Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

The 29th day of the twelfth lunar month, Zhao Jia Yu.

This small village, nestled deep within the folds of the mountains in northwestern Shanxi, seemed to be infused with vibrant energy overnight, even the howling north wind seemed to soften slightly. The sky, which had been overcast for days, surprisingly let through a few thin, warm rays of sunlight this afternoon, lazily casting their glow on the loess slopes and gray-tiled roofs, giving this war-torn and barren land a rare, almost ethereal, golden edge.

The threshing ground in the center of the village was the liveliest place today. On a few old locust trees by the ground, some skillful soldier had pasted several crooked "囍" (double happiness) characters cut from red paper onto them. Although rough, they were eye-catchingly red and exuded a straightforward joy. In the center of the ground, several square tables and benches of varying heights, collected from various households, were put together to form several large tables, which were covered with faded coarse cloths. There were no delicacies, only canned beef and pork captured from the Japanese, which had been pried open and were filled with oily food in large, rough porcelain bowls; scrambled eggs, stewed potatoes, and pickled radish strips brought by the villagers were laid out to the brim; most eye-catching were several jars of sweet potato liquor, the mud seals just broken, and the strong, spicy aroma of the liquor mixed with the aroma of the food, relentlessly wafting into people's noses.

The officers of the Independent Regiment who could spare some time, several elderly villagers, model supporters, and key members of the Women's Salvation Association filled several tables. Laughter, boisterous conversation, the clatter of bowls and chopsticks, and the playful noise of children weaving through the crowd filled this usually quiet and somber village with a vibrant and lively atmosphere.

For the first time ever, Li Yunlong was dressed in a nearly new Eighth Route Army uniform. The top button of his shirt was fastened tightly, a rare sight, and his beard was clean-shaven, revealing his bluish chin. He was surrounded by a crowd, a somewhat awkward, even stiff, smile on his face. His dark red face glistened with oil from the alcohol and the firelight (several bonfires had been lit on the sidelines to keep warm). People kept coming over with rough, large bowls to offer toasts, shouting, "Congratulations, Commander!" "Old Li, you've won the heart of your beauty, you must drink!" "Commander, may you have a son soon, so you'll have even more strength to fight the Japanese!"... The blessings were varied, carrying the straightforwardness and boldness unique to soldiers.

Li Yunlong accepted every drink offered, tilting his head back and downing it in one gulp. The spicy liquid burned down his throat, and the initial awkwardness on his face was gradually replaced by bravado. His voice grew louder and louder: "Drink! Drink the hell out! I'm having a good time today! We won't leave until we're drunk!"

Xiuqin sat beside him, wearing a brand-new red cotton-padded jacket, still made of blue fabric with white flowers, but brighter than her usual one. She also had a small red velvet flower pinned in her hair, one she'd found somewhere. A smile lingered on her face, a bright, cheerful, even dazzling smile, her eyes and brows radiating heartfelt joy and contentment. Unlike typical brides who shyly bow their heads, she generously served food to Li Yunlong, poured soup for the elderly who couldn't drink, and occasionally cracked a few witty retorts to the cadres who had gone too far with their jokes, eliciting laughter from everyone. The firelight reflected on her face, making it rosy, and her eyes seemed to sparkle with starlight.

Zhao Gang sat at another table, watching this scene. A relieved smile appeared in his eyes behind his glasses. The tension that had been building up over the past few days due to the mysterious shipment of weapons and Zhu Ziming's somewhat absent-mindedness seemed to ease slightly. He picked up his bowl, took a sip of the sweet potato liquor, and the spiciness made him wince slightly, but his heart was warm. It was a good thing that Old Li, that prickly fellow, had found someone who cared for him. Perhaps, once he was settled down, his fiery temper would subside a bit, and he would consider things more thoroughly. Thinking this, Zhao Gang subconsciously glanced towards the village entrance, where there were extra sentries. He should be... alright, right? After all, today was Old Li's big day.

No one noticed Zhu Ziming, the security officer, sitting at a corner table. A wine bowl sat before him, but he barely touched it, his chopsticks mechanically stirring the food in the bowl. His face, illuminated by the flickering firelight, appeared exceptionally pale. His eyes stared blankly at the laughing crowd, especially Li Yunlong and Xiuqin, his lips occasionally twitching nervously. When someone shouted, "Wishing the regimental commander and his wife a long and happy life together," he abruptly lowered his head, his shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly, his hand gripping the chopsticks until his knuckles turned white. Fear, like a cold, venomous snake, coiled around his heart, tightening ever more. He knew that perhaps tonight, this false, fragile celebration would be utterly shattered, soaked in blood. And he would be the one to hand over the knife.

