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

He Daqing was the first to rush in, still holding that rolling pin in his hand, and wearing cloth shoes with the heels off.

Xu Wude followed closely behind, wearing an overcoat, and stood at the doorway peering inside.

Yan Bugui also came out, his glasses perched crookedly on his nose.

Jia Zhangshi huddled at her doorway, peering over. Her expression was even more frightened than when she had encountered the ghost the night before, and she muttered, "It's here again, it's here again."

The deaf old woman stood in the courtyard, leaning on her cane, her lips pressed tightly together, not uttering a single word.

He Daqing held up a kerosene lamp and shone it around Yi Zhonghai's room. The windows were closed, the door bolts were intact, there were no footprints on the floor, and no marks on the walls.

An older woman sat on the ground rubbing her bruised knee, tears welling up in her eyes, whether from pain or fear, it was hard to tell.

Yi Zhonghai huddled in the corner of the kang (a heated brick bed), finally stopping his repeated "Don't come over." He simply lowered his head, buried his face in his knees, and his shoulders trembled as if he were crying, but without making a sound.

"This yard is really dirty." Yan Bugui pushed up his glasses, his voice trembling.

Xu Wude stood at the door, his pipe in his mouth but he forgot to light it, and the tobacco from the pipe had somehow spilled all over the floor.

The deaf old woman stood in the middle of the courtyard, looking at the flickering kerosene lamp in Yi Zhonghai's room, and said that those people died unwillingly and their spirits lingered.

Everyone present knew perfectly well who the "those people" she was referring to were.

Now everyone in the courtyard was even more frightened.

Even Bai Ling was frightened. She followed Xu Jiande back into the room, sat on the edge of the bed, and gripped the corner of the blanket with both hands until her knuckles turned purple.

She didn't believe in ghosts or spirits, but for two nights in a row, two different neighbors were woken up in their sleep by fright, shouting the same "There's a ghost!", trembling all over, and feeling the same sense of panic.

She saw with her own eyes Yi Zhonghai slumped in the corner of the kang (a heated brick bed), and it didn't seem like he was faking it; he was genuinely terrified by something.

She remembered the deaf old woman saying that the courtyard was unclean because someone had died there, and that vengeful spirits were seeking revenge.

After lying down, I couldn't fall asleep no matter what I did. I tossed and turned for a while, and finally couldn't help but move closer to Xu Jiande, pressing my back against his arm. Feeling his warmth, I felt a little more at ease.

Xu Jiande opened his eyes in the darkness and looked down at Bai Ling, who was huddled beside him.

Her shoulders were still slightly tense, and her breathing was unsteady; she was clearly still afraid.

After a moment of silence, he lowered his voice to a level that only the two of them could hear, and said that he was practicing his skills.

Bai Ling suddenly raised her head. Her expression was not visible in the darkness, but her body stiffened for a moment.

Practicing martial arts? So there are no vengeful spirits at all, and it was you who created them?

Bai Ling's voice was very low, but the shock in her tone was unmistakable.

Xu Jiande said that Jia Zhangshi was too talkative and Yi Zhonghai was too scheming, so he should teach them a lesson.

Bai Ling remained silent for a while before letting out a soft breath and saying, "You're really mean."

As she spoke, her body gradually relaxed, no longer pressed against Xu Jiande, but she also stopped deliberately keeping her distance as before.

Xu Jiande said, "Go to sleep. There won't be any more tonight."

Bai Ling hummed in agreement, and after a while added, "Next time, you should tell me in advance so I don't get scared for no reason."

His voice carried a faint hint of amusement, as if he were helpless or at a loss for what to do with him.

The next morning, the other people in the courtyard were even more sleepy and could barely keep their eyes open.

He Daqing was squatting on the threshold drinking porridge when he almost fell headfirst into the bowl.

Hüwood sat at his doorstep, a pipe between his fingers, his eyes closed; the tobacco in the pipe had long since gone out.

He was still sucking away. Jia Zhangshi lay slumped on the kang, her eyelids swollen like walnuts. Jia Dongxu tugged at her sleeve, calling out that he was hungry, but she turned over and pretended not to hear.

