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

On the day of Xu Damao's funeral, the sky was so overcast that it looked like it was about to rain.

Inside the courtyard, everyone who could move went. Xu Fugui walked at the front, holding his son's portrait, tears streaming down his face. Behind him were four young men carrying the coffin—Liu Guangtian, Liu Guangfu, Yan Jiefang, and a distant relative of the Xu family. The coffin was made of thin wooden planks and wasn't heavy, but the four men walked unsteadily, not because they lacked physical strength, but because they were terrified.

Sha Zhu, Yan Bugui, and Liu Haizhong followed behind, all dressed in dark clothes with solemn expressions. Behind them were the other residents of the courtyard, men and women, young and old, totaling more than twenty people. Everyone had their heads down, walking hurriedly, eager to end the funeral as quickly as possible.

The procession left the courtyard and entered the main street. A large crowd of onlookers had already gathered, pointing and whispering among themselves.

"It's that courtyard house again."

"How many is this?"

"Was it the third or the fourth? I can't remember."

"I heard they were all killed by a fugitive named Chen Feng."

"Has the fugitive been caught?"

"No, the police are trying to catch them every day, but they just can't."

The whispers reached the group, making everyone feel ashamed. They had become the laughingstock of the city, the talk of the town. But no one dared to argue; they could only lower their heads and quicken their pace.

Chen Feng mingled among the onlookers.

He was wrapped in a tattered cotton-padded coat he'd picked up from a garbage dump, his face smeared with coal dust, and wearing a worn-out hat pulled low over his shoulders. He stood at the back of the crowd, his eyes fixed on the funeral procession, his hands tucked into his coat, gripping the newly bought kitchen knife.

He was waiting for an opportunity.

But the opportunity was slow in coming. There were too many people in the group, and Xu Fugui was always accompanied by two policemen with pistols on their hips, their eyes scanning the surroundings warily. The other young men were also accompanied by policemen, and although they weren't in uniform, their posture and eyes made it clear that they were not ordinary people.

Chen Feng knew that fighting on the street today would be tantamount to walking into a trap. Although he had a knife, his opponents had guns, and more than one.

He waited patiently. The procession slowly moved forward, exiting the alley and onto the main road, heading towards the city gate. The crowd of onlookers gradually dispersed, with only a few idlers still following, wanting to see what the commotion was about.

Chen Feng didn't follow. He watched the group walk further and further away until they disappeared around the street corner before turning and leaving.

But he didn't go far. He circled around the area, and after confirming that no police officers had left any lookouts, he quietly returned to the vicinity of the courtyard house.

At this moment, the courtyard was empty.

Most people went to the funeral, leaving only a few who couldn't make it—Yi Zhonghai had an infected wound and a persistent high fever, so an older woman was taking care of him at home; Jia Zhangshi claimed she had to take care of her grandson and didn't go; and there were also a few elderly people and children.

Oh, right, and Yan Jiecheng too.

Yan Jiecheng should have gone anyway, but he was so tired from patrolling until 4 a.m. last night that he made an excuse to stay and watch the house. Although his father, Yan Bugui, was unhappy, he didn't say much when he saw how haggard Yan looked. He just told him to "watch the house and not wander off."

Now, Yan Jiecheng was sitting on a small stool at the entrance of the courtyard, his head nodding off. He was extremely tired; he had been taking turns patrolling at night for the past few days, and then had to work during the day, resulting in severe sleep deprivation. He had only been sitting there for less than five minutes when his eyelids began to droop.

He didn't notice at all that a dark figure was walking out of the alley across the street and approaching him.

Chen Feng walked very lightly, his footsteps barely making a sound. He held a kitchen knife in his hand, the blade gleaming darkly in the gloomy sky. He looked at Yan Jiecheng, that young face, that face that had once been filled with righteous indignation when he testified against him, now looked tired from sleep.

This is the person who, that night, went with Xu Damao and said something about "seeing Chen Feng harassing Qin Huairu with his own eyes." In fact, Yan Jiecheng didn't see anything; he just joined in the commotion after hearing what Xu Damao said.

Now, it's time to pay back the debt.

When Chen Feng was about three steps away from Yan Jiecheng, Yan Jiecheng suddenly jolted awake. He groggily opened his eyes and saw someone standing in front of him.

