Courtyard House: Time Traveler Not Yet a Ghost

Dawn in northwestern Shanxi arrives with exceptional difficulty, as if yesterday's smoke and roars have exhausted the last vestiges of vitality in the world. The pale, gray light weakly spills over the desolate, undulating mountains, resembling the slumbering spine of a giant, and falls upon a winding stream hidden at the bottom of a deep valley, almost entirely obscured by withered reeds. The water is icy cold, flowing silently, only creating faint ripples when it strikes the black pebbles protruding from the surface, ripples that quickly subside.

He Damin squatted on a flat bluestone by the stream, slowly and deliberately processing a black goat in front of him in the icy cold water. He had waited for nearly two hours yesterday afternoon on a sheltered rocky slope upstream—a small flock of about seven or eight Xiuwu black goats, their coats glossy black, quite large, nibbling on the last bits of withered moss and lichen in the crevices of the rocks. He wasn't greedy; he chose only the most robust adult ram, a little further from the herd. His bow was a homemade hardwood recurve bow, and his arrows were made with fine steel arrowheads. With a slight twang of the bowstring, the arrow flew like a meteor; the goat didn't even have time to flinch before collapsing to the ground, its hooves twitching slightly, and soon fell silent. Dragging it back, he weighed it; it probably weighed over sixty pounds—a considerable meat harvest in the harsh late winter mountains.

The sheepskin had been completely peeled off and laid out on a nearby rock, a thin layer of pale yellow fat still attached beneath. The mutton was cut into evenly sized pieces and soaked in the cold stream to draw out the blood. He Damin sharpened several sturdy shrub branches with his dagger, skewered the meat pieces, and then retrieved a small bag of salt and several dried wild fruits with spicy or unusual aromas that he had found in the mountains from beside his temporary dark green Japanese field tent. He crushed them and mixed them together as a seasoning.

A campfire was quickly lit using dried pine branches and hardwood gathered nearby; it burned brightly with little smoke. Skewers of meat were placed on the fire, the fat sizzling and dripping into the flames, sparking small, lively flames. The rich, wild aroma of meat quickly filled the air, dispelling the inherent chill of the morning air and the faint, lingering smell of burnt meat carried on the breeze.

He grilled with great patience, turning the skewer frequently to ensure even heating. He grilled it until the outer layer was slightly golden brown and the juices inside were almost overflowing before sprinkling on the simple seasoning. Then he took a skewer, blew on it to cool it, and put it in his mouth. The meat was firm, with the unique, slightly coarse yet rich aroma of black goat meat, mixed with the saltiness of salt and the indescribable spiciness of wild berries, exploding in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed slowly, his face expressionless, as if he were simply performing a routine, necessary task to replenish his energy. Beside the tent lay several empty cans, the supplies from the previous days. He habitually used easily preserved military rations (such as compressed biscuits and canned food) and durable staple foods stored in his small world as his basic reserves, while fresh meat was eaten as soon as he hunted, serving as a supplement.

Yesterday, in the direction of Ping'an County and across the wider Jin-Northwest region, the continuous, muffled roar of gunfire and the faint shouts of battle that had lasted almost all day seemed to go unnoticed by him. He simply stayed in his tent, set up simple guards, and then sat cross-legged to meditate and calm his mind. The carnage and life-or-death struggle outside seemed like indistinct background noise from two separate worlds. It wasn't until late into the night that the clamor gradually subsided, finally swallowed up by an endless silence.

He knew what that meant. An unprecedented bloody battle had come to an end. He wasn't particularly concerned about the outcome, who lived and who died. What he cared about was the "harvest" left behind on the battlefield after this grand feast.

So he waited. He waited until darkness fell again, until the moonlight was obscured by thick clouds, leaving only a few cold stars twinkling indifferently in the vast night sky. He waited until the mountains and fields of northwestern Shanxi were completely submerged in a blood-stained, exhausted slumber after the great battle.

