Courtyard House: First, kill the hypocrites, leave none alive.

The morning mist, like a semi-transparent veil, slowly and reluctantly receded from the rugged coastline and the buildings of varying heights of the Kowloon Peninsula.

In the distance, the waters of Victoria Harbour gleamed with a leaden gray sheen, and massive ocean-going cargo ships, like sleeping behemoths, swayed gently on the ripples in their berths.

On the horizon, the skyscrapers of Central, Hong Kong Island, have already been adorned with the first golden rays of the morning light, but closer by, the old districts of Sham Shui Po, Yau Ma Tei, and Mong Kok are still immersed in a weary, chaotic, and gloomy hue, as if they were still sitting overnight.

This is just an ordinary morning on Hong Kong Island.

The waiters at the tea restaurant yawned as they pulled up the iron gate, preparing to welcome the first batch of early risers and vendors; newsboys rode their dew-covered bicycles, their baskets filled with newspapers still smelling of ink; workers finishing their night shift dragged their weary bodies, their eyes vacant, toward their cramped subdivided flats or shacks; deep in the alley, the neon lights of last night had just gone out, leaving behind a decadent smell of cheap perfume and alcohol.

But in two places, people were jolted awake by unusual news on this ordinary morning, keeping them busy and casting a heavy shadow over their hearts.

West Kowloon Regional Police Headquarters.

The fluorescent lights that had been burning all night appeared even more stark and glaring in the morning light. Footsteps hurried down the corridor, and voices carried barely suppressed shock and agitation.

Senior Inspector Wong Chi-shing of the Major Crimes Unit, with his disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, had just downed his third cup of strong, bitter black coffee of the day, trying to dispel the fatigue of a sleepless night and the chill that rushed to his head after receiving the report.

The photos of the scene spread out on his desk made even a seasoned officer like him, who had seen many big scenes, feel nauseous.

The photo was taken at the southwestern tip of the Kowloon Peninsula, on a desolate, remote, and almost unmanaged rocky mudflat.

The location is secluded, and apart from illegal immigrants and smugglers, few people visit it on ordinary days.

But at this moment, the rocky ground, washed by the waves day and night, was littered with corpses lying haphazardly.

Not one or two, but a total of thirteen!

All the corpses showed signs of horrific gunshot wounds. Some had their chests pierced at close range, creating huge cavities; others had been shot in the head, with half their heads missing; still others had their bodies riddled with bullet holes, as if swept by a storm of metal.

Blood stained large areas of rocks and sand a dark red, gleaming with a nauseating sheen in the dim morning light.

Scattered sticks, machetes, and several old homemade firearms were soaked in blood and mud.

The preliminary on-site investigation report described the scene in cold, hard language: "...all the deceased were male, aged between eighteen and thirty-five, many with tattoos, and some with prior criminal records. The fatal wounds were all gunshot wounds. Analysis of the ballistics and wound morphology indicates the use of at least two different firearms, including pistols and...suspected automatic weapons. A large number of spent cartridge cases were found at the scene, preliminarily identified as standard pistol ammunition and 7.62mm rifle cartridge cases. Some bodies showed signs of being shot again. There were no witnesses, and no valuable artifacts were found at the scene..."

"Automatic weapons? 7.62mm cartridge cases?" Huang Zhicheng put down his coffee cup, rubbing his temples hard, his voice hoarse. "Are you sure you're not mistaken? This is Hong Kong Island, not the Golden Triangle!"

The young forensic officer in charge of the initial on-site investigation also looked grim. He forced a smile and said, "Officer Wong, the type of bullet casings and the extent of the lacerations...it certainly looks like an automatic weapon. Furthermore, judging from the distribution of the bullet casings and the location of the bullet wounds, the attacker was an extremely accurate shot and possessed exceptional mental fortitude. This doesn't seem like a typical revenge killing or gang shootout..."

Unlike typical gangland shootouts?

Huang Zhicheng certainly knew it didn't look like it.

In Hong Kong's triad society, fights involving knives and clubs are commonplace, and the occasional use of handguns is considered a major incident. But to use what appears to be an automatic weapon to kill over a dozen people in a near-massacre on a secluded beach... such a thing is unheard of in the last decade!

This is no longer an ordinary criminal case. This is an act of war!

"Has the identity of the deceased been confirmed?" Huang Zhicheng asked.

"We're investigating. Judging from the tattoos and old scars on some of the people, it's very likely related to a branch gang under 'He Xing Sheng,' which specializes in 'snake-catching' (catching and extorting illegal immigrants) in the dock area," a colleague from the intelligence team reported.

"He Xingsheng? One of 'Master He's' people?" Huang Zhicheng frowned even more.

"Master Crane" Lam Kwok-hung is one of the bigwigs in the West Kowloon area of ​​Wo Shing Wo. He wields considerable power, mainly controlling dock handling, small-scale smuggling, protection money, and... black market activities related to human smuggling. He employs a group of ruthless and aggressive thugs, making him a prime target for the police.

If it was Crane's men who were massacred... things would be even more complicated.

Are other gangs trying to seize territory? Why are they being so ruthless? They've even brought out automatic weapons?

Or... have these "snake hunters" offended some powerful outsider they shouldn't have?

"Investigate! Investigate thoroughly!" Huang Zhicheng slammed his fist on the table. "All the ships that have entered or left that area, all the suspicious stowaways who have landed in the last month, the flow of weapons on the black market, whether Boss He has recently made enemies with anyone... Every clue must be investigated! Also, report to the higher-ups immediately and request the establishment of a special task force! This case cannot be covered up!"

As orders were relayed down, the entire West Kowloon Police District was instantly thrown into turmoil, like a pond tossed with a boulder. Patrol officers increased their efforts along the pier and remote coastline, plainclothes officers began infiltrating black markets and gang territories to gather information, and forensic scientists were once again dispatched to the scene for a more detailed investigation…

Huang Zhicheng stood by the office window, looking at the city outside that was gradually waking up but seemed to be shrouded in an invisible shadow, and felt a heavy weight in his heart.

He had a bad feeling.

This bloody beach massacre may just be the prelude to something far more horrific.

Near Kowloon Walled City, there is a three-story tenement building with an ordinary exterior but a rather luxurious interior.

This is one of the lesser-known residences and "offices" of "Master Crane" Lam Kwok-hung. Compared to his glamorous nightclub in Yau Ma Tei, this place is more secluded and safer.

In the bedroom on the third floor, the heavy velvet curtains remained drawn, blocking out the gradually brightening sunlight. The air was filled with a strong, sweet scent, a mixture of expensive perfume, tobacco, and a certain languid, sensual aroma.

On a huge Western-style carved wooden bed, Master He sat bare-chested against the headboard, his face so gloomy it could drip water. He was nearly fifty, but well-maintained, with firm muscles. Only the deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead, and his hawk-like sharp eyes, now filled with sinister intent, revealed the murderous aura and cunning he had accumulated over years of fighting in the martial world.

He held a young woman in his arms, disheveled, beautiful, but with a look of weariness and fear in her eyes—his recently favored "Snake Woman," Ali. Ali was no ordinary courtesan; she spoke English, was perceptive, and sometimes helped Master He with some more "refined" matters, which pleased him greatly.