Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

It was 5:30 a.m., just as dawn was breaking. In the east courtyard, He Damin had already finished a set of Bajiquan. He stood on the bluestone slab in the courtyard, shirtless and wearing only a pair of training pants. The morning breeze of late winter and early spring was still a bit biting, but it did not stir up any chill on him—his martial arts cultivation at the early stage of the Transformation Realm had long since made him impervious to heat and cold.

Finish the movement and exhale.

A breath of white lotus spurted from his mouth, condensing but not dissipating, slowly drifting away in the morning light. This was a manifestation of extremely vigorous blood and energy; if a knowledgeable martial artist were to witness it, they would surely be astonished.

He Damin stretched his limbs before beginning to look around the courtyard that finally belonged to him.

At over 2,300 square meters, it's not particularly large, but in the prime real estate of Nanluoguxiang, it's remarkably spacious. The courtyard walls are made of blue bricks, quite old, but still sturdy. There are two main rooms and three side rooms, all old-style wooden structures. Some parts of the roof tiles in the side rooms are badly damaged and need repair.

What pleased He Damin the most was the old jujube tree in the yard. Its trunk was as thick as a bowl, and its branches were gnarled and twisted, looking at least thirty or forty years old. It was still bare at the moment, but in the summer it would surely provide a shady canopy.

"Finally, I have a place to stay," he murmured to himself.

Buying this courtyard house wasn't easy. The deaf old lady absolutely refused to sell, only agreeing to rent it out for three years. At that time, He Damin didn't even dare to do any decent renovations, fearing that if he invested too much, he would be evicted and everything would be for nothing.

It wasn't until the year-end that those few small yellow croakers came into play—no, to be precise, it was the "wealth" they represented that made a difference. The deaf old woman, though shrewd, was ultimately an old lady living off her ancestral property. Four small yellow croakers (worth about 120 to 160 silver dollars) were enough to tempt her. At that time, the puppet Union Bank notes, legal tender (currency issued by the Nationalist government), and Customs Gold Notes were circulating in Beiping; yellow croakers were still the best way to preserve value.

With He Daqing's intervention, arguing that "the brothers need a home to reunite," the old lady finally relented. However, during the handover, she repeatedly reminded everyone, "This courtyard has been passed down from our ancestors; you must take good care of it."

"Don't worry," He Damin replied sincerely at the time.

He did have a plan in mind: two main rooms, one as a bedroom and one as a study. Three side rooms, one as a kitchen, one for storage, and one... perhaps it could be converted into a training room?

In the courtyard, a grape trellis is built against the east wall for shade in the summer; a small fish pond is dug in the southwest corner for raising a few koi; a few fruit trees are planted in the north, including peaches, plums, apricots, and dates, so that there is fruit in all four seasons; and a stone table is placed in the center of the courtyard with a few stone benches, so that one can drink tea and watch the rain in leisure time, which is quite pleasant.

You could even build a rockery and a small pavilion in a corner of the yard—but that's for the future. In this day and age, being too ostentatious is tantamount to courting death.

He Damin sighed. These plans were just thoughts for now. The most important thing right now was to solve the problem of food. After buying the yard, there were no pots, pans, or utensils, only a stove—an earthen stove left by the previous tenant, but the pots had long since rusted through.

These days, he's been going to his older brother's house for meals every day. Although he gave He Daqing a few small yellow croakers when he first arrived, he still feels bad about bothering him so much. His sister-in-law, Lü Bingxin, has never said anything and always greets him warmly, but He Damin himself feels embarrassed.

Actually, there's no shortage of food in the Tai Chi Space. The rice and flour he "borrowed" from the Japanese warehouse are enough to feed him for over a decade. But who would want to cook for themselves when someone has a hot meal served to them?

"I need to go and buy some pots, pans, and dishes first," He Damin thought to himself.

We can't be too ostentatious; we should be able to find cheap things at the flea market. Once we've got everything, we'll take some rice, flour, and cooking oil from the Taiji Space and cook for ourselves. My older brother's family isn't exactly well-off either; we can't keep taking advantage of them. Right now, there's a shortage of food everywhere, not money.

Just then, the courtyard gate was pushed open.

"Damin, are you up?" He Daqing came in carrying a cloth bag. "Your sister-in-law steamed some cornbread and asked me to bring you a few."