The night deepened and became as dark as ink. The campfire gradually died down, and the wine had left most of the people slightly tipsy and with satisfied smiles, as they helped each other away. Li Yunlong had been plied with drinks by several battalion and company commanders, and even though he had a good tolerance for alcohol, he was now a little unsteady on his feet. Supported by Xiuqin, whose cheeks were also flushed but whose eyes were clear, they staggered toward the relatively intact, independent courtyard at the east end of the village, which would serve as their "new house."

Zhao Gang forced himself to finish arranging the final security and sentry rotations (he had a nagging feeling of unease and had specifically instructed the sentries to be extra vigilant that night). Watching Li Yunlong and Xiuqin disappear into the night, he rubbed his throbbing temples and, dragging his weary steps, prepared to return to the regimental headquarters to rest. As he passed the edge of the threshing ground, he seemed to catch a glimpse of Zhu Ziming sitting alone, his figure, illuminated by the remaining embers, like a stiff stone sculpture. Zhao Gang considered going over to ask him something, but a wave of intense weariness washed over him. He shook his head, deciding to talk to Zhu Ziming tomorrow, and turned to leave.

At midnight, all was quiet. Zhao Jia Yu was completely asleep, with only sentry posts at the village entrance and on a few high ground, and loyal soldiers watching the darkness vigilantly in the cold wind.

Unbeknownst to them, darkness was creeping in at that very moment, in the most professional and ruthless way.

Less than five miles from Zhao Jia Yu, behind a desolate graveyard, over eighty dark figures, like ghosts crawling out of hell, silently completed their final assembly. They were all dressed in dark special operations uniforms suitable for nighttime operations, their faces painted with black and green camouflage, revealing only pairs of eyes that gleamed with a wolf-like cold light in the darkness. Their equipment was astonishingly sophisticated: each carried a fully loaded American-made M3 "Gade" submachine gun (commonly known as a "fuel gun"); their waists were laden with oval grenades, explosive charges, and multi-purpose daggers; some carried sniper rifles with silencers or flamethrowers. Their movements were perfectly synchronized and silent, communicating only through simple hand gestures and eye contact, demonstrating an extremely rigorous and professional training.

Colonel Yamamoto Ichiki stood at the front of the formation, also clad in special operations uniform, his posture ramrod straight. He glanced at his luminous wristwatch; behind the cold lenses, his eyes were sharp as an eagle's. There was no pre-battle pep talk, no superfluous words, only concise and precise hand gestures of command.

set off.

More than eighty dark figures instantly dispersed, forming several tactical groups. Like black water seeping into parched land, they used the terrain and the cover of night to silently infiltrate and maneuver towards Zhaojiayu Village from multiple directions with astonishing speed and unparalleled stealth.

The sentries, both visible and hidden, surrounding Zhao Jia Yu were utterly useless against these killing machines, forged in the syllabus of the Munich Special Military Academy in Germany and trained on the lives of countless captured Chinese soldiers. Sentinels would often hear only the faintest sound, like a night breeze rustling through dry grass, or catch a glimpse of a shadow out of the corner of their eye. Before they could even raise an alarm or pull the trigger, their throats or hearts would be precisely struck by a cold dagger or a silenced pistol bullet. They wouldn't even have time to utter a sound before collapsing limply, quickly dragged into the shadows to conceal their tracks.

Yamamoto's special forces infiltration was precise, efficient, and ruthless. Like a scalpel, they easily sliced ​​through Zhao Jiayu's seemingly ordinary defenses, piercing straight to its heart.

Within the village, the first to suffer were the scattered residents. Special agents kicked open wooden doors, the dark muzzles of submachine guns spitting out short, deadly tongues of fire, mercilessly sweeping to the ground Duoqin, who had just woken from his sleep and hadn't even had time to understand what was happening, along with the elderly, women, and children. Screams, cries, and sporadic sounds of resistance (mostly men grabbing shovels or kitchen knives) instantly shattered the night's tranquility, only to be quickly drowned out by the more intense gunfire and explosions. The stench of blood, an overwhelming, pungent stench of blood, began to permeate this small village that had just been filled with joy.

