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

Xu Jiande slept very soundly that night.

However, when Bai Ling woke up and found herself hugging Xu Jiande like this, her face immediately turned hot.

She didn't speak, but gently released her hand, quietly sat up from the bed, picked up the blanket that had slipped to the floor, and folded it neatly, her movements even lighter and slower than usual.

As if afraid of disturbing something, she got dressed and went to the kitchen to wash up. When she scooped water, the ladle hit the edge of the vat with a crisp sound. She subconsciously glanced back in the direction of the bedroom before continuing to scoop water.

Xu Jiande had actually woken up as well.

He woke up when Bai Ling let go of his hand, but he didn't open his eyes.

He heard Bai Ling scooping water in the kitchen, heard her gently close the kitchen door and walk into the yard, and then heard her whisper a greeting to He Daqing in the courtyard.

He turned over, pulled the blanket up a bit, and prepared to doze off again.

I ran too far last night, from the upper district to the lower district and back, sprinting at full speed for several hours. My legs are still a little sore.

After a while, Bai Ling pushed the door open and came in, carrying two bowls of cornmeal porridge.

She placed the porridge on the table, walked to the bedroom door and glanced inside. She found that Xu Jiande had already opened his eyes and was leaning against the headboard looking at her.

"Awake?" Bai Ling's voice was similar to usual, but her eyes were a little unfocused, and she didn't look directly at Xu Jiande's face.

"Hmm." Xu Jiande sat up and rubbed his face.

The two chatted briefly.

Xu Jiande said he wanted to rest a little longer, and Bai Ling agreed, placing the porridge on the table for him to drink while it was hot.

After saying this, the two of them remained silent for a while, and a faint, indescribable awkwardness hung in the air.

Bai Ling turned around to get a broom to sweep the floor. When she swept to the bedside, the broom bumped into Xu Jiande's shoes. She moved the shoes aside but still didn't look up.

Xu Jiande picked up the bowl of porridge and slurped down a large mouthful, then used the bowl to cover his face.

On the other side, the atmosphere in the Japanese command post was completely different.

Several Japanese leaders didn't sleep all night.

Among them, the Japanese commander-in-chief, Yamada, looked at the large-scale map of Beijing in front of him and saw that more than a dozen red dots had appeared, stretching from Nanluoguxiang all the way to the Xiacheng District, past Dingqiao and back again.

The entire attack route swept back and forth twice in a north-south direction. It spanned more than 25 kilometers, involved two urban areas, bombed more than a dozen checkpoints, raided several patrol teams, and even blocked the entrance of a military base and opened fire with machine guns.

That night alone, the death toll exceeded 150.

After summarizing the casualty reports from various locations, the duty officers looked at each other in dismay, and someone whispered, "This is impossible."

Based on common military knowledge, launching an attack on such a large area simultaneously would require at least ten action teams, each with at least three people, plus external support and intelligence assistance, bringing the total number of personnel to no less than one hundred.

If we include rotation and reserve forces, the number is conservatively estimated to be three to five hundred, or even over a thousand.

The thought that the resistance fighters still had an armed force of over a thousand men hidden in Beijing sent chills down Yamada's spine.

He had fought against the Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army for so many years and had also wiped out many guerrilla groups in North China, but he had never seen this kind of fighting method before.

This was not a hit-and-run guerrilla tactic, nor a harassment tactic of laying mines and then retreating; it was a blatant, head-on assault.

They bombed one checkpoint after another, raided one patrol after another, and even dared to block and attack the entrance to the outpost.

This is not harassment; it is a demonstration of strength to the Imperial Army: you cannot even defend your own barracks in your occupied territory.

Yamada sat at the table, tapping his fingers on the surface for a while before stopping.

He had originally planned to intensify the search and turn the Upper East Side upside down, but now it seems that the plan needs to be reassessed.

The attackers' activities tonight extended far beyond the boundaries of the Upper Town, reaching as far south as the Lower Town.

This means that the five-kilometer radius search zone drawn by the Special Higher Police was too small, the attackers' ability to move was far beyond his expectations, or that there was more than one group of attackers.

Perhaps there's one group in the upper district, another in the lower district, or even more.

He picked up a pen and drew a large circle on the map, encompassing the entire Upper Town and Lower Town.

After finishing the circle, he looked down at it and remained silent for a long time.

Such a large-scale search would require at least three or four times the current troop strength, and would also disperse the city's defensive forces, giving attackers an opportunity.

But not searching is not an option. Attacks are becoming more and more frequent, and the number of casualties is doubling every month. If this continues, the morale of the Imperial Army will be completely destroyed.

Sasaki Maki was also sitting in his office, with the latest report that Suzuki had sent overnight spread out on the table in front of him.

After reading the report, he remained silent for a long time. His fingers tapped repeatedly on the table, making the adjutant next to him break out in a cold sweat.

He originally intended to use even harsher measures against the city's residents and further intensify the executions.

Continue to use public executions to deter resistance fighters.

However, Suzuki's report specifically mentioned one thing: some of the attackers last night used a Type 96 machine gun, firing from the entrance of the base. This indicates that the attackers not only had ample ammunition supplies but had also figured out the timing of the base's troop rotation.

If they had more accurate intelligence, if they knew his modus operandi, they could use it to threaten the Imperial Army. This wasn't the first time this had happened; Lieutenant Colonel Yamamoto's head still bears the mark on the wall behind the military police headquarters.

The thought of Yamamoto sent chills down Sasaki's spine.

That wasn't an ordinary junior officer; he was a lieutenant colonel, a veteran who had fought counterinsurgency wars in the Kwantung Army for several years. Yet, right under the noses of dozens of guards and twenty mortars, his head was smashed with a stone.

If the attackers could kill Yamamoto, they could certainly kill him too.

He wanted to continue targeting ordinary people in Beijing and threatening the resistance fighters.

But after each public execution, someone would die inexplicably.

He wanted to intensify the search, but last night's attack told him that the search area was simply not large enough.

His soldiers began to fear, junior officers started to complain, and even the Special Higher Police couldn't identify the attackers.

In this game of cowards, the Imperial Army is losing little by little.

However, the same applies to the people living in the capital city.

At this time, in September in Beijing, food was becoming increasingly scarce, almost to the point of extinction.

It's not a matter of rising prices, it's that there's simply no grain left.

The number of grain shops still selling grain in the entire city could be counted on one hand, and long queues stretched from one end of the alley to the other, then around the corner onto the main street. The people in line all wore the same expression.

It's not anger, it's not anxiety, it's a numbness that's deeper than anxiety, like knowing you've already queued up but can't buy anything, but not knowing where to go if you don't queue up.

So all I could do was stand in line and move forward little by little, following the people in front of me.

Grain prices have increased twentyfold. A bag of cornmeal that sold for one yuan before the fall now sells for twenty yuan, and only twenty jin (10 kg) are sold each day, once they're gone.

Prices on the black market are even higher, sometimes thirty or forty times higher, but the black market doesn't have stock every day.

Occasionally, someone would buy a small bag of moldy broken rice on the black market, take it home and cook it into porridge. The whole family would gather around the pot of porridge, watching the rice grains tumble and boil in the water, and no one would be willing to be the first to pick up their chopsticks.

Some people have started eating tree bark.