. The next second, he found himself in that familiar, chaotic yet vibrant Tai Chi space. In the warehouse on the positive side, various supplies he had collected were piled up, emitting a dry, dusty smell.

He walked to a pile of cinnabar and yellow talismans, picked up one of them. The paper was rough and carried the scent of grass and wood. The cinnabar was of the highest quality, ground extremely finely, and held in a specially made small dish, emitting a strange, mineral smell. He took a deep breath, his inner energy slowly circulating, and a wisp of light gathered at his fingertips.

"Invisibility talisman..." he murmured the obscure incantation, the faint light from his fingertips touching the yellow talisman. Cinnabar flowed with his will, outlining profound runes. Each stroke drained his mind, each rune seemingly devouring his power. Sweat silently seeped from his forehead—not hot sweat, but cold, damp sweat from excessive consumption of his true energy, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

One, two… until the tenth invisibility talisman was completed, the paper slightly warm and emitting a faint spiritual light, He Damin finally let out a long sigh of relief. He felt a strong wave of weakness wash over him, his vision blurred, his face turned as pale as paper, and his forehead was covered with fine, cold beads of sweat. He could even hear the heavy, slow beating of his heart in his chest. Eight drops of true energy were exhausted; this was almost the limit he could currently muster.

"Ten... that should be enough." His voice was a little hoarse as he carefully put away the talismans, sat down cross-legged, and began to slowly recover his true energy. The spiritual energy in the Taiji space slowly flowed into his body, like a clear spring, nourishing his parched heart.

……

Time passed quietly, and it was the seventeenth day of the first lunar month.

In the dead of night, Beiping City slept in a deathly silence. There was no moon, only a few lingering stars occasionally peeking through the thick clouds before being swallowed again. The wind was stronger than the previous two nights, howling and howling like a woman's weeping, or the low growl of a wild beast, whipping up dust and withered leaves that swirled and rustled. It was a dark and windy night, a night for murder and arson.

Deep within Nanluoguxiang, in the east courtyard, He Damin's spirit silently drifted away from his physical body, carrying a faint golden halo, like a phantom shadow. Without pausing, he transformed into an almost invisible streak of light, piercing the night and speeding towards Nanyuan Airport. The night wind caressed his spirit; without the obstruction of a physical body, there was only a sense of exhilaration as he traversed the void.

Nanyuan Airport was brightly lit. The pale beams of searchlights continued their tireless sweep across the night sky, cutting through the darkness and leaving fleeting streaks of light. But He Damin keenly sensed that the sentries seemed much more relaxed tonight. They hunched over, hiding in their posts or bunkers, some even talking in hushed tones, occasionally letting out a suppressed laugh. Perhaps the several nights of peace had made them believe that Beiping was impregnable, and no one dared to provoke the Imperial Army or attack their heavily guarded airport. He Damin could "smell" the arrogance and complacency of the victors permeating the air from afar.

His spirit descended like a feather into a patch of grass on the outskirts of the airport. He couldn't directly perceive the cold earth and dew-kissed grass, but he could "see" and "feel" the damp chill and desolation of the wilderness at night. He didn't rush in. With a thought, the ancient Soul-Refining Banner silently unfurled behind him, its surface gently swaying and emitting a barely perceptible gray mist. The banner's domain instantly expanded, covering an area of ​​thirty feet in radius, like an invisible net.

Within the area, the Japanese sentries on several outposts suddenly stiffened, their eyes instantly becoming empty and dull, as if their souls had been ripped out. The rifles in their hands clattered to the ground, and their bodies slumped down like puddles of mud, unconscious, their breathing even, as if they had entered a deep sleep.

"This 'Soul-Capturing Maze' is quite effective against minor characters like this." He Damin's spirit hovered in mid-air, quite satisfied with the effect. Silent, clean, and efficient.

Having dealt with the outer sentries, he moved like the wind, skimming the ground and silently infiltrating the airport. The air was thick with the smells of gasoline, kerosene, engine oil, and a faint whiff of gunpowder, all mixed together to create a unique, pungent odor characteristic of military airports that assaulted the nostrils.