"Enemy attack! It's the Japanese! Special forces!" Finally, some sentries who hadn't been eliminated immediately or soldiers who had been awakened sounded the alarm and began to fight back fiercely. The sounds of Type 38 rifles firing and grenades exploding sporadically echoed throughout the village.

But it was too late. Yamamoto's special forces had a clear objective—the headquarters of the Independent Regiment, and… Li Yunlong.

The cave dwelling courtyard where the regimental headquarters was located was the first to be subjected to intense fire and assault. Several submachine guns sprayed bullets wildly at the doors and windows from different angles, the bullets thudding against the adobe walls and sending wood chips flying. Immediately afterwards, stun grenades and hand grenades were thrown in, the flashes and deafening roars shaking the ground. Zhao Gang, who had just lain down, was jolted awake by the explosions. He reacted quickly, grabbing the Mauser pistol beside his pillow and rolling to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), but the intense suppressive fire prevented him from peeking out. A guard rushed to his side to try to cover him, but was riddled with bullets that pierced through the window, warm blood splattering all over Zhao Gang's face.

"Political Commissar! Get out through the back window!" another staff officer, covered in blood, shouted.

Zhao Gang gritted his teeth; he knew the regimental headquarters couldn't be held. He had to rush out and organize a resistance! He sprang to his feet, braced himself against the wall, and fired two shots back. Then, bending low, he smashed open the back window and climbed out. His feet had barely touched the ground when a dark figure suddenly darted out from the shadows to his side, a flash of muzzle flash from a submachine gun!

"Pfft pfft pfft!"

Zhao Gang felt as if his left shoulder and ribs had been struck repeatedly by a massive iron hammer. A sharp pain instantly spread throughout his body. He groaned, lost his balance, and fell heavily to the ground. His vision blurred, and warm liquid quickly soaked through his uniform. He struggled to get up, wanting to continue fighting, but blood loss and excruciating pain rapidly drained his strength. He saw the dark figure coldly turn his gun, aiming it at his head…

At the critical moment, a roar and a gunshot rang out from the side! It was the battalion commander who had rushed to the rescue after hearing the news; his pistol had struck the special agent in the arm. The dark figure staggered, then was dragged away under the cover of his comrades' fire.

"Political Commissar!" The battalion commander rushed over, his eyes reddening at the sight of Zhao Gang's injuries. "Medic! Quickly!"

Zhao Gang gripped the battalion commander's arm tightly, his voice hoarse with all his might, "Don't worry about me... Go... Go save the regimental commander... Protect the villagers... Hurry..."

Meanwhile, at the east end of the village, Li Yunlong's "new house" courtyard.

The intense gunfire and explosions instantly jolted Li Yunlong awake from his drunken stupor. He sat bolt upright on the kang (a heated brick bed), his eyes wide with the sharp, fierce gaze of a seasoned veteran. "Damn it! It's that son of a bitch, Yamamoto!" He instantly recognized his opponent from the density and characteristics of the gunfire.

Xiuqin also woke up with a start, her face deathly pale, but her eyes remained relatively calm: "Master..."

"Stay here! Don't come out!" Li Yunlong roared, grabbed the pistol loaded with bullets from beside his pillow, and darted to the window like a cheetah, cautiously peeking out from behind a corner of the curtain.

Outside the courtyard, several shadowy figures had already appeared, advancing in shifts under the cover of the courtyard wall and trees, their tactical movements skillful and experienced. Bullets whizzed against the windows and doors.

Li Yunlong knew he was being watched, and by the most elite Japanese special forces. This small courtyard was simply not safe to defend.

"Xiuqin! Follow me through the back wall!" Li Yunlong made a quick decision, grabbed Xiuqin's hand, and was about to rush into the back room.

Just then, a deafening explosion rang out, and the front gate was blown open by explosives! Amidst flying sawdust and dust, several dark figures carrying submachine guns rushed in, and bullets rained down on the main house like a deluge!

Li Yunlong reacted swiftly, shoving Xiuqin against the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), while he used the door frame as cover to fire continuously, taking down the two Japanese soldiers at the forefront. But more shadowy figures surged in, their firepower completely suppressing him.

"Commander! Move out! We'll hold them off!" Several roars and intense gunfire came from outside the courtyard. The guards from the nearby platoon had arrived after hearing the news. They engaged in a fierce firefight with the special agents who were trying to surround the area, temporarily slowing down the enemy's advance.

"Xiuqin! Hurry!" Li Yunlong turned around and tried to pull Xiuqin.

