Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

In May 1956, early summer in Hong Kong, the air still held a trace of late spring dampness, but it had already been replaced by a restless heat. Sunlight, like molten gold, splashed across the surface of Victoria Harbour, shimmering blindingly. The sea breeze, carrying a salty smell, caressed the towering buildings of Central and the hurried pedestrians in the streets and alleys. However, beneath this seemingly peaceful prosperity, a bloody atmosphere was brewing, ready to erupt. This summer was destined to be soaked in blood, staining every inch of Hong Kong's land red.

The news of the Bank of the World's two hundred tons of gold was like a boulder thrown into an already turbulent pond; the ripples had barely subsided before a deeper eddy had formed beneath the surface. In his luxurious office on the top floor of Jardine Matheson, William Jennings stood before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the city he considered his for the taking. His crystal whiskey glass had been emptied three times; the amber liquid slid down his throat, bringing a brief burning sensation, but doing nothing to dispel the restlessness and anger within him.

"That piece of trash Chen Yaoxing." His voice was low and deep, as if squeezed out from between his teeth, filled with suppressed anger. Every word seemed to be poisoned. "He took our money and then turned around and sided with that yellow-skinned monkey!" He slammed the glass down on the marble windowsill next to him. The glass shattered with a crash, and the amber-colored wine splashed out like specks of blood, quickly spreading across the cold stone surface.

Behind him, his trusted aide, Jason, a tall, thin Englishman wearing gold-rimmed glasses, bowed slightly and whispered, "Sir, according to our informant, Chen Yaoxing seemed like a different person after leaving the Global Bank that day. Several of Wo Shing Wo's confidants are privately discussing that their boss might have been cursed by that Chinese man." Jason's voice trembled slightly, clearly showing his fear of this kind of Southeast Asian sorcery.

"Black magic?" Jennings sneered, his laughter filled with disdain and arrogance. "You think this is the jungle of Southeast Asia? This is Hong Kong, a colony of the British Empire! Here, only guns and money work. Those tricks and charlatans won't scare me!" He turned around, his blue eyes flashing with a sinister light, like a vulture eyeing its prey.

"Since the underworld can't be relied upon, then let's use the rules of the legitimate world." Jennings' tone was resolute.

Jason's eyes lit up slightly, and he immediately understood: "You mean... the Commercial Crime Investigation Division?"

"Not only that." Jennings walked to the large mahogany desk, picked up a thick document, the paper rustling slightly in his hands. "HSBC, Standard Chartered, and Yonhap, three British banks, have jointly submitted an application to the Governor's Office requesting an investigation into the source of the Bank of the World's gold reserves. The reason is quite compelling—two hundred tons of gold, of unknown origin, suspected of money laundering and illegal financial activities." He paused, a chilling smile playing on his lips, a smile that sent shivers down one's spine.

"His Excellency the Governor has agreed in principle. Tomorrow morning, the Commercial Crime Bureau will arrive with a search warrant and seal the vault of the Global Bank." Jennings' voice was filled with smug satisfaction.

Jason's face lit up with excitement, his eyes behind his glasses gleaming with greed: "Once the vault is sealed, regardless of whether the gold is real or fake, Global Bank's reputation will be completely ruined. Depositors will rush to withdraw their funds like madmen, and then Yong An and Youlian, those two Chinese-owned banks, will be dragged down with them and go bankrupt too!"

“That’s right.” Jennings picked up another bottle of whiskey, poured himself a full glass, and the liquid swirled gently in the glass, reflecting his contorted face. “That Chinese man will soon understand who really calls the shots in Hong Kong. This place still belongs to our Great British Empire!” He raised his glass and downed it in one gulp, as if he could already see He Damin’s disgrace and desperate situation.

On Victoria Peak, at Ho Ta-min's villa.

The night was as dark as ink, enveloping the entire city of Hong Kong. The wind on the mountaintop was cooler than at the foot of the mountain, carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees, rustling softly through the dense woods surrounding the villa. In the study, only a dim, yellow lamp was lit, its soft light falling on He Damin's face.

He slowly opened his eyes, and in those deep eyes, it seemed as if stars were flowing, before quickly returning to calm. A faint smile played at the corners of his lips, like the anticipation of a child about to receive a beloved toy.