At three-quarters past midnight, inside the tent, He Damin slowly opened his eyes. His clear gaze reflected the dim flame of the kerosene lamp in the corner of the tent. He didn't act immediately, but quietly sensed the surroundings. A breeze seeped in through the tent's gaps, bringing with it a more complex atmosphere from afar—not just the smoke and scorched earth, but also… a vast amount of fresh, not yet fully dissipated, emanating from death and the fluctuations of souls. Like countless shells left on the beach after the tide has receded, shimmering pale in the moonlight.

it's time.

The main soul emerged from the Baihui acupoint, more refined and serene than ever before. The phantom of the Soul Refining Banner appeared in his hand, its surface moving without wind, faintly emitting a low, murmuring soul sound, like countless whispers. It was the resonance between the refined soul power and the not-yet-fully-digested living soul within the banner, revealing an instinctive longing for the upcoming "feast".

The main soul stepped out of the tent and rose into the cold night sky. Without delay, he identified the directions from which the gunfire was most intense yesterday and where the aura of death was now heaviest, and transformed into a pale golden phantom, swiftly sped away.

The first area reached was a hilly region on the outskirts of Ping'an County. This was clearly one of the battlefields. Under the moonlight, the scene was horrific. The crisscrossing, makeshift trenches and individual bunkers had been almost completely flattened by artillery fire, and the frozen soil had been turned up, revealing a filthy gray-black color. The ground was covered with layers upon layers of corpses.

There were Japanese soldiers in khaki uniforms and caps, in various poses, many of their bodies mutilated, clearly victims of intense explosions or concentrated fire. There were also anti-Japanese armed personnel in grey Eighth Route Army uniforms, blue Jin-Sui Army uniforms, and even other mismatched clothing. They were often entangled with the Japanese corpses, maintaining their fighting postures, bayonets embedded in each other's bodies, fingers gripping the enemy's throat, teeth biting into the enemy's ears or shoulders… Many bodies were already stiff, covered with a thin layer of frost in the low temperature, their expressions frozen in their final moments—anger, pain, despair, and bewilderment.

The air was thick with the pungent stench of blood, the acrid smell of ruptured entrails, and the faint sweetness of flesh beginning to slowly decompose. Crows and unidentified scavengers were already stirring in the distant darkness, their calls rustling softly.

He Damin's main soul hovered above these death hills, coldly looking down. The Soul Refining Banner gently trembled, and the invisible [Soul Banner Domain] expanded, not to suppress, but to more keenly perceive and guide.

The first to be drawn were the souls of the Japanese soldiers. These souls, mostly filled with violence, terror, resentment, and chaotic killing intent, rose like bubbles in murky sewage from their mangled corpses, hazy and distorted, still bearing the remnants of their ferocity in life and the terror of their death. Under the powerful suction of the Soul-Refining Banner, they were almost powerless to resist, emitting silent shrieks as they were sucked in swathes into the dark banner's surface. Within the banner, a faint blood-red light flowed, emanating a slight, satisfied tremor, beginning the efficient refining and purification process. A rough estimate suggests that in this single battlefield alone, there were no fewer than five or six hundred Japanese souls.

Next came the souls of the Chinese soldiers. These souls possessed a far more complex aura. There was intense anger and hatred, an indomitable will, a deep longing for their homeland and loved ones, and the regret and resentment of failing to annihilate the enemy. Their souls also shone differently; some were as resilient as iron, others as faint as a candle in the wind. Following his plan, He Damin used his divine sense, like the finest sieve, to sift through these rising soul lights.

He didn't touch most of the souls. He let them drift aimlessly in the air above the battlefield, or, drawn by some invisible, faint but undeniably existing natural law of reincarnation belonging to this world, slowly dissipate and sink, returning to an unknown destiny. He knew that most of these souls would enter that vast and indistinct cycle of reincarnation, drinking something like "Meng Po's Soup" at some point to wash away their past lives and re-enter the cycle of reincarnation—whether human or animal, he didn't know.

His targets were those souls whose spiritual light was relatively concentrated, whose core consciousness had not completely dissipated, and whose obsession strongly contained clear desires such as "continue fighting," "kill the Japanese devils," and "defend the homeland." Such souls were few and far between, less than one in a hundred out of the vast number of dead. They were like gold nuggets in sand, requiring careful discernment.

