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

In late July, Beijing resembled a sealed coffin.

Every morning before dawn, the Japanese patrols were already out on the streets.

The clattering of leather boots on the bluestone slabs echoed from morning till night, from Nanluoguxiang to Dongsi Street, and from Dongsi Street to Caishikou, like a clockwork mechanism winding up the entire city, tightening everyone's nerves with each clatter.

The streets were plastered with notices, some offering rewards for the capture of resistance fighters, others announcing that those who knew about the resistance would be punished equally if they did not report it, and still others listing a new batch of executions.

The notices were soaked by rain and dried in the sun, then soaked again. The writing became blurry and new notices were put on top of each other, layer upon layer. When there wasn't enough space on the wall, they were put on utility poles.

By the end, even the Japanese soldiers who were posting the notices couldn't remember which ones were new and which ones were old.

Executions took place every few days at Caishikou Square.

It was either a secret execution or a public execution.

Moreover, before each execution, the interpreter would hold up a tin megaphone and shout in the square, inviting the nearby people to come out and watch.

No one dared not watch; not watching was considered "disrespectful to the Imperial Army," and the consequence of disrespecting the Imperial Army was that one would kneel before those racks and be killed.

So every time there was an execution, a group of civilians would be driven out of their homes by the Japanese soldiers and stand on the edge of the square, watching their compatriots being stabbed to death with bayonets, mowed down by machine guns, or have their heads chopped off with swords.

Some people vomited while watching, some cried while watching, and some lost all expression on their faces, as if something behind their eyes had been gradually gouged out.

The bodies hanging on the flagpole are changed every few days.

At first, the bodies of resistance fighters were hung up; later, the bodies of civilians who harbored resistance fighters were hung up; and later still, even thieves, deserters, and tenants who couldn't pay their grain taxes were hung up.

The passersby all walked by with their heads down, occasionally someone would secretly glance up, then quickly look away, pretending they hadn't seen anything.

Yi Zhonghai is getting busier and busier.

He would leave home before dawn and return after dark every day. His dark blue short-sleeved shirt with the word "guan" printed on it was always clean, but no matter how much he washed it, faint bloodstains remained on the fabric in front of his chest.

These were not Yi Zhonghai's own blood; they were splattered on at the execution site.

He no longer just checked household registrations; he started leading Japanese soldiers to arrest people.

The people arrested were a motley crew, including a vegetable vendor who said "grain prices are too high" at the market and an old man who complained "life is unbearable" in a teahouse.

There was a young man who stood at the alley entrance and glanced at the patrol team, and a widow who was reported by her neighbor for burning incense at home because the neighbor said she was burning incense to commemorate the resistance fighters.

Yi Zhonghai would make a note in his notebook every time he caught someone.

The cover of the notebook reads "Administrator's Register," and inside are densely filled names, dates, and reasons for arrest.

Liu Haizhong is still in detention, and Yi Zhonghai has never brought him a meal.

His second aunt went to see him, but he said he was too busy and told her to deliver it herself.

The second aunt carried the bag of coarse grains to the entrance of the detention center, but was stopped by the Japanese soldiers outside and not allowed to enter.

She stood at the gate for an entire afternoon, finally leaving the coarse grains with the gatekeepers and asking them to pass them on to Liu Haizhong.

The gatekeeper accepted the grain and silver coins, saying it was acceptable, but as soon as she left, he took the bag of grain into his own room.

Jia Zhangshi has become much more obedient lately.

She used to curse people in the yard every few days, cursing the Japanese, the puppet troops, and the price of grain. In the end, she even cursed God.

But ever since she was almost scared to death by Xu Jiande's slap last time, her voice has become noticeably softer.

What made her even more restrained was what happened a few days ago in the next alley. An old woman was reported by her neighbors for cursing the Japanese soldiers at home. That same night, she was dragged out of her home by the Japanese soldiers and shot in front of the entire alley.

