Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

Chapter 64 Night Walk

Dawn comes exceptionally late to the desolate Yanshan Mountains. The grayish-white light, like diluted ink, struggles to seep through the thin mist that perpetually shrouds the valley ceiling, painting a hazy, bright hue on the rising steam from the hot springs. The valley floor remains shrouded in cold darkness, with only the dark silhouettes of a few ancient trees standing like silent giants.

Inside the treehouse, the kerosene lamp had long since gone out. He Damin stood by the window, no longer wearing the coarse cloth clothes suitable for working in the mountains, but instead a crisp Japanese major's uniform. The dark blue woolen fabric gleamed with a cold, hard sheen in the dim light, and the small gold star on his collar insignia seemed to be covered in frost. He raised his hand to adjust the brim of his military cap, his movements meticulous, but his eyes remained calm and unwavering, as if he were putting on a prop that had nothing to do with him.

Last night, he had completed all the preparations for his departure to the fullest extent.

At this moment, he held several newly "made" certificates and documents in his hands. In the dim light filtering through the window, one could see that the top document was a dark blue "Officer's Identity Certificate," printed on high-quality woodfree paper with a deliberately aged look. The edges showed subtle wear and stains, as if it had been frequently examined by its owner. Turning to the inside, the photograph of Major Nomura Takeshi revealed a cold, stern face and sharp eyes—a self-portrait taken by He Damin using his true energy to subtly adjust his facial muscles, combined with the disguise techniques he had mastered in his previous life. The photograph was then processed and printed using advanced darkroom techniques. The texture, the light and shadow, even the subtle grain of the background fabric, all withstood the most meticulous scrutiny.

The text on the document is all in neat, printed Japanese. The embossed feel of the stamp is realistic and natural. The color of the seal of the issuing authority, "Personnel Section of the Kwantung Army Headquarters," the degree of ink penetration, and even the almost imperceptible smudging at the edges, perfectly replicate the condition that such documents would have after years of use. Anti-counterfeiting watermarks? In that era, the anti-counterfeiting methods for Japanese military officer documents were relatively primitive, mainly relying on specific paper, printing techniques, and seals. He Damin selected the closest quality stock paper from the captured supplies, used Zhenyuan to simulate pressure for "aging," and then, referring to the actual document, personally hand-painted the almost invisible cherry blossom pattern representing "Kwantung Army Special Supply" using special ink.

As for the "Special Order from the Kwantung Army Headquarters," it was a masterpiece. The document's heading, format, and wording perfectly conformed to the official documents of the Japanese army. The content instructed "Major Nomura Takeshi" to go to the First Army Headquarters in Shanxi to "coordinate the escort of special supplies and research on anti-guerrilla tactics," with an indefinite deadline. At the end, the signature of "Commander-in-Chief of the Kwantung Army, Yoshijiro Umezu" was flamboyant, carrying the arrogance and sloppiness unique to high-ranking generals. He Damin had never seen Umezu's original handwriting, but he combined the signatures of several Japanese generals of different ranks in his possession to deduce the style of this person's handwriting, and then used his strong wrist control to imitate it, achieving both form and spirit. The red ink for the official seal was made by him by mixing cinnabar with several mineral powders and a small amount of animal fat. The color, viscosity, and the fine cracks after drying were all indistinguishable from the genuine article.

He even prepared a small stack of Japanese yen and US dollar banknotes as "operational funds." The yen banknotes were the most common type of counterfeit, with the paper thickness, feel, and printing precision, especially the intricate patterns on the front and the precise overprinting of the Mount Fuji image on the back, making them virtually indistinguishable from the real thing. The US dollar banknotes were 1934 silver dollars, with the smooth lines of Franklin's portrait and the vibrant yet understated green ink of the Treasury seal. The difficulty in counterfeiting currency lies in the paper, ink, and engraving techniques. He Damin didn't have a professional engraver, but with the subtle control of a Golden Core cultivator, he used a specially made steel needle to "carve" a master copy on a copper plate coated with photosensitive emulsion, then refined it through chemical etching and manual finishing. His secret space contained a considerable amount of genuine banknotes collected from a secret room in a Japanese warehouse.

