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

People from Beijing are masters of this.

The rumors that are circulating throughout the city are deliberately kept hidden. The more one respects someone, the less one dares to mention their name.

Because mentioning it would only harm him.

This quiet gratitude is hidden behind the doors of every household, in the shadows of every alley, and in those hushed tones and occasional glances exchanged.

It has no sound, yet it is louder than any other sound.

Then something funny happened: Xu Jiande, the person involved, was looked down upon.

……

Let's go back to the day after the Japanese released the announcement.

While Xu Jiande was queuing, many people in the line recognized him.

Some people nodded at him, while others whispered among themselves, saying that it was the rice shop owner, Manager Xu, who now worked for the Imperial Army as a courtyard manager. Their tone wasn't exactly friendly, but their eyes betrayed a hint of contempt and resentment.

Xu Jiande ignored them and found a relatively loose spot to stand in.

The sun rose from the east and shone on the wooden sign at the entrance of the grain store.

A new piece of white paper was pasted on the sign, which read, "Selling today, limited to two catties per household, 12 yuan per catty."

Someone drew a line on the bottom with a black pen, drew it and then erased it, but it couldn't be erased, and it became a blurry gray mark.

Twelve yuan per jin (500g).

Xu Jiande recalls that a little over a month ago, this price could buy a whole bag of cornmeal. Now it's only enough to buy one pound.

Even so, some people in the group were still muttering "It's cheap, it's cheap," their tone sincere, not sarcastic.

The grain store door opened.

Two wooden crates were carried out in front of the shop; one crate contained several wooden ladles, while the other was empty.

A man in a gray cloth shirt carried a scale, weighed a ladleful, and poured it into a bag. His movements were quick and mechanical, and his face was expressionless, as if he had been doing this for many years.

Two puppet soldiers stood nearby, carrying guns with the muzzles pointing downwards, their eyes constantly scanning the crowd, very vigilant.

The first person to buy grain was an old woman, her back hunched, her hands trembling as she took the two pounds of rice.

She clutched the rice bag to her chest, opened her mouth but didn't say anything, then suddenly burst into tears.

The sobs were soft, as if squeezed from deep within her throat, hoarse and intermittent. As she cried, she bowed to the shop assistant, then to the puppet soldiers beside her, her thin body bending and bending like a tree branch bent by the wind.

No one laughed at her.

Several women in the group also wiped their eyes.

Someone lowered their head, pressed their face with their sleeve, and their shoulders twitched.

Standing behind, Jia Zhangshi's eyes were also red, her lips were tightly pursed, but her hand was slowly stroking Jia Dongxu's head.

Standing in the line, Xu Jiande watched the old woman's faltering figure disappear into the distance, and that demonic energy in his heart stirred again.

It wasn't exactly fire, nor was it resentment; it felt like something very hot was stuck in my chest, unable to go up or down.

He took a breath and shifted his gaze to the wooden sign at the entrance of the grain store.

"Twelve yuan a pound," he thought to himself, "Killing so many Japanese soldiers all night only gets me this kind of rice price. Still not satisfied."

The line moved forward slowly.

When it was Jia Zhangshi's turn, she handed over her good citizen certificate and wiped her hands on her clothes.

The shop assistant glanced at it, put the wooden ladle into the rice bag, added a little more than half a ladle, weighed it, and it was exactly two jin (1 kg).

Madam Jia took the grain sack and pulled Jia Dongxu aside. After a few steps, she turned back, glanced at Xu Jiande, and opened her mouth.

Next came Xu Jiande and Bai Ling, and only after Xu Jiande left did someone spit.

Ordinary people are just that straightforward, and perhaps a bit simple-minded.

But Xu Jiande didn't care.

……

That night, Xu Jiande set off again.

After midnight, he came out of the house as usual, climbed over the courtyard wall, and landed in the alley.

The sky was overcast, the moon was completely obscured by the clouds, and the entire alley was as black as if it had been splashed with ink.

He poured demonic energy into his eyes, and he could see clearly the broken bricks at the base of the wall, the raised stone slabs, and a wild cat crouching on the distant wall.