The first target—the oil depot. The massive oil tanks, like silent black behemoths, crouched in the relatively dimly lit corner. Their surfaces were cold, reflecting the faint glow of distant searchlights. Security here was quite tight; four heavily armed Japanese soldiers stood back-to-back at the entrance, vigilantly scanning their surroundings. Their woolen uniforms stood crisp in the night wind, and the bayonets on their rifles gleamed coldly.

But as He Damin's soul banner domain slowly enveloped them, the eyes of these four Japanese soldiers also quickly became dull. Their bodies swayed, and before they could even groan, they fell straight down, crashing onto the hard cement ground with a dull thud. But in the empty airport and the howling wind, it was inconspicuous.

With a gentle tremor, the Soul Refining Banner unleashed four fine, hair-like chains of blood-soul energy, shooting forth like four nimble venomous snakes that pierced the foreheads of the four Japanese soldiers with pinpoint accuracy. A few faint wisps of soul fire, tinged with terror and resentment, were drawn out by the chains, emitting silent shrieks before being swiftly swallowed by the banner. The banner seemed to solidify further, its aura growing even colder. The four soulless corpses collapsed limply to the ground, their eyes wide open, a final, bewildered look remaining on their faces. The entire process was swift and clean, without a single unnecessary sound.

He Damin floated to the enormous oil tanks, the pungent smell of gasoline almost melting his spirit. He took a deep breath, pushing his mental power to its limit. The massive oil tanks, each two stories high, along with their overflowing containers of dangerously emanating aviation gasoline, vanished as if grasped by an invisible hand, disappearing into the anode side of his Taiji space—a space he had already specially cleared as a warehouse, isolated with a special spiritual array to prevent gasoline leaks and explosions.

After emptying one oil tank after another, the once crowded oil storage area became deserted, leaving only a few lonely valves and pipes connecting the tanks, like the toothless remains of a giant beast. Even the smell of gasoline in the air seemed much fainter.

The next target—the ammunition depot. There were even more "treasures" here. As He Damin drifted closer, he could even "sense" the cold, heavy aura emanating from the mountains of munitions, and the faint, distinctive smell of gunpowder. The aerial bombs were round and black, marked with white Japanese characters and yellow fuses; crates of machine gun ammunition were neatly stacked, heavy with weight; and there were artillery shells of various calibers…

The guards at the gate also fell silently under the Soul Banner's domain. He Damin used the same trick again, waving his hand (or rather, a thought in his spirit form), and all the usable ammunition and supplies were sucked away as if by a vacuum cleaner, all of them being absorbed into the Taiji Space. The ammunition depot was quickly emptied, leaving only a few empty wooden crates and a pile of straw on the ground. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes, an astonishingly efficient process.

Without pausing, He Damin's next stop was the hangar.

The massive hangars, like slumbering steel behemoths, lay silently on the airport. He floated into the largest hangar, brightly lit, with several high-powered lights humming overhead. Eight Type 1 "Hayabusa" fighter planes were neatly arranged, their wings folded to reveal sharp leading edges. The silver-gray paint on the fuselages gleamed with a cold, hard sheen under the lights, and the air was filled with a strong smell of engine oil, rubber, and a faint scent of aviation kerosene.

Several Japanese soldiers in ground crew uniforms were still busy, some inspecting the wings, others wiping the cockpit canopy, yawning and looking tired. Suddenly, they stopped, their eyes fixed on the center of the hangar—where He Damin's pale golden spirit had appeared out of thin air.

"A ghost...a ghost!" A young ground crew member was terrified and was about to scream when He Damin's Soul Banner Domain was activated to its maximum. The ground crew members' vision went black, their bodies went limp, and before they could even utter a sound, they all fainted and collapsed onto the cold cement ground.

He Damin looked at the ground crew, most of whom were technicians, perhaps not directly stained with blood. But he didn't hesitate for a moment. The Soul Refining Banner trembled slightly, and several blood-soul chains shot out, piercing their brows. A few wisps of soul fire were extracted and sent into the Soul Refining Banner. To him, no Japanese soldier who aided and abetted evil was innocent. With their souls devoured, they would completely dissipate, without even a chance for reincarnation.