His divine sense locked onto more than a dozen such targets. One, its soul light a dark red, its core a young face stained with the grime of battle, its obsession repeatedly screaming, "Hold the line! Don't let the Japanese get past!" Another, its soul light a pale gold, its core the image of an older officer, its obsession "Cover the main force... brothers... retreat..." And yet another, its soul light iron-gray, its obsession simple yet burning: "Revenge! Avenge the platoon leader!"

Using the power of the Soul Refining Banner, He Damin gently yet firmly "guided" these selected souls, temporarily isolating them within a special, relatively calm area of ​​the banner to prevent them from being refined and to slow down their natural dissipation. Most of these souls were in a dazed state, with only their core obsessions and scattered fragments of memory remaining. They had no clear understanding of being "collected" by a strange power, and only instinctively resisted complete dissipation, clinging to that last bit of unfulfilled belief.

After dealing with this battlefield, the main soul didn't linger and flew towards the next location filled with the aura of death.

Overnight, his main spirit, like the most diligent yet ruthless street sweeper, traversed the area within a radius of nearly a hundred miles around Ping'an County. Beneath the precipitous earthen cliffs of Baijia Village, in the undulating mountain valleys of Woniugang, beside the frozen riverbanks of Fenglingdu... wherever fierce battles had taken place the previous day, his footprints were left.

The harvest was immense, but also cold.

The souls of the Japanese devils, in all their varied forms, numbered over three thousand! This doesn't even include those whose souls were directly scattered during the battle for Ping'an County or those he had previously overlooked. These malevolent souls, like excellent fuel, were continuously devoured and refined by the Soul Refining Banner, feeding back pure soul power to nourish his soul's origin and accumulate the potential for the Soul Refining Banner to advance further.

The number of Chinese soldiers' souls he selected for his "reincarnation experiment" was close to one hundred. This proportion was even lower than he had anticipated. The cruelty of war not only destroys the body but also rapidly extinguishes the brilliance of the soul. Many soldiers' souls were already severely damaged or too scattered when they died, failing to meet his requirements. These one hundred were the result of his careful selection.

He also noticed some details on the battlefield. In many areas where Japanese corpses were densely packed, their uniforms, boots, and even underwear had been stripped away, leaving only pale, wounded, or frostbitten bodies, starkly visible in the morning light. The remains of Chinese soldiers, though equally gruesome, mostly had their clothing intact; only their weapons had been removed. He Damin thought for a moment and understood. This must have been done by the Eighth Route Army or guerrillas. They were desperately short of cloth and clothing, and these Japanese uniforms and shoes, after being dismantled, washed, and mended, were precious supplies. This method of battlefield "cleanup" revealed an almost cruel pragmatism and reflected the unimaginable hardships of the resistance war behind enemy lines.

As dawn approached, He Damin's soul, carrying the "harvest" of the night, returned to the tent where his body was.

Inside the tent, he slowly opened his eyes, his face slightly pale. A night of intense astral projection, meticulous selection, and massive manipulation of soul power had taken a toll. Yet his gaze remained calm, even carrying a hint of focused concentration after completing his planned task.

He did not rest immediately, but instead focused his mind on the small world of his dantian, arriving at the edge of the hazy, nascent space of reincarnation, beside the cave of the animal path.

Next comes the real key, and the core purpose of his adventure—the soul reincarnation experiment.

He first guided out a dozen or so relatively pure and simple warhorse beast souls that were temporarily stored within the Soul Refining Banner. These beast souls were chaotic and ignorant, mainly retaining instinctive memories such as running, obedience, and herbivory, like blank but uniform "base material".

Then, he carefully selected one from the nearly one hundred selected souls of Chinese soldiers. This soul's aura was pale gold, and its core was the image of a young soldier of eighteen or nineteen, with a clear and singular obsession: "Ride... on horseback... charge... kill the Japanese devils..." In the vague fragments of memory, there were images of him envying cavalrymen and longing to gallop on horseback in his previous life. His soul strength was moderate, his core consciousness was relatively intact, and his obsession was related to "horses," making him an ideal experimental subject.