"Who is it?" Yan Jiecheng muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Then he saw the person's face clearly.

Although he was covered in coal dust and his hat was pulled low, he recognized those eyes—cold, hateful, like two knives.

"Chen..." Yan Jiecheng's pupils contracted sharply, and all sleepiness vanished instantly. He wanted to shout, to run, but his body was as if nailed to the ground, unable to move.

Chen Feng didn't give him a chance.

The cleaver drew an arc in the air and slammed down hard on Yan Jiecheng's neck.

"ah--!"

A piercing scream shattered the silence of the courtyard. Blood gushed out like a fountain, splattering all over Chen Feng. Yan Jiecheng clutched his neck with both hands, his eyes wide open, his mouth agape, trying to say something, but could only utter "hoarse" sounds.

He collapsed to the ground, his body convulsing violently, blood gushing from between his fingers and spreading across the floor.

Chen Feng crouched down and rummaged through Yan Jiecheng's body. He pulled out a few cents and some grain coupons from his pocket. It wasn't much money, but he took it anyway. He then pulled out a work ID from his pocket and threw it on the ground.

After doing all this, he stood up and glanced at Yan Jiecheng. The man was no longer moving, his eyes still open, filled with fear and resentment.

Chen Feng didn't linger and turned to run.

He ran very fast, like a black shadow, disappearing into the alley across the street after a few turns.

The whole process took less than a minute.

In the courtyard, Jia Zhangshi was sitting inside sewing shoe soles when she suddenly heard a scream outside. Her hand trembled, and the needle pricked her finger.

"Ah!" she cried out in pain, put down her shoe sole, and walked to the window.

The courtyard was empty, but at the gate... there seemed to be someone lying on the ground?

Jia Zhangshi's heart tightened, and she cautiously pushed the window open a crack to look outside. She saw the pool of blood and the person lying on the ground. Although she couldn't see the face clearly, judging from the clothes, it looked like Yan Jiecheng.

"My God..." Jia Zhangshi gasped.

Her first instinct was to go out and check, but she stopped just as she reached the door. What if Chen Feng was still nearby? What if she went out to her death?

She thought for a moment, then went back into the room, bolted the door, and barricaded it with a table. Then she ran to the bedside, pulled the kitchen knife from under the mat, and held it in her hand.

"Banggeng, don't make a sound," she said to her grandson, who was playing with a tin frog on the bed.

Banggeng looked up and saw his grandmother's nervous expression. He became scared too, nodded obediently, and dared not make a sound.

Madam Jia, holding a knife, hid behind the door, peeking out through the crack. The courtyard was quiet, save for the sound of the wind rustling through the white cloth of the mourning tent.

She waited for a long time, making sure no one was outside, before she dared to gently push open the door and peek out.

At the courtyard gate, Yan Jiecheng lay motionless in a pool of blood. A deep gash ran down his neck, and blood was still seeping out.

Madam Jia's legs went weak, and she almost sat down on the ground. She held onto the door frame, took a few breaths, and then walked shakily to the courtyard gate.

"Jiecheng? Jiecheng?" she whispered.

No one answered. She crouched down and checked his breathing—he was no longer breathing.

Dead. Another one died.

Terrified, Jia Zhangshi scrambled back into the house and bolted the door shut. Leaning against the door, she gasped for breath, and the kitchen knife in her hand clattered to the ground.

"Grandma, what's wrong?" Banggeng asked softly.

"Don't ask!" Jia Zhangshi shouted, but immediately lowered her voice, "Stay put and don't make a sound."

She walked to the window and looked out through the crack. The courtyard was still empty, with only Yan Jiecheng's body lying there, like a tattered rag.

What should we do? Should we call for help? But everyone's gone to the funeral, there aren't many people in the yard. There are two people in Yi Zhonghai's family, but Yi Zhonghai is sick, and the older woman is not able to help.

Moreover, what if Chen Feng is still nearby? Wouldn't shouting give us away?

Jia Zhangshi decided to wait. She would find out when the funeral procession returned.

She returned to the bedside and hugged Banggeng tightly. The three-year-old child didn't understand what was happening, but he felt his grandmother trembling and became frightened as well.

"Grandma, I'm scared..." Banggeng whispered.

