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

The backyard was small, with some odds and ends and a few broken jars. There was an old well in the corner, and the stone rim of the well was worn shiny.

The man pointed to the well opening, speaking quickly but clearly: "Manager Xu, go down slowly, step on the cracks in the well wall, there's a hole about a person's height above the water. Climb in from there, follow the tunnel all the way to the outside."

Xu Jiande naturally guessed that this was an underground tunnel.

There are many such tunnels in Beijing, which were dug by high-ranking officials and nobles to escape the chaos of war. I never expected that there would be one hidden in this inconspicuous courtyard.

He looked at the man and said, "Thank you, let's go together."

I didn't expect to be rejected.

The man smiled and said, "I can't leave. I'm the owner of this house, and I have nowhere else to go. You'd better leave quickly, or it will be too late."

Xu Jiande immediately said, "Come with me. I have a place to settle you in."

I was rejected again.

Before Xu Jiande could say anything more, the courtyard gate was already being smashed open.

It wasn't a knock, but the dull thud of a rifle butt slamming against the door, mixed with shouts from Japanese soldiers and the sound of boots kicking the door.

The man stopped looking at Xu Jiande, turned around and walked behind the courtyard gate, leaned against the wall, and pulled out a pistol from his waist.

It wasn't a very good gun; most of the blueing on the gun body had worn away, and the grip was wrapped with anti-slip cloth strips, which had turned black from being soaked in sweat.

His movements as he pulled the slide were very practiced, clearly indicating that this wasn't his first time handling a gun.

Xu Jiande gritted his teeth and climbed down the well.

The well walls were very narrow, and my shoulders slid down the brick walls on both sides.

He stepped on the slippery cracks in the rocks and moved down little by little.

They moved to a position about one person's height above the water and sure enough, they found a hole in the well wall.

The entrance to the cave is small, just big enough for one person to crawl in.

He grabbed the stone edge of the cave entrance, braced his feet against the well wall, lifted himself up, and crawled into the cave.

Almost simultaneously, the sound of a grenade exploding overhead rang out.

A loud bang was followed by the sound of shattered wooden planks from the courtyard gate hitting the ground.

The Japanese soldiers immediately blew up the door with a grenade.

Then came the crunching sound of leather boots stepping on wood chips, and at least three Japanese soldiers rushed into the yard.

The man leaned against the wall inside the courtyard gate, and when the sound of leather boots came closest, he suddenly emerged from behind the wall and fired three shots.

Bang bang bang.

Two shots hit the first Japanese soldier in the chest, and one shot hit the second Japanese soldier in the neck.

Two Japanese soldiers fell to the ground, and a third soldier immediately raised his gun to return fire. The bullet pierced the man's left shoulder; he groaned and swayed to the side, but did not fall.

He raised his gun again.

Then more gunshots rang out.

At least four or five guns fired at the same time.

The bullet hit him, and he staggered back two steps, leaning against the wall.

The gun fell to the ground, still containing bullets, but his finger could no longer pull the trigger.

He leaned against the wall, slowly slid down, and sat on the ground.

Blood gushed from several bullet holes in his chest and abdomen, flowing down his gray short jacket and soaking into a large patch on the bluestone slab beneath him.

He tilted his head, his eyes were still open, but his pupils had already dilated.

A faint smile lingered at the corners of his lips.

I don't know if I'm happy that Xu Jiande got out alive, or if I'm laughing at myself for dragging two Japanese soldiers down with me.

Blood flowed from several bullet holes in his body, running down his gray cloth jacket and soaking into a large patch on the bluestone slab beneath him.

The short jacket, originally dark gray, was now soaked in blood and turned black, clinging to the body and slightly lifted by the night wind.

His fingers were still in the trigger position, his index finger bent into a stiff arc, and his nails were full of black and red bloodstains.

Several Japanese soldiers surrounded him with bayonets and poked his body with the muzzle of their guns to confirm that he was dead.

A sergeant squatted down and rummaged through his pockets, finding half a pack of crushed cigarettes and a crumpled certificate of good citizenship.

The photo on his certificate of good conduct made him look much younger than he actually was; it was probably taken a few years ago, when he wasn't so thin, his eyes weren't so deep-set, and he didn't have so many wrinkles around his mouth.

The sergeant glanced at the good citizen certificate, then casually tossed it on the ground.

The certificate of good citizenship lay in a pool of blood, the paper slowly soaked through, the young face in the photo gradually turning dark red.

"Search!" The sergeant stood up, pointing his sword at several rooms in the courtyard. "There can't be just one resistance fighter; there must be accomplices! Search thoroughly!"

A dozen Japanese soldiers rushed into the house with rifles in hand, ransacked the place, pulled out all the clothes and bedding from the cabinets and threw them on the ground, and lifted the mat on the kang (a heated brick bed) to see if there were any hidden compartments underneath.

At the same time, he picked up the pot on the stove and smashed it on the ground, making a dent in the bottom of the pot.

They searched very carefully, knocking on every wall to listen for hollow sounds and stepping on every floor tile to check for looseness.

But they found nothing.

There were no weapons, no leaflets, no radio, not even a note with writing on it.

The person living in this house is an ordinary citizen, as ordinary as can be.

The sergeant stood in the courtyard, his face growing increasingly grim.

Two Imperial Army soldiers died, but there was only one murderer, and this murderer used a broken pistol with the rifling almost worn down. Most importantly, the very skilled resistance fighter simply vanished.

If this is reported, I won't be able to explain it to my superiors.

"Drag the body out," the sergeant said coldly.

Two Japanese soldiers grabbed the corpse by the ankles, dragged him off the bluestone slab, across the courtyard, out of the gate, and into the alley.

His head hit the threshold with a dull thud, but he was already dead and couldn't feel anything.

A number of Japanese soldiers had already gathered at the entrance of the alley, their flashlight beams flickering in the darkness, illuminating the corpse that had been dragged out.

The sergeant had someone bring a bundle of hemp rope, tied it around the corpse's feet, and then swung the other end of the rope over the horizontal branch of the old locust tree at the alley entrance. Several people pulled together.

The body was hung upside down and slowly rotated in the air.

His dangling fingers were about a person's height off the ground, and the bloodstains under his fingernails gleamed a dark red under the flashlight beam.

The sergeant then had someone find a wooden board and write several large characters on it with white paint.

The fate of the resisters.

The wooden plank was nailed to the trunk of the old locust tree, facing the body, so that everyone who passed by could see it during the day.

After doing all this, the sergeant led his men to continue searching other alleys.

The beam of the searchlight flickered a few times in the night sky, then the flashlight beam gradually faded into the distance, and the alleyway was plunged into darkness again.

Only the hanging corpse swayed slowly in the night wind, the blood on its fingertips dried, forming a thin, dark reddish-brown crust under the moonlight.

A stray cat perched on the wall, its green eyes staring at the corpse for a long time before silently jumping down and running away.

Meanwhile, Xu Jiande was walking quickly through the tunnel.