Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

The Japanese archipelago is enough, but what if we wanted to cast an even wider net? To the south, Southeast Asia, with its drug lords and human traffickers; to the west, Europe, with its terrorists; and to the Americas, with its gangs that kill people with guns everywhere… Which of these people doesn’t deserve to go to hell?

Nine channels aren't enough to divide them all.

He recalled the eighteen levels of hell in his own little world. Each level of hell had its own territory, its own rules, and its own punishments. If the Soul Refining Banner could split into eighteen layers, one governing one level of hell, and another responsible for a specific area…

No, that's not enough.

Above the eighteen levels of hell, there are six realms of reincarnation: the realm of gods, humans, asuras, animals, hungry ghosts, and hell. Each realm of reincarnation needs a "governor," right? And if it's further divided into six realms…

Eighteen plus six equals twenty-four.

Twenty-four split entities, scattered across the globe like twenty-four nets, will catch all the scum. Won't their soul power flood his brain like a burst dam?

He Damin grew more and more excited as he thought about it, his back teeth almost grinding to powder. He stared at the Soul Refining Banner in his palm; its dark surface resembled a deep pool, within which countless soul shadows struggled.

"Can you divide it again?" he asked the banner in a low voice, as if discussing it with an old friend.

The Soul Refining Banner suddenly trembled slightly, and the corner of the banner brushed against his palm, making it a little itchy.

He Damin's eyes lit up, and he quickly probed the banner with his divine sense. Upon probing, his heart skipped a beat—the depths of the Soul Refining Banner's origin were like an oil tank that wasn't full, with nine splits that were nowhere to be seen! As long as there was enough soul power as "oil," let alone eighteen, twenty-four, or even thirty-six splits were possible!

"Good! Good! Good!" He Damin exclaimed three times, so excited he almost crushed his teacup. He turned and walked to the center of the study, sat down cross-legged, and placed the Soul Refining Banner in front of him. The banner floated in mid-air, spinning softly.

He took a deep breath, made a hand seal, and poured his true energy from his dantian into the banner. The energy flowed so quickly that his meridians ached, and beads of sweat instantly appeared on his forehead.

"With my thoughts, I create your form; with your power, I shape your destiny!" he chanted, his voice growing louder and louder, "Eighteen hells, each to its proper place—give me my share!"

"boom!"

The Soul Refining Banner suddenly exploded!

It wasn't a real explosion; rather, the banner suddenly burst forth with a blinding black light, like a small sun, illuminating the entire study in darkness. The morning light outside the window and the desk lamp on the table were all swallowed by this black light. He Damin felt as if he had fallen into ink, his ears filled with a buzzing sound, the screams of countless ghostly figures.

He stared intently at the banner.

First, a crack appeared on the banner, then more and more cracks appeared, like a spider web, densely covering the entire banner. Then, the fragments scattered with a "whoosh," swirling in the air like a swarm of black butterflies.

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"

Eighteen beams of black light shot out from the fragments, each no bigger than a baby's palm, hovering in the air and spinning. They looked exactly like the original body, only a few sizes smaller, and their surfaces were covered with ghostly shadows, their runes flickering.

Looking at the original Soul Refining Banner again, the fragments have reassembled and are suspended in the middle, but its aura is more than half weaker than before, like a woman who has just given birth.

He Damin was panting heavily, his chest heaving, and his vision was blurring. Dividing himself into eighteen streams at once had severely depleted his true energy. But he couldn't afford to rest; his eyes were wide open like copper bells, fixed intently on the eighteen small banners, his mouth twisted into a wide grin.

Eighteen! There really are eighteen distinct levels!

He raised his hand and beckoned to the small banners. The eighteen small banners immediately flew over as if they had received a command, circling around his head and bringing with them a gust of cold wind that made his hair flutter.

"You eighteen," He Damin's voice was a little hoarse, and he swallowed, "each of you has your own job."

He stretched out his fingers and pointed at them one by one.

"You're the first one to go to Tokyo. You'll take over the territories of those eight split groups. Remember, don't be greedy; stabilize the Kanto region first."

The first small banner trembled, and a black light flashed, as if in response.

"You, the second one, go to Osaka. There are a lot of gangsters and politicians in the Kansai area, so be careful, don't end up like you did in Fukuoka, walking right into a trap."

The second small banner also trembled.

"You, Nagoya; you, Fukuoka; you, Sapporo; you, Sendai; you, Hiroshima; you, Nagasaki; you, Yokohama; you, Kyoto; you, Kobe; you, Okinawa..." He Damin pointed to each of the major cities in Japan, assigning them to all of them. The twelve small banners obeyed the order and obediently hung to one side.

He paused, his eyes gleaming, before asking, "Six more?"

