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

The one in the most urgent situation is He Daqing.

Xu Jiande's house was right next to He Daqing's house, and beyond that was the south room where Yan Bugui lived.

The wind blew from the north, and sparks drifted to the side, landing on the haystack under the eaves of He Daqing's house, where a small flame soon rose.

He Daqing turned his head and saw it, cursed, grabbed a bucket and ran back to his house. Liu Shi also panicked, rushed out of the house with Sha Zhu in her arms, shoved the child into Jia Zhangshi's arms, picked up a wooden basin and followed He Daqing to fetch water.

"Quick, put out the fire! The fire is coming over here!" He Daqing shouted as he ran.

That shout is more effective than anything else.

The crowd finally started moving.

Xu Wude picked up the carrying pole and scooped the water out of the water vat to pour onto the fire.

Yan Bugui joined in, carrying a washbasin.

Yi Zhonghai also forgot about the dampness and coldness in his crotch and limped over to scoop water from his own water tank.

Even Jia Zhangshi let go of Dongxu, ran to the base of the wall, grabbed half a bucket of dirty water that had been sitting for who knows how long, gritted her teeth, and splashed it out. In an instant, the courtyard was in chaos, with shouts, the sound of water, and the sound of fire all mixed together.

Everyone was risking their lives, not because they felt sorry for Xu Jiande, but because they were afraid the fire would spread to their own homes.

The fire was extinguished, but Xu Jiande's house was reduced to ruins.

The roof was gone, half of the wall had collapsed, and the house was charred black; nothing could be recognized.

He Daqing's home was also affected. There was nothing they could do; the fire was quite large.

A moment later, the sound of leather boots echoed through the alley.

A dozen or so Japanese soldiers, carrying Type 38 rifles, rushed into the courtyard, their flashlights sweeping wildly across the ruins.

The leader was a second lieutenant, his scabbard dragging on the ground, muttering curses under his breath.

Two Japanese soldiers walked over and chased the onlookers away.

The interpreter stood next to the lieutenant and pulled He Daqing aside to ask about the situation.

He Daqing, covered in cigarette ash and with trembling lips, recounted the whole story.

Before he could finish speaking, the interpreter waved his hand, signaling another Japanese soldier to inform headquarters.

As dawn approached, the forensic doctor arrived, and the special agents also arrived.

The forensic doctor, shining a flashlight, rummaged through the ruins for a long time, and used an iron hook to pull out several charred human remains, which he then placed next to the ashes for a while.

The special agents were the most efficient; they questioned everyone around them and wiped the ashes off their arms and hands one by one.

Bai Ling was called in for questioning alone.

Her eyes were red and swollen, her hands and face were covered in ash, she spoke haltingly, and her voice was terribly hoarse.

She said she got up to use the restroom in the middle of the night, and when she came out the room was still dark, she didn't hear any noise.

She heard a noise when she went to the toilet, and when she came back, the house was on fire. The man was inside. She screamed, flushed, and was dragged back inside.

When she said the word "dead," she covered her face with her sleeve, her shoulders shaking violently.

Wang Xiaoyong arrived rather late, still wearing the same gray cloth shorts he wore yesterday, clearly having come from home.

Upon arrival, he whispered a few words to the translator, then went over and discussed things quietly with the forensic doctor for a while. Finally, he stood in front of the ruins for a long time, then turned around and nodded to the lieutenant.

The lieutenant waved, signaling the troops to retreat.

Before leaving, the interpreter announced in public: Xu Jiande had been assassinated by resistance fighters, his house had been bombed, and his body had been burned in the explosion. His wife, Bai, had survived because she was temporarily out.

This caused a long silence in the courtyard. People looked at each other, but no one spoke. Each of them was thinking their own thoughts.

By 8 a.m., the news had spread to several nearby alleys.

Some say that Xu Jiande committed numerous evils and was dealt with by the resistance fighters.

Some say the resistance fighters still followed the rules, waiting until his wife left the house before taking action, making sure not to harm women and children.

The more the story spread, the more believable it seemed, and people began to look at Bai Ling differently.

Several women stepped forward to help her up, whispering, "Please accept our condolences." Bai Ling was helped into He Daqing's house, where she sat on a bench, her eyes vacant, her face still covered in dust, and tears streamed down her face again.

He Daqing asked Liu to bring him a bowl of hot water, but Bai Ling didn't take it. She just stared blankly at the dark ruins opposite her.

He Daqing stood at the door, looking at the pile of ruins, and sighed heavily.

"When a person dies, they die; the living must go on living," he said, though it was unclear whether he was speaking to Bai Ling or to himself.

Bai Ling didn't say anything, and tears fell again.

But no one saw that something indescribable flashed quickly across her lowered eyes, like a sigh of relief, or like a string that had been stretched for too long being quietly loosened.

……

A day later, news of "the owner of Xu's Rice Shop being bombed to death by resistance fighters" spread like wildfire throughout Beijing.

Everyone's feelings were different and very complicated.

No one knew that the real Xu Jiande had already left Yongding Gate in the early hours of the previous day, walking briskly south along the riverside path. Before dawn, his figure was gradually swallowed up by the thick darkness.

Finally, only a very light footstep was left, which was carried away by the wind.

……

The dirt road outside Yongding Gate was full of potholes during the day from being worn down by heavy trucks, and at night, when dew appeared, it was wet and slippery to walk on.

He didn't take the main road, which was guarded by Japanese checkpoints every few steps, their flashlights sweeping across the road, illuminating it with a blinding white light. He took the old path by the river, about half a mile from the main road, separated by rows of dead trees and a stretch of wasteland.

The moon was pressed down by the clouds, letting out only a little light, which made the river surface appear slightly white.

Xu Jiande walked along the willow trees by the roadside. The willow branches were blown back and forth by the wind, stinging his face.

He tightened his bundle and quickened his pace.

On his way out of the city, he killed two Japanese soldiers.

That was a two-person mobile sentry post near Yongding Gate. Xu Jiande circled around to the ridge behind them, and the instant they passed under the willow tree, he pounced on them from behind.

The bayonet plunged into the back of the first Japanese soldier's neck. Before the soldier could even shout, his gun fell from his hand. The second soldier had barely turned his head when Xu Jiande's knife had already slit his throat horizontally.

Neither of them uttered a sound, like two bundles of grass blown down by the wind, lying limply in the field.

Xu Jiande didn't linger. He squatted down and searched their bodies, taking the grenades and magazines. He then covered the bodies with loose soil on the edge of the field before continuing on his way.

Heading south from Beijing, past Liangxiang, the number of refugees increased significantly.

As dawn broke, Xu Jiande saw the first group of refugees at a fork in the road.

They came from the north, with their families, young and old, all crammed together in a long line.

Some people were pushing wheelbarrows loaded with pots, pans, and bedding; others were carrying elderly people on their backs, the elderly people lying on their backs with their eyes half-closed, it was hard to tell whether they were asleep or dead.

Several teenagers were barefoot, walking on the gravel, their soles covered in black mud and bloodstains.

Xu Jiande did not approach. He stood behind an old locust tree, watching the group from a distance.

This is what a chaotic world is like; this is what it means for a nation to be torn apart.

I must strive to change this situation.

……

Similarly, the bombing of Xu Jiande made the traitors in Beijing even more afraid.

Those mysterious resistance fighters who used to only kill Japanese soldiers are now turning into traitors because they see the Japanese are harder to kill. This is too dangerous.

Many traitors no longer dare to be as fierce towards the residents of Beijing as they used to be.

After all, he could die at any moment.