"My skills from my past life are proving useful here." He Damin carefully tucked his identification documents into his leather briefcase. These were enough for him to move freely in most of the Japanese-controlled territory as "Major Nomura." But for the Jin-Sui region he was about to penetrate, where enemy and friendly forces were intertwined, these alone were not enough. He needed more caution, observation, and the ability to avoid any trouble.

That's why he chose to set off at night.

During the day, his soul cannot leave his body for long-distance reconnaissance. Although his Golden Core main soul is powerful, the intense Yang energy during the day naturally suppresses and interferes with Yin-attribute souls. Forcibly leaving his body not only consumes a great deal of energy but also makes him easily detectable by certain perceptive beings or in special environments (such as temples with thriving incense offerings or military camps filled with the chilling aura of an army). While his physical body's divine sense currently has a range of two thousand meters, which is considerable in complex mountainous environments, it is ultimately a straight-line distance, and continuously projecting divine sense outwards also consumes a significant amount of energy. Driving in areas with unknown conditions during the day is tantamount to driving blindly, as he could easily run into bandit ambushes, Red Army guerrillas breaking through roads, or Japanese patrols conducting searches. A direct conflict with any of these parties could disrupt his entire plan.

Bandits were a force that could not be ignored in northwestern Shanxi. They were entrenched in the mountains and forests, familiar with the terrain, and well-informed. Some were purely ruthless bandits who robbed and plundered, while others had intricate connections with the Japanese puppet regime or local forces, and still others wavered in their loyalty to the nation. He Damin did not want to get entangled with them, but if he could skillfully guide them, he might be able to "accidentally" spark a conflict between some of the most vicious bandits and the Japanese. This would allow him to use them as pawns to eliminate obstacles and also create "anti-Japanese" public opinion within the bandit community, perhaps even guiding some of the more courageous bandits to turn to the side.

"Hidden by day, marching by night. Assisted by divine sense, avoiding the strong and attacking the weak." This was the operational principle he set.

He packed his essential personal items—a pistol, dagger, binoculars, compass, water bottle, dry rations, and several sets of civilian clothes and camouflage tools—into an inconspicuous canvas backpack. He then retrieved the Type 95 military truck from his Taiji spatial mini-world and placed it on a relatively flat spot near the gentle slope of the cliff at the edge of the valley. The truck's dark green body was covered in dust, the roof was intact, the tires were inflated, and the fuel tank was full. Apart from the driver's cab, the back of the truck was empty—the deployment of the first batch of "gifts" would need to be determined based on the actual situation; rashly carrying a large amount of weaponry through enemy-occupied territory was too risky.

By the time he finished, dusk was approaching. The Desolate Valley had fallen into twilight ahead of schedule. He Damin didn't rush off; instead, he returned to the treehouse, sat quietly, and adjusted his mind and body to their optimal state. He needed to wait, wait for night to fully descend, wait for his "domain" to arrive.

At the third quarter of the hour of Xu (7:45 PM), the last ray of dawn was swallowed by the heavy shadows of the Yanshan Mountains. The valley was pitch black, with only faint steam rising from the direction of the hot springs, appearing hazy gray-white under the starlight. A night wind began to rise, sweeping across the cliffs and treetops, emitting a low, long sob.

He Damin opened his eyes, his gaze restrained. He picked up his backpack, locked the treehouse, and moved with the agility of a cat to the truck. He opened the door and sat in the driver's seat. The cold leather seat, the familiar yet unfamiliar control lever and dashboard. He turned the key, and the engine emitted a low roar, particularly jarring in the silent valley, before settling down. The headlights pierced the darkness, casting two dim beams of light.

He didn't start immediately. Instead, he released his divine sense, like an invisible radar wave, spreading outwards in a fan shape from himself. Within a two-kilometer radius, he could clearly perceive everything: rocks, trees, streams, the scent of small animals… After confirming that no one was spying near the entrance to the perilous place, he shifted gears and slowly pressed the accelerator.

The truck bumped along the gentle slope he had already scouted and slightly modified, leaving the desolate valley and entering a deeper, more remote branch of the Yanshan Mountains. The headlights could only illuminate the road ahead for a few dozen meters; on either side were dark mountain shadows and jagged rocks. He Damin drove slowly, continuously projecting his spiritual sense outwards, focusing on detecting the road conditions ahead, whether there were any ambushes on the slopes on either side, and any possible sources of light or sound in the distance.