"You, the thirteenth route, are going to Seoul, South Korea. There are some scum there, especially those Koreans who keep shouting 'Goguryeo,' keep a close eye on them."

"You, Busan, team up with Seoul and clean up the Korean Peninsula for me."

"You, the fifteenth one, are going to Southeast Asia. Thailand, Vietnam, Malaysia... There are a lot of drug lords and human traffickers there, you'll be busy enough."

"You, the sixteenth, go to Europe. Those extremists, those neo-Nazis, don't let a single one escape."

"You, the seventeenth one, go to the Americas. Go see North and South America, there are plenty of jobs to be had with gangsters, drug dealers, and arms dealers."

Regarding the last small banner, He Damin thought for a moment and said, "You, the eighteenth one, don't go out yet. Keep it as a backup. Go wherever you need manpower."

The eighteen small banners, having received their orders, lined up in the air like a flock of kites waiting to take off.

Looking at them, He Damin felt incredibly content. He waved his hand: "Go."

Eighteen streaks of black light shot out like eighteen arrows, piercing the ceiling of the study, breaking through the clouds on Victoria Peak, and disappearing into the horizon.

He Damin tilted his head back, watching the direction they disappeared in, his neck aching. He laughed, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"The eighteen levels of hell are just the beginning," he muttered to himself. "Once these eighteen levels are fully developed, they will be divided into six paths of reincarnation. The Heavenly Path governs the gods, the Human Path governs mortals, and the Asura Path governs those who are belligerent... Only then will my little world truly be hell."

He stood up and walked to the window. The sun was already high in the sky, and the number of ferries on Victoria Harbour had increased, like a swarm of tiny insects crawling on the water. In the distance, the high-rise buildings of Central stood tall, their glass curtain walls reflecting the sunlight, dazzlingly bright.

He Damin picked up the glass of chilled Pu'er tea from the windowsill and gulped it down. The tea was bitter and astringent, but he smacked his lips and thought it tasted better than any kind of divine brew.

"Good tea." He grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth.

Unseen by him, eighteen streaks of black light were traversing the clouds, crossing the oceans, and flying towards all corners of the world. Like eighteen ghosts, they were weaving a net across the seemingly peaceful world.

Meanwhile, the prey caught in the net remains fast asleep, still committing evil deeds, still believing they can escape justice forever.

He Damin leaned against the window, squinting in the sun. The sunlight was warm and felt comfortable on his skin. He knew that before long, that soul power would flow into his primordial spirit sea like streams merging into a great river.

Then he will be able to completely clean up this world.

The study was quiet, save for the ticking of the wall clock. He Damin picked up the newspaper on the table and slowly flipped through it. The front page featured news of the Prime Minister's visit to the United States, with a photo of a politician smiling broadly.

He Damin looked at the photo and a smile crept across his face again.

"Soon," he said softly.

The sunlight streaming through the window shone directly on his face, illuminating one half and casting shadows on the other. (The following is a continuation of the story, approximately 1640 words.)

The smell of newspaper ink mingled with the bitterness of tea, lingering around his nose. He Damin's fingertips traced the glaringly white White House lawn in the photos of the Prime Minister's visit to the US. Suddenly, he recalled the images sent from the Tokyo separatists last night—the torii gates of Yasukuni Shrine glowed bluish-gray in the moonlight, and several old men in kimonos were bowing before the memorial tablets, their spirit flames shining like will-o'-the-wisps in the separatists' vision. How much blood did these old men have on their hands?

He put down the newspaper and walked to his desk. A world map lay spread out on the rosewood table, densely marked with red circles. Tokyo, Seoul, Bangkok, New York… each red dot seemed like an eye, staring intently at him. He picked up a pencil and circled Manila in the Philippines—the drug lords there had been very active lately; he needed to send that Southeast Asian separatist to "visit" them.

"Knock knock knock".

A knock on the door suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He Damin put away the map and called out, "Come in."

The door opened, and the old butler, Uncle Fu, walked in carrying a tray with freshly brewed tea and a plate of crystal shrimp dumplings. Uncle Fu had served three generations of the He family; his hair was all white, and his back was slightly hunched, yet he walked with the lightness of a cat. He placed the tray on the table and said softly, "Sir, it's time for breakfast."

"Just put it there." He Damin picked up a steaming hot shrimp dumpling, the shrimp filling bouncy in his mouth. He suddenly remembered something and asked, "Has there been any activity from the Yamashita group lately?"

Uncle Fu, with his hands at his sides, said respectfully, "The night before last, their territory in Tsim Sha Tsui was raided by Wo Shing Wo, resulting in the confiscation of three gambling dens. I heard that more than a dozen people were killed or injured, and now both sides are looking for trouble with each other."

