Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

The morning light on Victoria Peak always carries a touch of languor, like a gentle cat's paw resting lightly on the floor-to-ceiling windows of David Ho's study. The glass reflects the azure clouds, with wisps of golden-red tinged among them, drifting slowly across Victoria Harbour. The lawn of Government House below has just been watered, and dewdrops roll around on the tips of the blades, scattering sunlight like stars.

He Damin stood by the window, a rough earthenware teacup in his hand. The tea was Pu'er brewed last night; the tea leaves had sunk to the bottom of the cup, a dark clump, and the tea had long since cooled, covered with a greasy film. He stared at his blurry reflection in the cup, the reflection swaying slightly with his hand, like a crumpled piece of paper.

The sea outside the window was bustling. The water in Victoria Harbour was a deep, greenish-blue today, and several ferries were chugging along, cutting through the waves, their long, white wakes gleaming in the morning light. In the distance, the clock tower in Tsim Sha Tsui had just struck seven; the muffled chimes seemed to travel across the sea as if muffled by a layer of cotton.

But He Damin's soul was not in this scene.

His consciousness was like a thread stretched to the horizon, one end tied to the top of his head, while the other branched into nine points, anchored in the Japanese archipelago thousands of miles away. The nine Soul Refining Banners split into nine ears hidden in the shadows, sending the sounds from that side into his mind bit by bit.

It's been three days.

For three whole days, every night in the latter half of the night, tiny fragments of soul energy would creep along the nine lines. It wasn't some earth-shattering energy, but rather like spring water seeping from a mountain stream, flowing into his primordial spirit sea little by little, cool and refreshing. At first, he didn't pay much attention, but after three days, a small pool of water actually rose in his primordial spirit sea, gently swaying in his sea of ​​consciousness.

He tapped his finger on the rim of the teacup, making a crisp "ding" sound. His consciousness sank downwards, probing into the palm-sized black banner deep within his dantian.

On the dark banner, the countless ghostly figures suddenly fell silent, as if a pause button had been pressed. Then, several lines of pale white characters emerged, seemingly written with soul fire—

[Soul Refining Banner - Soul Power Statistics]

Souls harvested within three days: 947

Among them: 523 gang members, 78 right-wing politicians, 56 Self-Defense Force officers, and 290 members of right-wing groups.

Refined Soul Power: Approximately equivalent to the total primordial spirit of three Foundation Establishment stage cultivators.

Estimated time to complete refining: 5 more days

"Nine hundred and forty-seven..." He Damin placed his teacup on the windowsill, the ceramic hitting the glass with a "thud." He grinned, revealing a bit of his teeth. This number was nearly a hundred more than he had estimated; it seemed the "nourishment" from Japan was more plentiful than he had imagined. Those yakuza bosses who shouted "Bushido" during the day and embraced geishas at night, those politicians who pounded their fists on the table in parliament demanding "military expansion," and those old Japanese devils who bowed deeper than anyone else at the Yasukuni Shrine... they had all become meat in his pot.

He stroked his chin, the stubble tickling his fingers. Nine hundred in three days, nearly ten thousand in a month, a hundred thousand in a year… 100,000. The soul power refined from a hundred thousand vengeful spirits would be enough for his primordial spirit to roll around in. At that point, forget about reaching the late Foundation Establishment stage, even breaking through to the Golden Core stage would be within reach.

Just as I was happily making plans, I suddenly felt a chill on the back of my neck, as if someone had poked me with an ice pick.

It wasn't pain, but a tingling sensation that crept up my spine. Deep within my consciousness, one of the nine lines suddenly crackled, like a short circuit. The information transmitted through that line also changed, mixed with panic, and a little…pain?

He Damin's brows furrowed instantly, forming a deep frown. He quickly focused his spiritual sense on that line, as if pressing his ear against a crack in a door to listen for any sounds.

It is the Fukuoka branch.

This split entity possessed a minor leader of the Inagawa-kai. That guy had a bulbous nose and spent his time collecting protection money and gambling; his brain was like mush, making him easy to control. For three days, the split entity, using his body, had been robbing over thirty souls in Fukuoka's red-light district and yakuza dens, all without a hitch. So why did things suddenly go wrong?

He Damin sank his consciousness even deeper, directly delving into the "perspective" of the split entity.

Before me was a Japanese-style room, with brightly colored sheets covering the tatami mats, and the air thick with the smell of cheap sake and sweat. The man with the bulbous nose lay sprawled out, drool almost dripping onto the pillow. But suddenly he sat up with a yell, his eyes wide like saucers, the veins on his forehead bulging—not from fear, but from pain.

There was a person standing in front of the bed.

Dressed entirely in black, with even his face shrouded in a black cloth, only his eyes were visible, shining like a wolf's. He clutched a short knife in his hand; the blade was narrow, gleaming with a bluish light, and its back was engraved with dense runes, coiled like small snakes.