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid..." Jia Zhangshi patted her grandson's back, but her voice was trembling.

An hour later, the funeral procession returned.

As soon as they entered the alley, they smelled a strong stench of blood. Sha Zhu, walking at the front, frowned: "What's that smell?"

"It looks like blood..." Liu Guangtian said.

The group quickened their pace, and when they reached the entrance of the courtyard house, they were all stunned.

Yan Jiecheng lay in a pool of blood, already stiff. The knife wound on his neck was so deep that bone was visible, and his eyes were still open, frozen with the fear of death.

"Ah—!" Several women screamed.

"Jiecheng!" Yan Bugui rushed over, embraced his son's body, and burst into tears, "My son—how could you leave too—"

Liu Haizhong's face turned deathly pale, Sha Zhu clenched his fists, and Liu Guangtian and Liu Guangfu trembled with fear.

Another one died. In the hour or so that they were gone, Yan Jiecheng was killed right at the courtyard gate.

"Chen Feng!" Sha Zhu gritted his teeth. "It must be Chen Feng!"

He turned to look at Jia Zhangshi's house; the windows and door were closed. He walked over and knocked loudly, "Aunt Jia! Open the door!"

The door opened, and Jia Zhangshi stood there, her face pale, still holding a kitchen knife.

"Zhu Zi, what's wrong?" She pretended not to know anything.

"Jie Cheng is dead! Didn't you see?" Sha Zhu stared at her.

"I...I don't know," Jia Zhangshi said, her eyes darting around. "I was inside taking care of my grandson and didn't hear anything."

"Didn't you hear it?" Sha Zhu didn't believe him. "That scream was so loud, how could you not hear it?"

"I really didn't hear it," said Jia Zhangshi. "You know I'm hard of hearing."

Sha Zhu wanted to ask more, but Liu Haizhong stopped him: "Alright, Zhu Zi, this isn't the time to ask that. Quickly report it to the police!"

Yes, the police. The two police officers who accompanied the funeral procession have already gone back; there are no police officers in the courtyard now.

Liu Haizhong told Sha Zhu to go to the police station to report the case, while the others stayed in the courtyard and no one was allowed to act alone.

Sha Zhu ran to the police station. Ten minutes later, Officer Zhang arrived with several police officers.

Upon seeing the scene, Officer Zhang's face turned ashen. This was the first time he had encountered such a situation since taking on the case—the murderer dared to kill someone even with police presence, and right at the courtyard gate.

"Time of death?" he asked the forensic doctor.

"About an hour and a half ago," the medical examiner said, "he died instantly from a slit throat."

Officer Zhang looked at Madam Jia and asked, "Old lady, where were you at the time?"

"I was inside," said Jia Zhangshi, "taking care of my grandson, and I didn't hear anything."

"You really didn't hear me?"

"I really didn't hear it," Jia Zhangshi insisted. "My hearing isn't good."

Officer Zhang stared at her for a few seconds, then didn't ask any more questions. He knew Jia Zhangshi was lying, but he had no evidence, and that wasn't the point. The point was that Chen Feng had arrived, and was nearby.

"Listen up, everyone," Officer Zhang said to the people in the compound. "From now on, no one is allowed to act alone. You must go out in pairs or more, and you are prohibited from going out at night. The compound will be reinforced with additional police officers, on duty 24 hours a day."

He paused, then added, "Also, if you discover any suspicious activity, report it immediately. Anyone who conceals or fails to report such activity will be prosecuted for harboring a criminal."

Everyone lowered their heads, not daring to speak.

Officer Zhang examined the scene again. The killer was clean; apart from the knife wound, there were no other traces. The money was gone; it might have been a staged robbery, but Officer Zhang knew that Chen Feng never killed for money.

This is revenge, naked revenge.

Yan Jiecheng is dead, who will be next?

Zhang Gong'an looked at the remaining young men in the courtyard—Liu Guangtian, Liu Guangfu, Yan Jiefang, and Sha Zhu.

Their faces were grim, and their eyes were filled with fear.

"You guys," Officer Zhang said, "be careful lately. I'll arrange for someone to pick you up and drop you off at get off work, so don't go out unless necessary."

No one objected. Survival was the priority now; freedom and such were no longer important.

Chen Feng had already returned to his shack by the moat.