"Thank you, brother." He Damin took it; it was still warm.

He Daqing looked around the courtyard: "I'll find two craftsmen these next couple of days to inspect the roof again. There'll be a lot of rain in spring, so we don't want it to leak."

"No rush, brother," He Damin shook his head. "Building a house now would be too conspicuous. Let's wait a while."

He Daqing was taken aback for a moment, then understood and nodded: "That's true, in this world... let's just make do for now. Tell me if you need anything."

"I know." The two brothers spoke as they stood in the courtyard. As dawn broke, voices began to fill the alley. Grandpa Zhang, who sold douzhi (fermented mung bean juice), pushed his cart out of the alley and walked back with his husband, Old Liu, yawning. Several early-rising students hurried past with books in their hands—although most schools were closed, some people insisted on studying on their own, and now schools required them to learn Japanese.

"Let's go, it's time to get to work," He Daqing said.

He Damin went back inside and put on his clothes, the apprentice uniform issued by Fengzeyuan—a dark blue coarse cloth jacket, somewhat old, but clean. He looked at his reflection in the water vat; the fourteen-year-old boy had delicate features, but his eyes were deeper than one should for his age.

"That's good," he said to himself.

This physical appearance, this identity, is his best cover in this chaotic world.

The kitchen of Fengzeyuan Restaurant was bustling with activity as always.

"Damin, prepare that carp!" Chef Wang pointed to a Yellow River carp weighing over three pounds in the pond. "Today, we have a group of distinguished guests who specifically requested 'sweet and sour carp.' You'll make it."

"Me?" He Damin was taken aback.

Sweet and sour carp is a classic Shandong dish and one of Fengzeyuan's signature dishes. Usually, this elaborate dish is prepared by the head chef himself, with apprentices at most assisting.

Master Wang laughed: "What, you're afraid? Your knife skills are more than enough, what you lack is real experience. Don't worry, I'll be watching from the side."

He Damin nodded and said nothing more. He rolled up his sleeves and walked towards the pool.

The carp was still jumping around. With lightning speed, his left hand precisely grabbed the gills, and with a slap of the cleaver on the fish's head, the fish immediately stopped moving. Scaled, gills removed, gutted, and innards taken out, his movements were fluid and effortless. In less than three minutes, a cleaned fish was already on the cutting board.

"Excellent technique!" exclaimed an older apprentice nearby.

He Damin ignored him and began to modify his knife. The blade sliced ​​along both sides of the fish's spine, creating peony-shaped cuts—each cut reaching the fish bone but not severing it, causing the fish meat to unfold like flower petals. This knife technique requires extremely high skill; uneven depths affect the shape, and uneven force can easily break the bone.

But his knife work was as fluid and precise as a dragon's stroke, each cut incredibly accurate. Once the carving was complete, the fish's body unfolded, truly resembling a blooming peony.

"Beautiful!" Master Wang's eyes lit up. "Damin, you can't find many people in Beiping with your knife skills."

He Damin smiled but didn't reply. He knew in his heart that he was an expert in wielding knives in his previous life—although he wielded knives for killing, the techniques were the same. With the enhancement of his body by true energy, achieving this level was not difficult.

Next comes deep-frying. The oil is heated to about 70% of its maximum temperature. Holding the fish by the tail, he slowly immerses the prepared fish body into the oil. "Sizzle—" The hot oil boils, and the fish meat quickly sets. He lightly flicks his wrist to ensure even heating, and once fried until golden brown and crispy, he removes it and drains the oil.

Finally, prepare the sauce. Combine sugar, vinegar, soy sauce, cooking wine, minced scallions, ginger, and garlic in a specific ratio and simmer over low heat until thickened. Once the sauce is ready, pour it evenly over the fried fish.

A sweet and sour carp dish is complete. It has a golden-red color, is shaped like a blooming peony, and has a fragrant aroma of sweet and sour flavors.

"Take it up," Master Wang waved with satisfaction.

The waiter carried the fish out. A moment later, exclamations of praise came from the front of the restaurant: "Excellent! This fish is cooked to perfection! A reward!"

Master Wang patted He Damin on the shoulder: "Kid, you've graduated. From today onwards, you're a full-fledged chef at Fengzeyuan, and your monthly salary will increase to eight silver dollars."

