Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

"Although the Chinese cultivators have retired, their foundations remain. Hong Kong is a place they've cultivated for over a hundred years, with informants in every corner. The moment our people enter, they'll likely be discovered before they even have a chance to catch their breath. At that point, they'll consider us intruders and will not hesitate to intercept and kill us. The people we send out probably won't even be able to send back a single message."

He turned around, his gaze sharp as he looked at Saibe Daisuke, his tone laced with accusation: "Lord Saibe, do you intend to incite a war between the cultivators of our two nations? The current Japanese cultivation world cannot withstand such turmoil!"

Saibe Daisuke remained silent for a moment, the only sound in the inner hall being the soft crackling of the oil lamp. His fingers tapped lightly on his ceremonial tablet, producing a dull thud.

"Therefore, we will not send our elite troops," he said slowly, his voice calm but carrying a cold decisiveness. "We will send our expendable pawns."

Everyone was stunned, their faces showing confusion.

"A pawn to be discarded?" Abe no Seimei frowned, repeating the word with a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Yes." Daisuke Saibe nodded, his eyes unwavering. "Find a few low-ranking Onmyoji and ninjas and send them to Hong Kong. Their mission is singular—to enter Hong Kong alive and gather as much intelligence as possible, especially details about the deaths of those thirty-seven people, and whether there are any traces of Chinese cultivators. If they are discovered and die, it won't be a significant loss for us. If they manage to return alive, or manage to send back some useful intelligence, we will have firsthand information sufficient to assess the situation."

He paused, then added, "As for whether those expendable foes will betray us... their rank is too low, they have no access to core secrets, and even if they do betray us, they won't say anything important, so it doesn't matter."

Kenichi Hattori pondered for a moment, the mockery on his face gradually fading, replaced by a cold acceptance. He slowly nodded: "That's one way. Using a few insignificant people to test the strength and reaction of Chinese cultivators is worthwhile. We can give it a try."

The others nodded in agreement. In their view, sacrificing a few low-level cultivators in exchange for intelligence that might concern the safety of the entire Japanese cultivation world was a worthwhile trade.

three days later.

A 10,000-ton cargo ship, the "Sea Shark," flying the Panamanian flag, departed from Yokohama Port and slowly sailed into Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong under the cover of night. The massive hull cut through the dark green seawater with a dull "whoosh," and the spray from the propeller left a white trail at the stern before being swallowed by the night.

The cargo ship was loaded with auto parts and electronic products from Japan, the huge containers piled up like small mountains, casting huge shadows on the deck. The sea breeze, carrying a salty smell, brushed against the cheeks of the sailors on watch.

In a cramped, stuffy storage room on the lower deck, near the engine room, three men in oil-stained blue crew uniforms huddled together. The air was thick with the stench of engine oil, sweat, and cheap tobacco. The only vent blowing in was hot, carrying the vibrations and roar of the engines.

They were the "discarded pawns" sent to Hong Kong this time—two low-level Onmyoji and one Genin.

The leading Onmyoji was named Abe Shoichi, a member of a collateral branch of the Abe family. He was of mediocre talent, and after more than ten years of cultivation, he had only barely reached the threshold of the "Qi Refining Stage." He couldn't even draw a decent attack talisman, and only knew some basic detection and defensive spells. He was slightly overweight, with a pale face, and his eyes held a hint of unease and confusion about the future.

The other Onmyoji was Kamo Mitsuo, who came from a collateral branch of the Kamo family. He was a few years younger than Abe Shoichi and his cultivation was a notch below Abe Shoichi's. He was somewhat timid and was nervously rubbing his hands together, his forehead covered with fine beads of sweat.

That genin was named Fuma Kojiro, an outcast of the Fuma clan. He was expelled from the clan after being discovered stealing their secret techniques, resulting in the loss of some of his cultivation. He was thin, with sallow skin and shifty eyes, exuding a thieving and sneaky aura. Apart from his passable stealth and escape skills, his other ninjutsu was practically nonexistent.

"Remember," Abe Shoichi lowered his voice, trying to sound calm, but his slightly trembling voice betrayed his nervousness, "once we get ashore, we'll split up immediately. There's only one objective—to find the truth behind the unusual events in Hong Kong a week ago, especially the commonalities among the victims and the anomalies at the death scenes. Whoever finds a clue first, immediately send a message back via carrier pigeon. The rest of you…"

He paused, not continuing, but the meaning was clear—the others, if they could live, they would live; if they couldn't, they could only accept their bad luck.

Kamo Mitsuo's face grew even paler, his lips trembling as he tried to say something, but ultimately swallowed his words. Fuma Kojiro, on the other hand, kept his head down, his eyes dark and unfathomable, lost in thought.