Tonight's target is a Japanese garrison in the east of the city.

This outpost is not large, with about a small squad of soldiers stationed there. There are two machine gun emplacements at the entrance and a guard tower at each of the four corners of the wall.

Xu Jiande passed by twice during the day and memorized the surrounding alleys and evacuation routes.

He crept along the base of the wall to the north side of the camp. The wall on this side was lower, with barbed wire on top, but a section had been blown askew by the wind, revealing a gap that he could climb over.

Xu Jiande took a few steps back, ran up, pushed off the ground, grabbed the top of the wall, and flipped over lightly, landing with a sound softer than a cat.

To the north were the garrison dormitories, a row of single-story houses with dark windows, from which the occasional snore could be heard.

Xu Jiande walked eastward along the wall and circled around to the warehouse.

There were two sentries at the warehouse entrance, both leaning against the wall with their guns, nodding off. Xu Jiande didn't move them and continued walking inside.

He's not here tonight to kill the sentries; killing just a few sentries won't make a difference.

He surveyed the entire encampment, mentally counted the number of people, then took a grenade from his waist, pulled the pin, and threw it towards the dormitory.

With a loud bang, a window of the bungalow was blown off, and shards of glass and wood flew everywhere in the darkness.

The Japanese soldiers in the dormitory were awakened by the bombing. Shouts and curses mingled together. Some of them rushed out of the room shirtless, holding a Nambu pistol in their hands.

Xu Jiande spotted the densest part of the crowd and threw two more.

The grenade landed in the crowd, flashed, and several Japanese soldiers were blown away.

Chaos reigned in the courtyard; some people crawled under the trucks, while others rolled behind the bunkers.

Xu Jiande didn't get close; he just squatted in the shadows and threw grenades outwards, one after another, deliberately aiming at areas where people were.

He no longer hides his location, because there's no need to.

The Japanese machine gun was blown up immediately, and then a grenade flew over, blowing the man and his gun off together.

In less than twenty minutes, there were hardly any Japanese soldiers left standing in the camp.

Three minutes later, Xu Jiande emerged from the shadows, brandished his bayonet, walked around, and finished off several of the men who were still able to move.

More than thirty corpses lay on the ground, and blood flowed down the cracks in the stone slabs.

Xu Jiande squatted down and searched around, filling his pockets with grenades and magazines. He then took out a warning he had written earlier: "Grain prices are too high. Lower them within three days, or I'll come back."

Then they climbed over the wall and left.

That evening, news of the attack on the garrison reached the headquarters.

The commander was furious. A small squad was wiped out in the middle of the night, more than thirty people died, and they left a note saying that grain prices were too high, otherwise they would come back.

Akita Tsukasa sat in his office for a long time without saying a word. This time, he didn't smash anything.

He knew that throwing things wouldn't help. A whole company in one night—this wasn't just a coward's game; it was a clear indication that the enemy could storm any barracks in the city at any time. Daytime was his, nighttime was someone else's.

Akita called a meeting with several leaders. Five people sat in the meeting room, smoking one cigarette after another, but no one spoke first.

After a long silence, Akita finally said, "Grain prices have dropped." He then stood up and left.

No one objected. Everyone knew that if they didn't back down, the next time the other side came, there might be more than thirty dead.

That afternoon, a new grain sales notice was posted, reducing the price from twelve yuan to four yuan per jin, with a limit of three jin per person per day.

A crowd gathered in front of the notice board at the market entrance. Some people read the notice and turned to run home, shouting as they ran, "Prices have dropped! Prices have dropped!"

Xu Jiande, a traitorous dog on patrol, was walking down the street when he overheard someone muttering, "Even the Japanese have their moments of fear."

He pretended not to hear, because he couldn't be happy, nor could he be sad.

That's pretty difficult, isn't it?

After the new grain release notice was posted, grain prices in Beijing finally began to decline.

Although it's still expensive, at least I can buy it every day, instead of having to queue for two hours and go home empty-handed.

The wooden sign at the entrance of the grain store still reads "Limited to three jin per household," but the price has changed from twelve yuan to four yuan.

The people in Nanluoguxiang began to recover.