The first few dozen miles were a winding, rugged mountain road deep in the Yanshan Mountains. There were hardly any established roads; the truck's powerful engine and He Damin's superb driving skills were crucial in finding a barely passable path through the rocks and ravines. The wheels rolled over the gravel, the truck lurched violently, and the engine's roar echoed through the valleys. He carefully controlled his speed and the lights, trying not to make too much noise.

Around midnight, he drove out of the core area of ​​the Yanshan Mountains and entered a relatively flat hilly area. Here, traces of abandoned villages began to appear, along with faintly discernible old roads eroded by war and time. His divine sense occasionally caught glimpses of distant, scattered lights, perhaps the hideouts of hunters or, more likely, bandits. He always avoided them from a distance, taking detours. Twice, his divine sense detected shadowy figures moving and whispering on the hillside. He immediately turned off the lights, drove the truck into the shadows of the roadside woods or valleys, and waited for the suspicious movements to fade away or subside before continuing on his way.

Driving at night presents the biggest challenges of visibility and fatigue. But for He Damin, neither of these posed a problem. A Golden Core cultivator's eyesight far surpasses that of ordinary people; even in the faint starlight, he can clearly see the outline of the road. His powerful mental strength is sufficient to sustain him in maintaining a high level of concentration for extended periods. The real test lies in his grasp of the overall situation and his ability to adapt to changing circumstances.

He didn't blindly pursue speed. Every so often, when encountering complex terrain or needing to update intelligence, he would find a secluded spot to stop. Then, his spirit would silently leave his body, ascending into the sky like a night hawk, surveying a wider area, scouting the roads, villages, rivers, and bridges ahead, locating Japanese outposts and pillboxes, and investigating which mountains and ravines might harbor bandits or guerrilla activity. The spirit's vision and information gathering capabilities far surpassed those of his physical consciousness. Through this alternating mode of "physical body driving, spirit scouting," he was able to advance westward safely and efficiently under the cover of darkness.

On the third night, as he crossed a dry riverbed and prepared to enter another mountain ridge, his spirit discovered the situation at a mountain pass fifteen miles ahead.

It was a typical bandit checkpoint. The pass was narrow, with steep cliffs on both sides. A makeshift roadblock lay across the path, and next to it were two dilapidated thatched huts, where five or six figures could be vaguely seen warming themselves around a campfire, with knives and guns beside them. Judging from their attire, behavior, and relaxed demeanor, they were a small to medium-sized bandit group. Behind the pass, on the mountainside, there were a few faint lights, likely their hideout.

What's more troublesome is that He Damin's spirit observed from a high vantage point that about twenty miles from this pass, there was a small Japanese stronghold standing beside the main road leading to the county town, with searchlights on the watchtower regularly scanning the surroundings. The stronghold was about the size of a small squad stationed there.

A thought surfaced in He Damin's mind. He remembered that there had been some scattered information on the soul clone network that mentioned that among the bandits in this area, there was a group called "Black Wind Stronghold," whose leader was surnamed Xie and nicknamed "King Yama Xie." They not only robbed passing merchants and travelers, but also colluded with the puppet regime. They had helped the Japanese to wipe out nearby anti-Japanese mountain villages. Their methods were cruel, and they aroused great public resentment.

"Could this be the one?" He Damin slightly lowered his soul body, carefully "listening" to the conversation coming from the thatched hut. Intermittent swearing drifted in on the cold wind, complaints about the weather, discussions about the cartload of grain they'd robbed yesterday, and... "Boss Xie is going to town tomorrow to have drinks with Captain Liu of the puppet army..."

"It's them." A cold glint flashed in He Damin's eyes. These were wicked bandits, and they were also connected with the puppet army; they were targets that could be "used."

With his soul returning, He Damin sat in the dark driver's seat, quietly pondering. Forcing his way through wouldn't be difficult, but it might alert the enemy and leave a trace of "Japanese military vehicles storming a bandit checkpoint," contradicting his initial intention to keep a low profile. Taking a detour would be a long and arduous process.