He sat in the corner, wiping the blood off the kitchen knife with a rag. The blade was sharp; he had easily severed Yan Jiecheng's neck with a single stroke.

Yan Jiecheng is dead. Next up is Liu Guangtian.

Chen Feng carefully put away the cleaned knife, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. The scene from just now replayed in his mind—Yan Jiecheng's terrified face, the gushing blood, and his fallen body.

There was no pleasure, only a cold, calm. It was like completing a task that had to be done, nothing more.

But the mission isn't over yet. There are still many people involved.

Liu Guangtian, Liu Guangfu, Yan Jiefang, Shazhu, Jia Zhangshi, Yi Zhonghai...

Not one can be missing.

But the situation is becoming increasingly difficult. The police have increased their security, and the compound is guarded 24 hours a day. Those people are also being protected. He's like a wild beast trapped in a net; he can still hurt people, but it's becoming increasingly difficult for him to find an opportunity.

Moreover, his hiding place was no longer safe. Although the area by the moat was secluded, the police would eventually find it. He needed to constantly change his hiding place, and he needed food, water, and intelligence.

too difficult.

Chen Feng opened his eyes and looked at the hole in the roof of the shack. The sky was gradually darkening; it was getting dark again.

He touched his pocket; there were still two steamed buns left, bought on the black market yesterday. Enough for tonight, but what about tomorrow?

He needs to find a way to get some food and some money.

But what to do? The whole city is under martial law, the black market has been raided, and there are eyes everywhere on the streets. He can barely even go out, let alone buy anything.

Chen Feng thought of the steel rolling mill. The factory area was large and there were many people; perhaps he could sneak in and get some food. But the risk was too great; the factory must have increased security by now.

As he was thinking, he suddenly heard footsteps outside.

More than one person.

Chen Feng immediately became alert and gripped the knife in his arms tightly. He quietly moved to the door of the shack and peered out through the crack.

Two policemen, carrying flashlights, were searching the riverbank. They walked slowly, checking every shack and every underpass.

"Can people hide in this place?" a young policeman asked.

"Who knows?" another said. "The higher-ups have ordered that all possible hiding places be searched. This lousy place, nobody would come here."

"But Chen Feng is a ghost," the young policeman said. "He killed so many people and can still roam around. What else could he be but a ghost?"

As they talked, the two walked toward the shack where Chen Feng was hiding.

Chen Feng's heart raced. He looked around, searching for an escape route. Behind the shack was a river, in front was the police station, and to the left and right were other shacks; there was nowhere to escape.

We'll give it our all.

Chen Feng gripped his knife tightly, ready to fight to the death when the police arrived. A life for a life—it was worth it.

But just then, a shout came from afar: "Old Li! We've found something over here!"

Upon hearing the shouts, the two policemen turned and ran over.

Chen Feng breathed a sigh of relief, but dared not be careless. He waited until the footsteps faded away before quietly emerging from the shack and running in the opposite direction.

He ran very fast, like a startled rabbit, sprinting through the night. Behind him, the sounds of searching grew fainter and fainter; ahead lay a pitch-black street.

He didn't know where to go, so he could only run, and keep running.

He only stopped when he was too exhausted to run any further, in an abandoned brick kiln. He had been there once before and knew it was a good hiding place.

He huddled in the corner, panting heavily. His heart was pounding, and he was covered in cold sweat.

He almost got caught again.

This can't go on. He needs a safer place, a place the police wouldn't expect.

Where is the safest place?

A place flashed through Chen Feng's mind—a courtyard house.

The most dangerous place is the safest place. The police are guarding outside, but what about inside the compound? The compound is so big, there's always somewhere to hide. Besides, his enemies are there; he can wait for an opportunity to strike.

But this idea is too risky. If discovered, it would mean certain death.

Chen Feng hesitated for a long time before finally gritting his teeth.

Let's go to the courtyard house. Tonight.

He stood up and stretched his limbs. Then he took out the last cornbread from his pocket, broke it in half, and slowly ate it.

After finishing his meal, he walked out of the brick kiln and headed towards the courtyard house.

The night was deep and the wind was biting cold. But a fire burned in his heart, making him feel hot all over.

He wants to go back, back to the place that destroyed everything he had.

There, everything ends.

Not a single one will be left.