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

Xu Jiande looted all the grenades and ammunition from the Japanese soldiers.

He counted the grenades hanging from his waist, realizing he had amassed quite a haul that night.

Twelve hand grenades, five Type 38 rifles, nine magazines, and a well-preserved Type 14 Nambu pistol.

He wrapped the weapons in the captured canvas, carried them on his back, and retreated along the same route.

When we returned to the courtyard house, the sky was already beginning to turn a very faint grayish-white, and there were still about two hours until dawn.

Xu Jiande climbed over the wall and landed in the courtyard, his feet making a very soft thud as they stepped on the bluestone slabs.

Reaching her own front door, she pushed it open a crack without making a sound, and Bai Ling stood guard behind it.

"I'm back," he said softly, taking the heavy canvas bundle off his back and placing it on the table.

The grenade rolled on the table, its metal casing gleaming dimly in the light of the kerosene lamp.

Bai Ling walked out of the bedroom wearing an overcoat. Seeing the pile of weapons on the table, she didn't say anything, but turned around and went to the kitchen to scoop out a bowl of cold water and handed it over.

Xu Jiande took the bowl and gulped down half of it in one go. He then placed the bowl on the table and began to check his haul for the evening.

All five Type 38 rifles were inspected to confirm that there were no jams in the chambers.

Twelve hand grenades, fuses intact.

Nine magazines, all full.

He sorted and put the weapons away, then had a headache. His house was practically an armory, but he didn't know where to hide them.

The main problem is that this house doesn't have a cellar, so it would be troublesome if the Japanese came to search it.

Of course, these weapons can still be hidden for the time being. For example, pistols and magazines can be hidden in a secret compartment under the bed, and grenades can be put in a cabinet.

After doing all this, Xu Jiande took off his shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The restless demonic energy in his dantian finally subsided, replaced by a warm, full, and saturated feeling.

The life force of the nine Japanese soldiers flowed slowly through his meridians, intertwining with the resentment in his body that had not yet been fully refined. The alternation of hot and cold tempered his muscles and bones like a quenching process.

Xu Jiande closed his eyes, let out a long breath, and felt that all the meridians in his body were cleared up.

The Japanese will definitely go even crazier tomorrow. But he can't control that. He'll just have to kill them.

In fact, Xu Jiande's sneak attack made the Japanese even angrier.

Just as dawn broke, Sasaki received a report that three outposts had been attacked the previous night, nine soldiers had been killed, and all their weapons and ammunition had been looted.

The method was exactly the same as before: a close-range, cold-weapon sneak attack, clean and swift, leaving no survivors.

Including the grenades at Caishikou Square, this group of resistance fighters has launched two attacks in just one day.

Sasaki sat at the table in the temporary command post, clutching the report in his hand, his knuckles turning purple from gripping it so tightly.

Yesterday, we reinforced Caishikou with 200 troops, set up machine guns on the rooftops, and added three lines of defense around the perimeter. We waited for a whole afternoon and night, but the enemy never even went to Caishikou.

They circled around to the north, approached three sentry posts, killed nine soldiers, and then fled.

He was fishing, but the other person went somewhere else.

These Great Xia resistance fighters are exceptionally cunning; we need to think of another way, Sasaki thought to himself.

"Pass down the order." Sasaki Maki's voice was as cold as a knife.

"The search continues today, expanding its scope. Every household in the alleys of Shangcheng District will be searched. Anyone found suspicious will be arrested regardless of evidence. In addition, the executions at Caishikou will continue; another batch will be killed today."

"And to rapidly advance the construction and management of the courtyards."

……

Because of Sasaki Maki's anger, an hour later, the sound of leather boots echoed at the gates of many courtyard houses in Beijing.

The same goes for Xu Jiande.

He had just finished half a bowl of cornmeal porridge and hadn't even put the bowl down when Wang Xiaoyong's voice boomed in the courtyard: "All courtyard managers, assemble at the alley entrance immediately! The Imperial Army has ordered that training continue today; anyone late will be punished for disobeying orders!"