Using the Six Paths of Reincarnation as a bridge and the Soul-Refining Banner's [Soul-Binding] and [Soul-Stabilizing] properties as a framework, He Damin carefully guided the young warrior's remnant soul, slowly approaching one of the warhorse beast souls. At the same time, he mobilized the power of the crude "traction anchor point" and "fusion force field" attached to the edge of the Animal Path Light Cave.

This process was extremely difficult, like mixing two liquids of different natures on a tightrope in a gale. The warhorse's beast soul instinctively rejected this outsider, and the warrior's remnant soul's obsession clashed fiercely with its primal bestial instincts. The fusion force field emitted unstable fluctuations, and the consumption of soul power increased dramatically.

He Damin was completely focused, and sweat beaded on his forehead again. He forcefully suppressed the rejection of the beast soul, calmed the restlessness of the warrior's remnant soul, and used the faint sense of "transformation" and "destiny" of the nascent form of reincarnation to forcefully "blend" the core of the two together little by little.

This was not a perfect fusion; it was more like forcibly "branding" the warrior's remnant soul's "core imprint" and main obsession onto the beast soul's chaotic foundation, like a branding iron, and then barely binding them together with the power of laws.

After an unknown amount of time, just as He Damin felt his soul power was about to run out and his fusion force field was on the verge of collapse, the struggling soul light suddenly paused, and then emitted a strange, relatively stable new soul light that was a mixture of bestial ignorance and human obsession!

It was a success! Although it was rough and fragile, and although, according to He Damin's perception, the intelligence level of this newborn soul was only equivalent to that of a human child of about twelve years old, and it had a large amount of missing memories, retaining only the most core obsessions of "fighting," "riding horses," and "killing enemies" and a few fragments, it was indeed a warhorse soul with the "core of human combat consciousness"!

He Damin breathed a long sigh of relief and carefully placed the soul of the first successfully tested "Soul-Forged Iron Cavalry" into a specially prepared isolation area within the Soul Refining Banner, used for nurturing and observation. The soul light slowly rotated within, and one could vaguely "see" the phantom of a magnificent warhorse. However, its eyes were no longer entirely those of an animal, but rather held an indescribable determination and vigilance belonging to a warrior.

With the experience gained from the first attempt, subsequent attempts went a little smoother, but the failure rate remained alarmingly high. Of the nearly one hundred warrior remnant souls, only seven successfully completed this crude "branding" fusion with the warhorse beast souls, forming new "soul-forged souls." The rest either perished during the fusion process or completely lost control, transforming into even more chaotic monster souls, which He Damin decisively refined using the Soul Refining Banner.

Seven. The number was pitifully small. But as He Damin looked at the seven soul lights emanating unique auras within the Soul Refining Banner, a spark ignited in his eyes.

This proves that his idea is feasible! The power of reincarnation, even in its nascent stage, can be guided and utilized! Although he can currently only create "Soul-Forged Warhorses" with limited intelligence and incomplete memories, this is just the beginning. As his understanding of the laws of reincarnation deepens and his ability to manipulate souls improves, the future…

He even thought about the souls of those Japanese soldiers who had been refined. Could it be possible, in the future, in a more forceful and twisted way, to reincarnate the souls of Chinese soldiers filled with hatred into the bodies of captured or soulless Japanese soldiers? To create "puppet warriors" who appeared to be enemies but whose cores were filled with vengeful spirits? This idea was even darker and more tempting.

Outside the tent, the sky was already bright. A new day had begun; the bloodstains of yesterday's battlefield had not yet dried, and a new battle might already be brewing.

He Damin gathered his thoughts and began to sit cross-legged to regulate his breathing and recover his depleted soul power. The souls of the seven "Soul-Forged Iron Cavalry" were quietly nurtured within the Soul Refining Banner, waiting to be infused into suitable and strong warhorse bodies, waiting for the day when they could return to the battlefield they so longed for in this strange and tragic way.

The mountains and forests were silent, save for the mournful whistling of the cold wind as it swept through the bare branches.