However, in the midst of this chaotic commotion, a window on the side was suddenly smashed open, and a towering figure rushed in with a gust of foul wind, his target Xiuqin! It was an exceptionally tall and burly agent of the Yamamoto Special Agent Team, clearly specially selected to carry out capture or assault missions.

Xiuqin let out a short scream and instinctively stepped back, but tripped over the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed).

Li Yunlong's eyes were bloodshot. He turned his gun to fire, but another special agent who rushed in from the front door was already whistling through the air, forcing him to duck and take cover.

In that brief moment of delay, the burly special agent grabbed Xiuqin's arm like an eagle snatching a chick, covered her mouth with his other hand, and restrained her fiercely. Then, without hesitation, he dragged her out of the smashed window!

"Xiuqin!!!" Li Yunlong roared like a beast, desperately trying to rush out, but the dense bullets held him firmly inside the house. He watched helplessly as the dark figure, holding the struggling Xiuqin hostage, disappeared into the night and the hail of bullets outside the window.

"Fuck your ancestors!! Yamamoto Ichiki!!!" Li Yunlong's eyes turned red, a truly blood-red rage on the verge of madness. Like a wounded lion, he roared, unleashing all the remaining bullets from his pistol at the enemies in the yard. Then, taking advantage of the moment when the enemies were suppressed and dodging, he smashed open the back window, tumbled out, and landed in the backyard.

He didn't turn back to chase—he couldn't catch up, nor could he break through the layers of special forces defenses outside. The extreme anger and pain, ironically, chilled his mind instantly. He heard the increasingly sparse gunfire and continuous screams coming from all over the village, knowing that all was lost. Yamamoto had come prepared this time, deliberately choosing the moment when he was newly married and perhaps less vigilant to launch this fatal attack.

"Commander! This way!" In the darkness, several guards, covered in blood and having fought their way through, found him.

Li Yunlong glanced one last time at the direction of the new house, where everything had quieted down except for the embers of the fire still burning. He clenched his teeth, blood seeping from his gums, and forced out two words, as cold as the chilly night in northwestern Shanxi:

"withdraw!"

He had to survive. Only by surviving could he take revenge! For the villagers who died tragically in Zhao Jia Yu, for the wounded Zhao Gang, for... Xiu Qin who was kidnapped!

Under the desperate cover of the remaining guards, Li Yunlong, filled with deep-seated hatred and almost consuming pain, took advantage of his familiarity with the terrain and the cover of night to fight his way back towards the dark mountains outside the village.

As dawn broke, the gunfire completely ceased.

Zhao Jia Yu, a small village that was filled with laughter and joy just last night, has now become a desolate ruin. Smoke curls from the rubble, mingling with the heavy stench of blood. The streets and courtyards are littered with corpses: civilians killed before they could even dress, Eighth Route Army soldiers still in fighting stances, and a few members of Yamamoto's special forces unit. Blood trickles down the frozen ground, congealing into a horrifying sight.

In the village, there is no longer a crowing of roosters or barking of dogs, nor can a single living villager be seen.

In the courtyard of Li Yunlong's new house at the east end of the village, the doors and windows were broken, and the walls were riddled with bullet holes, leaving a scene of utter devastation. Only the broken window with the faded red "囍" character pasted on it swayed forlornly in the morning breeze, making a soft creaking sound, as if playing a mournful elegy for this bloody wedding.

Outside the village, on the mountain road leading to Ping'an County, Yamamoto Ichiki stared expressionlessly at Xiuqin, whose hands were bound, mouth gagged, and who was being closely guarded by two team members. Xiuqin's hair was disheveled, and her red cotton-padded jacket was covered in dust, but her eyes were frighteningly bright as she stared intently at Yamamoto Ichiki. There were no tears in them, only endless anger and hatred.

Yamamoto Ichiki avoided her gaze and glanced at his watch. The operation was largely successful. The Independent Regiment headquarters was destroyed, and although the target, Li Yunlong, escaped, he was severely wounded, and his newlywed wife was captured, resulting in significant political repercussions. Zhao Jiayu was thoroughly "cleaned out," achieving a deterrent effect. The only regret was the failure to identify or capture the mysterious "Mr. He," and the lack of information about the source of the massive amount of Japanese weaponry or any further clues.

"Withdraw." Yamamoto Ichiki coldly ordered, leading his special forces and prisoners, and quickly disappeared into the deepest darkness before dawn.

Behind them, all that remained were the remains of Zhaojiayu, the soaring bloodlust, and a blood debt destined to be repaid with even more intense flames.