"Ninja..." He Damin's heart skipped a beat.

Moreover, they were special ninjas. That sinister killing intent was even more overwhelming than the pressure of a late-stage Foundation Establishment cultivator. Japanese ninjas are divided into Genin, Chunin, and Jonin, with special ninjas being the very top tier; you might not find one among a hundred Jonin. These bastards are masters of stabbing people in the back from the shadows, and they always have some kind of exorcising artifacts on hand.

When He Damin sent his split agents, he deliberately avoided targeting high-ranking figures who might be protected by ninjas. A mid-level leader of the Inagawa-kai, at most with two henchmen, how could he possibly attract special ninjas?

unless……

He suddenly remembered seeing on the news a few days ago that the Inagawa-kai and the Yamaguchi-gumi had clashed several times in Fukuoka over territory, resulting in many deaths. This Special Shinobi was probably an assassin hired by the Yamaguchi-gumi, and his target was originally that bulbous-nosed leader.

Unfortunately, the split entity happened to attach itself to that unfortunate guy.

"Damn it," He Damin cursed under his breath.

Then, the special ninja moved. Fast as a shadow, the short knife in his hand slicing through the air with a "whoosh," aiming straight for the bulbous-nosed man's heart. The split body tried to break free from the host, but the knife was too fast; the tip had already pierced its flesh.

"Buzz—"

The runes on the blade suddenly lit up, radiating a brilliant golden light, like a red-hot iron being branded onto lard. The split entity instantly felt as if it had been thrown into boiling water, its soul sizzling and smoking, the pain almost causing it to fall apart.

"Go!" He Damin roared in his mind.

With its last ounce of strength, the split entity emerged from the crown of the bulbous nose, transforming into a streak of gray light as it stumbled and darted toward the window. The special ninja seemed momentarily stunned, probably not expecting such a thing to emerge from his target's body. By the time he realized what was happening and tried to give chase, the split entity had already vanished into the night.

He Damin's consciousness followed the split body, watching it plummet like a bird with broken wings into an abandoned warehouse in the suburbs of Fukuoka. The warehouse was filled with broken cardboard boxes, and the air was thick with the smells of mildew and rust. The split body huddled behind one of the cardboard boxes, its soul body cracked in several places, flickering like a light bulb about to run out of power.

"Damn it." He Damin picked up the teacup from the windowsill and slammed it down. The tea sloshed around, splashing out a few drops that left small watermarks on the glass.

Losing one of his clones wasn't a big deal; the Soul Refining Banner could split into nine, so it could split into ninety. But this incident reminded him that the host body was too fragile. Those gang members and right-wing politicians, despite their respectable appearances, were actually just piles of rotten flesh, ready to collapse at the slightest breeze. Let alone special ninjas, even a skilled thug could kill the host body with a single blow, and the clones would suffer the same fate.

"We need to add some ingredients to the host body." He Damin touched his nose and tapped his knuckles on the windowsill.

He remembered that the Soul Refining Banner had a skill called "Soul Devouring Feedback," which was originally used to feed back the refined soul power to oneself. But soul power is essentially energy, so it's okay to use it on others, right?

If the split entity could squeeze out a little soul power each day while possessing a host, feeding it to the host like chicks—just enough to make their bodies stronger, their reactions faster, and to dodge ordinary sneak attacks—then the host wouldn't be a burden; at least it could serve as a shield.

With that thought in mind, He Damin no longer hesitated. He probed his divine sense into the nearly broken-down split entity in Fukuoka. Although the soul body was tattered, its ability to transmit messages remained. Through it, he sent instructions to the other eight split entities that were still working in various parts of Japan.

"Listen," his consciousness swept over the eight split bodies like a net, "every three days from now on, extract a wisp of refined soul power to temper the host body. It doesn't need to be too strong, just enough to defeat three ordinary people. Remember, a host body can be found again if it dies, but if you're gone, I'll have to go through the trouble of splitting you again. If you encounter danger, protect yourself first, then retreat immediately!"

The eight split entities responded with a buzzing sound, like the chirping of mosquitoes, indicating that they understood.

He Damin breathed a sigh of relief and then looked down at his palm. The split entity that had escaped from Fukuoka had arrived and was lying in his palm, like a piece of black paper that had been trampled, with cracks all over its surface and its soul fire barely extinguished.

"You've worked hard," he said softly to Obata. "Come back."

With a flick of his finger, the split entity transformed into a wisp of green smoke and drifted into the Soul Refining Banner's main body deep within his dantian. With a resounding boom, the banner's surface glowed, as if it had just eaten a hearty meal. The thirty-odd souls the split entity had collected over the past three days, along with its own remaining soul power, were all devoured by the main body.

He Damin felt that the water in his primordial spirit sea had risen a little more, but a bigger idea suddenly popped into his mind.

Nine split bodies... is that enough?