Jia Zhangshi witnessed the old woman's body being dragged away, leaving a dark red wet mark on the bluestone slab as it was being dragged.

From then on, she never dared to yell at anyone again. Even when she muttered something, she would hide inside the house and close the doors and windows tightly before she dared to speak.

Yan Bugui's family situation was similar.

Of course, Yan Bugui still has a job now, still teaching, but not the Chinese literature and history he used to teach, but the "Greater Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere" textbook assigned by the Japanese.

He has no choice but to teach; otherwise, he'll be seen as a resistance fighter.

The children he taught sat in the classroom looking at him with the same eyes as the people watching executions in Caishikou Square.

The deaf old lady hasn't been going out much lately.

She used to walk around the alley every afternoon with her cane, chatting with neighbors whenever she met them.

But ever since she saw two Japanese soldiers kick a pregnant woman to the ground in the alley just because she "didn't bow in time," she hasn't gone out much.

She said she had never seen anyone bully people like this in her fifty-plus years of life, and she was afraid she would lose control and swing her cane at them to fight back.

An older woman advised her not to go out, saying that there were Japanese soldiers everywhere on the streets, and they would arrest anyone they didn't like. She said that her old bones couldn't withstand such a commotion.

The deaf old woman sat at her doorstep, her cane resting on her knees, staring at the three pools of blood covered by yellow earth in the courtyard. Her lips were tightly pressed together, and she didn't say a word.

Xu Jiande passed by these people every morning and evening.

He went to the rice shop wearing the short jacket with the word "guan" printed on it, but the shop was not opened. Afterwards, he pretended to be on patrol, going back and forth under the noses of the Japanese patrol team, and listened to the training with Yi Zhonghai in the camp.

I would occasionally smoke and chat with Wang Xiaoyong at the alley entrance...

Everyone thought he was just an ordinary rice shop owner, greedy and cowardly, who was lucky enough to become an administrator, and was not proactive in anything except raising prices.

No one knew that he was the attacker who made Sasaki grit his teeth, the one who would climb over the courtyard wall every morning at dawn and plunge a bayonet into the throat of a Japanese soldier.

Naturally, no one knew that the demonic energy in his dantian had broken through the third level of Qi Refining. The resentment was slowly eroding his power and his emotions.

……

It was a little after four o'clock that afternoon when Xu Jiande was on patrol.

It's called a patrol, but it's really just walking around Nanluoguxiang to the west, checking if there are any unfamiliar faces at the entrances of the courtyards, if anyone is chatting in groups, and if there are any "abnormal situations" that need to be reported.

He's gone through this process countless times; he could do it with his eyes closed.

The alley was quiet; most people didn't dare to go out. Occasionally, one or two pedestrians would hurry past, hugging the walls and keeping their heads down, not daring to look to either side.

He stopped when he reached the vicinity of a courtyard house deep in the alley.

His hearing is now far superior to that of ordinary people; he can hear the slightest noise in the yard even through several walls.

Now he heard the woman's sobs, low and intermittent, like a muffled whimper that had been muffled by someone covering her mouth and was leaking out through their fingers.

Mixed in with the crying was a man's unrestrained laughter, speaking in Japanese, tinged with drunkenness and unbridled arrogance.

Xu Jiande stood in the alley, his fingers slowly curling up at the hem of his trousers.

The demonic energy in his dantian surged violently, as if awakened from its slumber by something. Immediately afterward, the black crystal of resentment also stirred.

After being guided by Xu Jiande, the resentment rose from the bottom of his dantian and surged upwards along his meridians.

In an instant, Xu Jiande felt a chill rush from his tailbone all the way to the back of his head, and demonic energy and resentment surged out from his dantian at the same time.

The demonic energy was a scalding torrent, and the resentment was a piercing ice spike. The two forces intertwined in his body, rushed out from the Laogong acupoint in his palm, passed through the clutter in the yard, and went straight into the house.