The other apprentices cast envious glances his way. It usually takes three to five years of hard work to go from a handyman to a full-fledged chef, but He Damin only took a few months.

But He Damin knew that the title of "official chef" meant little to him. He already possessed the skills of a master chef—in his previous life, to disguise his identity, he had studied cuisines from various countries, and was particularly proficient in Chinese food. Although Tan Family Cuisine was exquisite, in his eyes it was just one of many cuisines.

The reason he stayed at Fengzeyuan was to "establish a persona".

A fourteen-year-old culinary prodigy, the youngest official chef at Fengzeyuan Restaurant—this identity would allow him to gain a foothold in Beiping and provide cover for his future actions. Who would suspect a cook who spends all his time around the stove?

After the lunch service is over, the kitchen staff take a short break.

He Daqing leaned closer and whispered, "Damin, I heard from Chef Wang that there was a Japanese soldier among the guests at that table today, a member of the Special Higher Police."

He Damin's heart skipped a beat, but he remained outwardly calm: "They're probably catching a fugitive, it has nothing to do with us."

"That's true." He Daqing nodded. "But things haven't been peaceful in the city lately, so go home early tonight and don't linger outside."

"Know."

He Damin agreed verbally, but in his heart he was calculating. Were the Special Higher Police officers after Wang Hongxia? Or had they discovered something else?

It seems I'll have to make a trip to the Taihang Mountains tonight. Those weapons, medicines, and food "stolen" from the Japanese warehouse need to be hidden in a safe place as soon as possible, and then Wang Hongxia can hand them over to the organization.

The reason he only took action now was because the timing wasn't right before. He also didn't want to work for anyone; in this life, he just wanted to be a humble cook and live a peaceful life. It would be too risky for him to rashly contact the Communist Party.

But now it seems we can't wait any longer. The Special Higher Police have already taken notice of Wang Hongxia. Wang Hongxia will likely evacuate from Beiping, and those supplies are a waste to leave in the Taiji Space; it's better to give them to those who truly need them.

In the evening, He Damin carried a bag of braised meat given to him by Master Wang home.

As I passed the alley entrance, I saw several detectives questioning Old Li, who sold roasted sweet potatoes. Old Li was hunched over, smiling obsequiously, clutching a few small bills he had just received; it looked like he had been extorted again.

He Damin lowered his head and quickened his pace. It wasn't indifference; it was that he couldn't afford to cause trouble now. A small act of impatience could ruin a great plan. In this life, he had family; he was no longer alone.

Back in the east courtyard, he closed the door and ate a simple meal. He divided the braised meat in half, wrapped it in oil paper, and planned to send it to his elder brother's family the next day.

The sky was getting dark.

He Damin did not light a lamp, but began to prepare by the last light of day outside the window.

He separated some supplies from the Taiji Space: twenty Type 38 rifles, each with 100 rounds of ammunition; two Type 96 light machine guns, each with 2,000 rounds of ammunition; five boxes of hand grenades, each with 20 grenades; and five boxes of medicine—mainly penicillin and sulfonamides, which are the most urgently needed on the battlefield.

One-tenth of the grain was allocated: 500 catties of rice, 300 catties of wheat flour, and 100 catties of corn. He intended to use these supplies himself. All the remaining military supplies were sent out.

At midnight, when all is quiet.

He Damin's soul emerged from his Baihui acupoint. The pale golden spirit was almost transparent in the moonlight, with only a glimmer of golden light flashing between his eyebrows.

He didn't set off immediately, but instead first cast a concealment array—a newly developed technique after advancing his cultivation level. It required no drawing of runes; he could directly use his true essence to outline runes on the surface of his spiritual body. As golden light flowed, his aura completely subsided, as if he had merged into the night.

"Walk."

The spirit transformed into a stream of light and soared into the sky.

This time, he did not head west, but went straight south, heading directly for the Taihang Mountains.

The straight-line distance from Beiping to Taihang is over 200 kilometers. Under normal circumstances, astral projection over such a long distance is extremely dangerous—the spirit is too far from the body, the connection weakens, and in case of an accident, it may not be able to return in time.

But He Damin was now confident. His mid-Foundation Establishment cultivation, coupled with the Soul Refining Banner, made his soul strength far surpass that of ordinary cultivators. Beyond 36 kilometers, within 200 kilometers, his spirit and body still maintained a weak connection. However, he could no longer harm his enemy; the effective range was within 36 kilometers.