He Damin raised an eyebrow. The Yamashita Group was a branch of the Japanese yakuza in Hong Kong, and they had been vying for territory with the Wo Shing Wo for quite some time. He recalled the more than five hundred yakuza members that the Soul Refining Banner had taken down in Japan, and a cold smile curled at the corner of his lips: "Let them make a scene. The bigger the scene, the better."

Uncle Fu replied "Yes" and was about to leave when He Damin called him back: "By the way, move that asparagus fern out of my study and bring in a cactus instead."

Uncle Fu was taken aback. His master used to cherish that asparagus fern most, saying it brought peace and quiet. But he didn't ask further, bowing and saying, "I understand."

After Uncle Fu left, He Damin picked up the freshly brewed Pu'er tea. The steam curled upwards, condensing into tiny beams of light in the sunlight. Looking at the tea leaves floating at the bottom of the cup, he suddenly remembered the injured, split body he had just experienced. Although it had been fed back to the original body, the pain still lingered in his consciousness, like a thorn.

"Ninjas..." He stroked the rim of the cup, his eyes turning cold. The Japanese ninja system was more complicated than he had imagined. Special Ninjas already possessed the strength of the peak Foundation Establishment stage, so what about the legendary "Shadow Ninjas"? Could they have the cultivation of the Golden Core stage?

He needs to make some preparations.

He Damin put down his teacup, formed a hand seal, and sank his consciousness into the small world. In the eighteen levels of hell, the cold wind howled, and countless souls struggled in the pool of blood. His gaze fell on the fifth level, "Boiling Shit Hell," where the souls were enveloped in scalding filth and emitted shrill screams.

"Refine these soul flames," he commanded from the depths of hell.

As soon as the words were spoken, the karmic fire lotus in the center of hell suddenly surged, flames soaring into the sky and illuminating the entire fifth level in a fiery red. The struggling souls were engulfed by the flames, emitting a "sizzling" sound, and the impurities in their souls were burned away, leaving only the purest soul fire.

He Damin reached out and grabbed a wisp of soul fire that flew out of hell and landed in his palm. The flame was a deep blue, carrying a chilling aura. He flicked his finger, and the soul fire transformed into a stream of light, entering the Soul Refining Banner itself.

"Buzz—"

The banner itself trembled slightly, its previously dim aura returning somewhat. He Damin nodded in satisfaction. With eighteen split entities harvesting outside, there would be plenty of soul fire to use for nourishing the main body.

He stood up and walked to the window. The wind from Victoria Peak, carrying the scent of the sea, blew in and ruffled the stray hairs on his forehead. In the distance, Hong Kong Island resembled a giant reclining dragon, its towering buildings its scales, and Victoria Harbour its jade ribbon.

But in He Damin's eyes, how much filth is hidden beneath this prosperous and glamorous world?

He recalled the news he'd seen yesterday: Philippine drug lords had opened fire on civilians in the streets of Manila, killing more than twenty people; he remembered extremist groups in Europe detonating bombs in subway stations, sending carnage flying; he remembered gang fights in the Americas, with bodies being dumped in garbage cans…

These people deserve to go to hell.

"It will be soon," He Damin said softly. "You will all be reunited soon."

He stretched out his hand, and sunlight filtered through his fingers, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The shadows twisted and turned, like a giant, outstretched hand trying to grasp the whole world in its palm.

The wall clock in the study struck nine. He Damin picked up the phone on the table and dialed a number.

"Hey, Attorney Lawrence," he said into the phone, "Help me look into a few shipping companies in Southeast Asia, especially those that operate on the Philippines route. Yes, I'm thinking of investing in some real businesses."

After hanging up the phone, he walked to the map and drew a five-pointed star next to the red circle around Manila with a red pen. That would be his first "base" in Southeast Asia.

The sunlight grew stronger, shining on the map, making the red circles and dots seem to come alive, wriggling on the paper like a swarm of hungry insects.

He Damin looked at the map, a smile appearing on his lips.

The blueprint for hell is slowly unfolding. And he is the one who draws the blueprint.

Victoria Harbour outside the window still glistens with light, ferries come and go, a picture of peace and tranquility. But no one knows that beneath this facade of peace and prosperity, eighteen sinister lights are quietly lurking around the world, reaping the souls of the wicked.

He Damin picked up his teacup and took a sip of hot tea. The tea slid down his throat, warm and comforting. He knew this was just the beginning. Once the eighteen split bodies had established themselves, he would begin preparing to split into the six realms of reincarnation.

At that time, the Heavenly Way, the Human Way, the Asura Way... each of them will become his domain. There will be nowhere left in this world where filth and depravity can hide.

He put down his teacup, walked to his desk, picked up his pen, and drew another circle on the map. This time, it was New York.

"You're next," he said softly, a hint of cold laughter in his voice.

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting his long shadow across the world map covered in red circles, like a giant shadow enveloping the entire planet.