Having dealt with the ground crew, he began collecting the aircraft.

With a thought, a brand-new Type 1 fighter jet, along with its wheel chocks, vanished from its spot and entered the Taiji Space. With another thought, yet another... With each aircraft he captured, he could feel his true essence rapidly depleting, and the light of his spiritual body dimming slightly.

After capturing six fighter jets, only two remained in the hangar. He Damin stopped, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him. Although he lacked a forehead in his spiritual form, his energy fluctuations had become noticeably unstable, as if they might dissipate at any moment. Capturing such massive iron contraptions was at least ten times more difficult than collecting grain and ammunition! He took a breath, not daring to be greedy any longer. If his true essence were exhausted and his spiritual form collapsed, the consequences would be dire. He glanced one last time at the two remaining "Falcons," a hint of regret in his eyes, and then floated out of the hangar.

The last stop: the barracks.

There are more than thirty pilots and ground crew officers living here. These people, more or less, have the blood of Chinese people on their hands. They are the "main course" tonight and one of his most important goals on this trip—to harvest souls and strengthen the Soul Refining Banner.

He Damin hovered above the barracks, the night providing him with perfect cover. The Soul Refining Banner was fully unfurled, its domain layered with a Soul-Capturing Maze, and invisible fluctuations surged like a tide into every room, whether lit or dark.

The sleeping Japanese officers and pilots suddenly shuddered, their brows furrowed, and their faces showed pain or terror, as if they were having a nightmare. But soon, their expressions relaxed, they turned over, and slept even more soundly, their breathing becoming long and even—they had been completely intoxicated by the Soul Banner's domain, falling into a deep sleep and losing all awareness of the outside world.

He Damin, like a judge from hell, coldly watched down below. The Soul Refining Banner swayed gently, and countless tiny chains of blood souls, like the most venomous snakes, silently slipped through the cracks in doors and windows, precisely piercing the brows of every sleeping Japanese soldier.

There were no screams, no struggles. Only wisps of soul fire, some intense, some faint, were drawn out by the Blood Soul Chains, flying into the air like fireflies, only to be swiftly devoured by the Soul Refining Banner. The aura of the Soul Refining Banner seemed to have become even more solid and chilling.

After completing all this, He Damin glanced at his vague sense of time—it was exactly 2:00 AM. From start to finish, the entire operation took less than an hour, clean and efficient, without any mishaps.

He glanced at Nanyuan Airport one last time. The fuel depot was empty, the ammunition depot was empty, several planes were missing from the hangar, and more than thirty officers in the barracks were sleeping like logs, their souls having been quietly harvested. In the air, besides the lingering smell of engine oil and dust, there seemed to be a faint stench of blood and the wails of the dead (which only he could "hear").

"withdraw!"

He didn't linger any longer, transforming into a streak of light, rapidly rising and flying towards Beiping City, disappearing into the vast night. The night wind blew, as if trying to completely erase any trace of his presence.

Tonight, Nanyuan Airport is destined to be sleepless. When the sun rises tomorrow, and the first rays of sunlight shine on this ravaged land, when the Japanese soldiers discover that the fuel depot is empty, the ammunition depot has been turned upside down, the hangar is missing six precious fighter planes, and the more than thirty officers and ground crew in the barracks have become cold corpses (their souls have been extracted, and their bodies will soon lose their vitality), what chaos will ensue here?

He Damin's spirit flew through the night sky, a cold smile playing on his lips. He could almost see the Japanese soldiers in disarray, their faces contorted with rage, and hear their screams of terror, their roars of fury, and their cries of despair.

This night's "harvest" was just the beginning. The loss of Nanyuan Airport, like a stone thrown into a calm lake, would inevitably create ripples among the Japanese forces in North China. Panic, vigilance, troop redeployment... and He Damin would be the one constantly throwing stones into the lake, until he completely stirred up the muddy waters, until he drove these invaders completely out of Chinese soil!

The spirit streaked across the night sky, speeding towards Nanluoguxiang, leaving behind a dilapidated airport on the verge of collapse, and a legend destined to be recorded in history, a legend belonging to the night.