The cargo ship slowly approached the shore, its massive anchor sinking to the bottom with a loud thud. Cranes on the shore began to operate, emitting a deafening roar. The three men mingled among the disembarking crew, heads bowed, trying to remain inconspicuous. They passed through a simple inspection without incident, then, like three slippery eels, quickly disappeared into the bustling crowds and shadows of the containers in the dock area, vanishing into the Hong Kong night.

On the top of Victoria Peak, there is a luxurious villa built against the mountain.

Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, this place is surrounded by greenery and fresh air. The villa has a modern exterior, and huge floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the dazzling lights of Victoria Harbour in the distance at night.

At this moment, in the study on the second floor of the villa, He Damin was sitting cross-legged on the floor covered with a thick cashmere carpet. The study was large, decorated in a simple yet luxurious style, with one wall being a huge floor-to-ceiling window and the other wall being a bookshelf filled with books. The air was filled with the faint scent of ink and tea.

He Damin was surrounded by a faint blue light, almost imperceptible to the naked eye, which was the power of his Yang Spirit in motion. Above his head, a palm-sized, jet-black banner was slowly rotating, its surface adorned with countless fine golden runes, emanating a chilling aura. This was his natal magic weapon—the Soul Refining Banner.

With each rotation of the Soul Refining Banner, wisps of black mist emanated from its surface, which He Damin absorbed into his body, nourishing his Yang Spirit. This black mist was pure soul power refined from the souls collected from the dead in Tokyo. Each of the three hundred most vicious vengeful spirits contained immense energy, but was also extremely violent, requiring careful refinement. He Damin was in no hurry; he had plenty of time and patience.

His eyes were closed, his expression serene and calm, as if he were one with his surroundings. Within his sea of ​​consciousness, the Yang God sat upright, continuously absorbing soul power, becoming increasingly solid, and emitting a brighter and stronger light.

Suddenly, his consciousness trembled slightly, like a small stone being thrown into a calm lake, creating ripples.

Those were the tendrils of his divine consciousness that he had deliberately scattered throughout Hong Kong, like countless invisible spider webs covering the entire city. At this moment, several of the tendrils located in the Victoria Harbour dock area sensed three faint but strangely unfamiliar auras.

The aura was familiar—it carried the unique spiritual energy fluctuations of an Onmyoji, as well as the cold, restrained scent of a ninja.

He Damin slowly opened his eyes, a glint of light flashing deep in his dark pupils, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.

"They're here."

He stood up, walked to the huge French windows, and pushed one open. A cool evening breeze blew in, ruffling the hair on his forehead. He gazed at the night view of Victoria Harbour, where lights twinkled on the water and giant ships stood like a forest, a scene of bustling prosperity.

As expected, those Japanese monks couldn't hold back any longer and sent someone over.

He had initially thought they would send some decent experts, but instead they were just three low-level fodder, not even worthy of his serious attention. It seemed the Japanese had learned their lesson; they knew sending elite troops would be suicide, so they sent these three insignificant "discarded pawns" to test the waters.

Unfortunately, even a sacrificed pawn is still a pawn.

"Now that you're here, don't even think about leaving." He Damin's eyes turned cold, like ice. Anyone who dared to act wildly on his turf had to be prepared to pay the price.

Abe Shoichi traveled north along Nathan Road.

This street is one of the most bustling commercial streets in Hong Kong. Even late at night, it's still teeming with people and cars. Neon lights flash, and huge "GG" signs shine brightly in the night. The signs, written in both Chinese and English, intertwine, creating an exotic atmosphere. The air is filled with a mixture of car exhaust, food aromas, and various perfumes.

He didn't know the specific location of the target; the only information Daisuke Saibe had given him was the phrase "unusual incident in Hong Kong." He could only frantically search for clues from rumors circulating in the streets, like a headless fly. He entered a tea restaurant with a "Open for Business" sign.

The tea restaurant was small and simply decorated, with a few old newspapers and celebrity posters pasted on the walls. A few tables were sparsely occupied, mostly by night-shift drivers and workers just off their shifts. The air was filled with the rich aromas of milk tea, coffee, and baked rice. A waiter in a white vest and black trousers was quickly wiping tables with a rag.

Abe ordered an iced milk tea and a pineapple bun, and started chatting with the waiter in broken Cantonese. He tried to make his tone casual, like an ordinary tourist.

"Hey buddy, is this place... a bit unsafe lately?"

The damp air, carrying a fishy smell, filled my nostrils. The ceiling fan in the tea restaurant creaked overhead, making the faded celebrity posters on the wall tremble slightly. Abe Ryuichi tossed the third sugar cube into his milk tea, and fine bubbles rose in the brown liquid, much like the turmoil in his heart at that moment.

"boom!"

The waiter slammed a gleaming glass onto the table, the clinking of ice cubes startling the black cat in the corner, which arched its back. The young man in the blue cotton jacket glanced at the cherry blossom badge pinned to Abe's chest, his Adam's apple bobbing. He lowered his voice, "Sir, you're from out of town, aren't you? Things haven't been peaceful in Hong Kong lately."