So let's stick to the original idea and create some "connection" between them and the Japanese devils.

He started the truck, but instead of heading towards the pass, he drove in another direction, roughly towards the location of the Japanese stronghold, for about five or six miles. He found a secluded ravine far from the road, carefully hid the truck, and camouflaged it with branches and dry grass.

Then, he changed into a dark gray night outfit, slung a backpack over his shoulder, and disappeared into the night like a ghost. Instead of directly breaking through the checkpoint, he stealthily made his way towards the Japanese stronghold at an astonishing speed.

A Golden Core cultivator using his full lightness skill covered the twenty-mile mountain road in just over fifteen minutes. He stopped at a high point about a mile from the stronghold, concealing himself. The searchlights from the watchtower swept across the wilderness, and the figures of sentries could be vaguely seen behind the battlements.

He Damin took out paper and pen from his backpack—not ordinary paper and pen, but a specially made device similar to carbon paper and invisible ink. Using his true energy as a guide, he quickly wrote a few lines of Japanese, his handwriting mimicking the tone of a junior Japanese officer's report: "Around 12:30 AM, a suspicious radio signal was detected near the Black Wind Ridge Pass in the southeast direction, suspected to indicate a secret gathering or ambush by anti-Japanese elements. The signal is intermittent, but the approximate location has been determined. It is recommended that a small team be dispatched immediately to search and eliminate the threat." The signature was a fictitious "scout" codename belonging to another nearby stronghold.

After writing it down, he carefully folded the "intelligence" document. Then, like a top-notch stealth operator, he silently crept to the vicinity of the barbed wire fence surrounding the outpost, using the shadows of the terrain and gaps in the searchlight. After observing for a moment, he chose a blind spot in the sight of a patrolling soldier, weighed the folded "intelligence" document down with a small stone, and placed it in a conspicuous yet windproof spot outside the barbed wire fence.

After doing all this, he quickly left, making a large detour before returning to the location where he had hidden the car. The entire process was clean and efficient, leaving no trace of his own.

Back in the mountain valley, he didn't rush to leave. Instead, he once again let his soul leave his body, floating into the sky, like a patient hunter, quietly waiting.

About an hour later, there was movement at the Japanese stronghold. The lights in the pillbox brightened, and the faint sounds of whistles signaling assembly and trucks starting could be heard. Soon after, two trucks full of Japanese soldiers, headlights on, drove out of the stronghold and sped towards the Black Wind Ridge Pass.

Almost simultaneously, He Damin "saw" that at the Black Wind Ridge Pass, the bandits seemed to have heard the sound of trucks in the distance and were somewhat agitated, but they were not too vigilant, perhaps thinking it was just ordinary Japanese soldiers on night patrol.

"The show's about to begin." He Damin's soul returned to his body, a cold smile curving his lips. He started the truck and drove out of the ravine, but instead of heading towards the Black Wind Ridge Pass, he chose a more secluded path that bypassed the checkpoint. Amidst the roar of the engine, he could almost hear the gunfire, shouts, and chaotic sounds of fighting about to erupt in the distance behind him.

One group of vicious bandits, their hands stained with the blood of ordinary people and colluding with the Japanese puppet regime, and another group of Japanese soldiers, eager to gain merit or eliminate the threat after receiving intelligence of a "suspicious gathering of anti-Japanese elements," found themselves in a dark night in northwestern Shanxi. A "misunderstanding" and conflict, sparked by his gentle touch, was already inevitable.

He believed that after this night, even if the "Black Wind Stronghold" wasn't completely wiped out, they would certainly have a blood feud with the Japanese. And what would the other bandits think when the news spread? Would they feel a sense of shared fate and fear of the Japanese even more? Or would they feel a sense of kinship, a sense of indignation and vigilance that "the Japanese don't even spare those who have surrendered to them," perhaps even igniting a spark of valor?

He Damin didn't know the exact answer, but he had sown the seed. The truck moved steadily along the bumpy road, its headlights illuminating a limited patch of darkness ahead. His gaze remained calmly fixed on the road, his mind alert, yet he was already planning his hiding place for the next day, and further west, the more complex and vast land of northwestern Shanxi awaited him. Using a forged major's identification, He Damin reaped the benefits of the Japanese soldiers.