Yi Zhonghai didn't even leave the house; he'll probably have to take the day off and not go to work.

The deaf old woman and the middle-aged woman exchanged a glance and sighed. They had no choice but to go out again to find Master Liaoran.

After breakfast, the two walked to the entrance of the small temple, where the monk Liaoran was sitting on the threshold drinking water.

He saw the deaf old woman and the middle-aged woman walking towards him from a distance, and he almost dropped the teacup in his hand.

The deaf old woman recounted what happened last night, saying that Yi Zhonghai had also encountered a ghost, even more violently than Jia Zhangshi's encounter, and he still hadn't recovered. She begged the master to go and take another look.

After listening, Monk Liaoran remained silent for a long time.

He lowered his head, his hands moving the prayer beads, his lips slightly parted.

The master was frightened.

Yesterday, when he went to perform the ritual, he put up talismans, rang a copper bell, and sprinkled clean water. He did all the rituals that were supposed to be performed.

If ghosts really exist in this world, those talismans should be able to suppress them; if there are no ghosts in this world, how could Yi Zhonghai, a grown man, be so frightened?

He naturally didn't have the ability to catch ghosts, or perhaps he didn't even know he did.

But if you've taken someone's money, you have to get the job done.

The seven-day ritual was only completed in one day; abandoning it halfway only damages one's own reputation.

Besides, living is harder than dying in this world, what could a poor monk like him be afraid of? Being afraid of poverty is more real than being afraid of ghosts.

The monk Liaoran put down his teacup, stood up, put his palms together in a gesture of respect, and said, "Amitabha, this humble monk will go and take another look."

The sound was fairly steady, but when the staff struck the ground, the first strike went astray and hit the threshold.

When the three returned to the courtyard, a number of people had already gathered in the courtyard.

Yi Zhonghai finally came out of the house and sat on his own doorstep, his eyes sunken and his face pale.

Jia Zhangshi sat far away at her own doorway, hugging her knees and muttering to herself.

He Daqing and the others had already rearranged the offering table. This time, everyone voluntarily contributed money for incense, and even Jia Zhangshi contributed a few cents more than yesterday.

The monk Liaoran did not rush to perform the ritual. He walked around the courtyard, his pace much slower than yesterday.

When I reached the four corners of the courtyard wall, I touched the talisman paper that I had pasted up the day before yesterday. The talisman paper was intact, without any signs of being torn or blown away by the wind.

He then walked to the window of Yi Zhonghai's room, squatted down and looked at the ground. There were no footprints on the ground, no scratches on the wall, and a thin layer of dust on the windowsill, not even a fingerprint.

He went to the outside of Jia Zhangshi's house, but there was nothing there either.

The monk Liaoran stood up, looked at the window, and remained silent for a long time.

Then he slammed his staff on the ground and said to the deaf old woman, "Today's ceremony will be expanded by this humble monk."

This time, the chanting was louder than yesterday, and the gong was struck nine times, each strike harder than yesterday, making the paper windows in the courtyard tremble.

The monk Liaoran walked around the courtyard seven times, ringing the bell at a faster and more urgent pace than yesterday, and the water sprinkled from the willow branches soaked all four corners of the courtyard wall.

After doing all this, he took out a thick stack of talismans from his bag and pasted one on each door.

This time, the talismans for warding off evil spirits were drawn with cinnabar, and the runes on each talisman paper were written densely.

An even larger talisman was pasted on the gate of the courtyard, and a horizontal line was drawn directly on the lintel with cinnabar. After finishing the drawing, he put his hands together and recited a long passage of scripture, with a fine layer of sweat appearing on his forehead.

After doing all this, Monk Liaoran put away the gong and bell, saying that the yin energy should be temporarily suppressed within seven days, and that he would come back in seven days to perform the final ritual.

Then he lowered his head and walked away quickly, his staff tapping the ground at a much faster pace than when he arrived.

Bai Ling stood at her doorstep, watching the monk's hurried departure, and felt that his steps were somewhat unsteady.

Of course I wanted to laugh, but seeing a ghost? You're kidding me.