The night wind howled, and the mountains and rivers seemed to recede.

In his spirit form, he didn't need to breathe, didn't tire, and his speed far surpassed that of his physical body. In less than a quarter of an hour, he had already flown a hundred miles. Below him lay sleeping villages, farmland, and hills, with the occasional glimpse of lights—traveling carts or patrolling militias.

Fifteen minutes later, the outline of the Taihang Mountains came into view.

The rolling mountains, like black behemoths, lie prostrate on the earth, their ridges silhouetted menacingly in the moonlight. This place has been a strategic military location since ancient times, and also an area where anti-Japanese guerrillas were active.

He Damin lowered his altitude and began searching among the mountains.

He needed a suitable cave: it had to be well-hidden and not easily discovered; it had to be dry and well-ventilated to store supplies for a long time; and it had to be relatively safe, free from wild animals.

After searching for about half an hour, he found an ideal spot in the middle of a cliff in a valley.

The cave was about thirty meters above the ground, and its entrance was hidden by vines and shrubs, making it completely invisible from below. He broke through the rock wall and entered the cave. The space was quite large, about half the size of a basketball court. There were natural cracks in the ceiling for ventilation, and the ground was flat and dry.

"This is it."

He Damin's spirit returned—not to his physical body in Beiping, but first entered the Taiji Space, then took out the prepared supplies from the space and piled them in the cave.

This process was extremely difficult. Although the Taiji Space could store and retrieve items, the distance between his spirit and physical body was too great, limiting the volume that could be retrieved each time. He would have to make hundreds of trips to move all the supplies out. Moreover, storing and retrieving physical items in his spirit form consumed soul power, making it even more strenuous than carrying them in his physical body.

After nearly three hours of work, the cave was filled with supplies. Rifles were neatly stacked, bullets were packed into boxes, grenades were piled up, and medicine and food were categorized.

He Damin checked again carefully to confirm that no personal traces had been left.

Finally, he set up a simple warning device at the cave entrance: he wrapped a few pebbles with thin vines, which would make a sound if anyone touched them. This was not to keep out people, but to keep out wild animals.

By the time all this was done, the sky was already beginning to lighten.

He Damin dared not delay; his spirit transformed into a stream of light and flew swiftly toward Beiping.

One must return to the physical body before sunrise, otherwise the rising yang energy will be harmful to the spirit.

The return journey was even more urgent than the outward one. He channeled his soul power to the fullest, pushing his speed to its limit, the wind whistling past his ears like thunder. The mountains and rivers below rushed past, and occasionally, wisps of smoke from early morning farmhouses could be seen.

As the first ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds, He Damin's spirit finally passed through the roof of the east courtyard and returned to his physical body.

"call……"

He opened his eyes and let out a long breath. Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his face was somewhat pale—the night's journey had significantly depleted his soul power.

But I felt at ease.

The supplies had been properly stored; the next step was to notify Wang Hongxia. Getting up from the kang (heated brick bed), He Damin took out paper and pen from the cabinet. He didn't write anything specific, only drew a simple map: a marker for a cave somewhere in the Taihang Mountains, with a simple sketch of a gun and a medicine box next to it.

The map was drawn hastily, but the key information was clear. He folded the paper and stuffed it into an empty envelope.

On his way to Fengzeyuan today, he will "accidentally" pass by Liu's Teahouse at Xisi Archway—Wang Hongxia once said that it was a contact point. He will slip the envelope under the door, and someone will naturally take it.

Whether Liu's Teahouse liaison point understands or not, that's not his business.

Outside the window, the sky was bright with sunlight. The cries of breakfast vendors echoed through the alley, signaling the start of a new day.

He Damin changed his clothes and pushed open the courtyard gate. A morning breeze blew in, carrying the crisp, cool air unique to early spring.

He looked up at the sky; the sun was rising in the east, its golden light bathing the courtyard with its blue bricks and gray tiles.

This chaotic world, this Beiping, this new life that has just begun.

He, He Damin, a fourteen-year-old cook, an assassin with memories of his past life, and a cultivator secretly supporting the resistance against Japan, is gradually finding his place in this torrent of the times.