His consciousness had just returned from that arrogant and calculating office on the top floor of Jardine Matheson. Every word Jennings and Jensen exchanged, every glance, was vividly imprinted in his mind, as if recorded on audio or video, leaving no detail untouched.

"Sealing the vault tomorrow?" he muttered to himself, his tone devoid of any anger, only a hint of amusement, as if he had heard an amusing joke. "Fine, very well. Since you're so eager to play, then I'll play a bigger game with you."

He stood up, walked to the window, and pushed aside the heavy curtains. Outside, the dazzling night view of Hong Kong stretched out. The lights of Victoria Harbour resembled a shimmering dragon, extending into the distance, countless points of light dancing in the darkness, outlining the city's prosperity and bustle. A sea breeze slipped in through the cracks in the window, carrying the unique coolness of the night, and ruffled a few strands of hair on his forehead.

"Perfect timing, the Soul Refining Banner has been starving for a long time," He Damin said in a low voice, so soft it was almost drowned out by the wind, but the killing intent contained within made the surrounding air seem to freeze. His gaze was cast into the depths of darkness, as if he could pierce through time and space to see the souls that were about to become nourishment for the Soul Refining Banner.

That night, in Central.

The city, bustling all day, gradually quieted down, with only a few neon lights still flashing tirelessly. The Jardine Matheson building stood like a silent giant in the night, its top-floor offices still brightly lit. Jennings was still there, processing documents, ensuring tomorrow's operation would go perfectly. He could already picture himself leading the team tomorrow, watching as the vault of the Global Bank was sealed off, and seeing the desperate and furious expression on He Damin's face. That thrill of controlling everything, of crushing his opponents, was enough to keep him up all night.

The desk was piled high with documents, and the air was thick with the mingled aromas of cigars and whiskey. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its "tick-tock" sound particularly clear in the stillness of the night. When the clock struck two in the morning, the entire city seemed to fall asleep.

Jennings rubbed his sore eyes; the long hours of work had left him exhausted. He stood up, stretched, and his bones cracked slightly. He walked to the enormous liquor cabinet, intending to pour himself another glass of whiskey to perk himself up. The cabinet was filled with a dazzling array of fine wines, their crystal bottles gleaming luxuriously under the lights.

Suddenly, the office lights flickered, as if there was a malfunction.

Jennings paused, frowning, assuming it was a voltage issue. This was a common occurrence with Hong Kong's power supply. But then, the lights went out completely, plunging the entire floor into complete darkness. Only the faint glow of the city outside cast blurry shadows on the floor through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Damn it!" he cursed, his eyes, accustomed to the light, unable to adjust to the darkness, everything blurred. He groped his way to his desk, intending to grab the phone and call the on-call electrician to fix it.

Just then, he heard a voice.

The voice was very soft and faint, like a wisp of smoke drifting from a very, very far place, or perhaps whispering in his ear, carrying a chilling aura. It was a woman's voice, humming a song he couldn't understand. The melody was slow and eerie, carrying a deep-seated sorrow and resentment.

Jennings' hand froze in mid-air, a chill suddenly shooting up from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, making the hairs on his body stand on end.

As a British man who had lived in the Far East for twenty years, he wasn't fluent in Chinese, but he vaguely recognized the tune as Chinese. However, the melody was strangely eerie, with a mournful tone, unlike any song he had ever heard before. Instead, it sounded like... like a dirge that he had heard in some colonies, a song sung by indigenous people at funerals.

"Who?!" he shouted sharply, his voice trembling with fear. In the empty office, his voice was amplified, sounding particularly jarring, before being quickly swallowed by the darkness.

No one answered.

Only that singing grew closer and clearer. Each note was like a cold little knife, scraping against his eardrums and drilling into his brain, making him feel waves of dizziness and nausea.

Jennings' hands trembled as he groped for the drawer of his desk. There lay his ever-present revolver, his last resort for self-defense. His fingers finally touched the cold drawer handle, and a slight sense of calm washed over him. But as he pulled the drawer open, his body suddenly froze.

Because what his hand touched was not a cold wooden drawer, but a hand that was equally cold, even with a slightly sticky and slippery feel.

That hand reached out from the drawer and gently grasped his wrist.

"Ah—!" Jennings let out a piercing scream, filled with extreme terror. He jerked his hand back as if he had touched a red-hot iron. Due to the excessive force, he staggered backward, crashing into the chair behind him with a loud bang as it fell to the ground.