The Little Demonic Cultivator in the Courtyard: Borrowing 100,000 Japanese Pirates to Heal

Less than half an hour after the Caishikou explosion, Sasaki Maki arrived nearby and set up a temporary command post.

Several military maps were laid out on the table, with the nearest attack points marked on them in red and blue pencils.

The Dongsi Street checkpoint, the Beixinqiao barracks, the Gulou East Street teahouse, and Caishikou, which was just bombed today.

The number of red dots is increasing, and from the map, it looks like someone has drawn a circle around Nanluoguxiang with red ink.

Sasaki sat at the table, tapping his fingers on the surface.

His fingers were short and thick, with calluses all over his knuckles, making a dull thud when he tapped them on the wooden table.

Several junior officers were gathered around the table, but no one dared to speak first.

A lieutenant colonel stood up and said that according to the on-site investigation at Caishikou, the grenade was thrown from a position about 350 meters to the southwest.

The thrower possessed incredible strength and precision; all four grenades landed perfectly in the center of the square, not one missing its mark.

"One person, 350 meters?" Sasaki asked.

The lieutenant colonel hesitated for a moment, then said it could have been one person, or it could have been multiple people throwing from different locations simultaneously. However, no trace of a second throwing point was found at the scene.

Sasaki Maki didn't say anything, but continued to tap the table.

The main problem is that 350 meters is abnormal and impossible.

That's absolutely impossible.

Another officer stood up and said that the attacks in the past week had common characteristics.

The attackers were skilled at nighttime operations, using melee weapons and grenades, and always managed to escape unscathed after each attack.

From the Dongsi Street checkpoint to today's Caishikou, the distribution range of all the attack points is no more than five kilometers, and the attackers were very likely hiding in this area.

"You mean, all of this was done by the same group of people?" Sasaki Maki's voice was calm.

"It could be a small group, not large, no more than fifty people."

Sasaki Maki's fingers stopped.

He recalled the night his deputy commander, Yoshio Nagahira, was killed in the bombing. Those who investigated the scene at the time said that there were no more than forty attackers.

It now appears that there were only thirty or forty people, and the number was even smaller on each mission.

One person, or a few people, turned Beijing upside down.

Most importantly, this was the first time someone had launched a daytime attack, which was what they found most unacceptable.

That's incredibly audacious.

"General," a major at the end of the table spoke, "the fact that the resistance fighters acted at Caishikou shows they are indeed capable of carrying out the threats in the warning letter. Should we continue with the public executions?"

These words stunned Sasaki, who then asked, "What is Kobayashi Hikaru's opinion on this matter?"

"Your Excellency, General, I believe that continuing public executions may invite even fiercer retaliation. I suggest temporarily halting public executions and switching to secret executions."

"Stop?" Sasaki interrupted him.

The major's words stuck in his throat.

Sasaki stood up and walked to the map of Beijing hanging on the wall.

The map marked the locations of all important facilities: barracks, sentry posts, warehouses, and command posts. He pointed to the location of Caishikou, which was circled in red.

"They threw four grenades at the market today, and I stopped. Tomorrow they throw four more elsewhere, and I stop again. What about the day after tomorrow?"

He turned to the officers at the table. "The day after tomorrow, they'll post notices at the entrance to my command post, telling me what I can and cannot do. Do you want the Imperial Army to be commanded by a few resistance fighters?"

No one dared to answer.

Sasaki sat down again, his tone returning to its usual coldness: "Our Imperial Army's stance must be even tougher. If we back down because of a few grenades, the resistance fighters will only become more aggressive. What they want is deterrence; what we're giving them is counter-deterrence."

"For every Imperial soldier they kill, we kill ten Great Xia people. For every square they bomb, we kill another batch in that square. We'll keep killing until they realize that threatening the Imperial Army will only make their own people die faster."

"General," another major hesitated, "but if we continue with public executions, Caishikou will become a repeated target. Our soldiers will be in great danger."

"Then we'll reinforce them," Sasaki Maki said. "Starting this afternoon, double the troops at Caishikou. Set up machine guns on the rooftops, and add mobile sentries around the perimeter. I'll be there myself. I want to see if they have more men or we have more bullets."

The officers at the table exchanged glances. One of them moved his lips as if to say something, but ultimately lowered his head.

"Any other questions?" Sasaki asked.

"General, how should we set up the mobile sentries on the outer perimeter?" the lieutenant colonel asked.

"Checkpoints will be set up at all intersections within an 800-meter radius of Caishikou. Shifts will be rotated every two hours, and two people must work together during the rotation. Everyone entering the square, regardless of who they are, will be searched."

Sasaki stood up, placing his hands on the table. "If the attackers dare to come again, I'll make sure they can't leave."

"yes!"

The officers stood up in unison, bowed their heads, and then left the room one by one.

Sasaki sat alone at the table, his gaze fixed on the dense red dots on the map.

His fingers began tapping on the table again, once, twice, three times.

He wanted to see if he could wipe out those Xia pigs who were trying to rebel.

Clearly, Sasaki Maki's demand to continue killing was not merely for the sake of saving face or acting on impulse.

He was fishing.

……

at the same time,

Xu Jiande and his group of 500 courtyard administrators were walking slowly.

The line stretched out for a long time. No one spoke; the only sounds were the soft rustling of shoes against the cobblestones and the occasional, suppressed retching.

The air still smelled of blood and the sour stench of vomit; many people had blood on their clothes and hands.

Some people wiped their hands with their sleeves as they walked, but the more they wiped, the dirtier they felt.

Xu Jiande walked in the middle of the group, head down, his pace neither fast nor slow.

Several dark red bloodstains were splattered on the front of his gray cotton jacket; they were the blood of the young resistance fighter.

He didn't wipe it off, leaving the bloodstains on his clothes.

Half an hour later, the group was taken to a military camp in the east of the city.

This place was originally the garrison of the 29th Army, but it was taken over by the Japanese after the city fell to the Japanese.

The Japanese had already made the necessary preparations.

The five hundred men were divided into ten classes according to their numbers, with fifty men in each class, and were taken to different barracks.

Xu Jiande and Yi Zhonghai were assigned to the same class.

There were fifty cots in the barracks, and each cot had a brand new set of clothes on it.

He wore a light-colored cotton short-sleeved shirt, black leggings, and a pair of rubber-soled cloth shoes.

The shirt had a small logo embroidered on the left chest, which read "Administrator".

Someone called out from the doorway, "Change your clothes," in a short and authoritative voice.

The crowd was silent for a moment, then began to stir rustlingly.

Some people's fingers were still trembling when they unbuttoned their clothes, while others picked up their new clothes and looked at them over and over, their expressions very complicated.

After putting on this outfit, I became completely different from the ordinary people outside.

Yi Zhonghai was the first to change his clothes.