Xu Jiande put the bowl on the stove, grabbed the dark blue short jacket with the word "pipe" printed on it, and put it on.

Bai Ling glanced at him, said nothing, but asked with her eyes, "What's going on?"

Xu Jiande shook his head, indicating that he didn't know, and then pushed open the door and went out.

Yi Zhonghai was already standing in the courtyard, frantically buttoning his shirt. The character "管" (guan, meaning pipe) on his chest was buttoned crookedly, hanging awkwardly on his left chest.

After that, the two followed Wang Xiaoyong outside.

Twenty minutes later, Xu Jiande went to the training base he had acquired the day before, this time for specific monitoring training.

Five hundred compound administrators formed a crooked queue in the open space at the camp gate.

Someone stood in the wrong place and was pointed out and scolded by Wang Xiaoyong; someone was pushed from behind and almost fell; and someone kept their head down and looked at the ground, never raising their head from beginning to end.

Xu Jiande stood in the middle of the line, his gaze sweeping over the two Japanese soldiers at the camp gate, silently memorizing the location and general layout of the military camp.

This place isn't too far from Nanluoguxiang, but it's not within his usual area of ​​activity.

If necessary, we can come back and scout the location again, and then bomb it once more.

Upon entering the camp gate, there was a spacious parade ground.

The grass on the playground had long been trampled away, revealing the hard yellow soil underneath, with a few crooked lines drawn in white lime on it, which were used for lining up.

Across from the playground was a row of red brick bungalows, with several pieces of glass in the windows broken and nailed together with wooden boards.

Next to the bungalow was a shed made of corrugated iron, under which were several large pots, their bottoms blackened from the fire. A pile of bowls was stacked on a wooden table next to it.

"This morning's training schedule is about how to distinguish soldiers," a Japanese soldier explained, while Wang Xiaoyong translated.

To the Japanese, a soldier was someone who served in the military.

People who have served in the military will have marks on their bodies, and these marks cannot be hidden by changing clothes.

First, there's the hair. Soldiers in the Kuomintang army shaved their heads short all year round, and the marks left by the brim of their hats ran across their foreheads, completely different from the marks left by ordinary people when they shaved their heads.

Secondly, there's the head shape. The helmet presses down on the head year-round, leaving a light-colored mark. Long hair can barely cover it, but it becomes obvious when held up to the light.

Another thing is posture. Soldiers will automatically separate their feet to shoulder width and let their hands hang naturally at their sides after standing for a long time. This is muscle memory that is formed by the instructors hitting them with sticks on the training field, and it cannot be changed.

Several Japanese soldiers were demonstrating on the stage. One was dressed as an ordinary civilian, walking with a hunched back, while another was dressed as a defeated soldier, walking with his back straight and striding.

The administrators below the stage watched intently, some even subconsciously adjusting their posture.

In addition to identifying soldiers, they also had to check if any strangers entered.

The translator said that each courtyard was a small fortress, and the administrator was the sentry of the fortress.

New faces, unfamiliar accents, and people whose origins are unclear—regardless of age or gender—must all report their identities first.

Another thing is whether anyone goes out at night. After the curfew, no one is allowed to walk on the street, and if anyone leaves their yard in the middle of the night, the administrator must report it immediately.

Those who know but fail to report are guilty of the same crime as the resistance fighters.

Upon hearing this, Yi Zhonghai couldn't help but turn and glance at Xu Jiande.

Bai Ling is Xu Jiande's wife, and she has only been with him for a few days.

According to the standards just mentioned by the Imperial Army, she is a stranger whose origins are unclear.

Yi Zhonghai didn't say anything, and his expression didn't change at all. He just turned his gaze back to the high platform in front of him, as if he had just accidentally glanced at the pillar next to him.

Xu Jiande stood next to Yi Zhonghai, watching the Japanese soldiers demonstrate intently, without even glancing at Yi Zhonghai out of the corner of his eye.

But for some reason, Yi Zhonghai felt a chill run down his spine.

Meanwhile, the killings continued at Caishikou.