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

Late at night, in Sham Shui Po.

A faint light shone through the window on the third and a half floor of No. 132 Fu Rong Street.

Inside the room, Xiaoyu was already asleep, breathing evenly, curled up in a small ball.

Chen Feng sat on the edge of the bed, inspecting the equipment in front of him.

A black cloth was spread out on the bed board, and a row of cold metal was placed on it.

Type 56 assault rifle.

The gun gleamed with a dark, cold light. The magazine was full, with 7.62mm bullets neatly stacked inside, one by one, thirty rounds in total.

Browning pistol.

Short and compact, suitable for close-range combat.

The magazine was full, thirteen rounds.

Type 54 pistol.

The old buddy he brought from the mainland was heavy, and holding it in my hand gave me a familiar sense of security.

Eight-round magazine, top-loaded.

dagger.

The black hilt and the sharpened blade gleamed coldly under the light.

A machete.

Longer and heavier than a dagger, it's suitable for chopping.

There were still traces on the blade that hadn't been wiped clean—not rust, but something that couldn't be washed off.

Three homemade bombs.

Made of canned food, with a pull-to-fuse fuse, it's powerful enough to blow up a door or send several people on their way.

Chen Feng picked up each item one by one, checked them, and put them down.

Fully loaded with bullets.

The fuse is intact.

The blade is sharp.

Everything is ready.

He slung his submachine gun over his shoulder, tucked his pistol into his waistband, inserted his dagger into his boot, and wrapped his machete in cloth, carrying it in his hand.

The bomb was tucked into a corner of his personal compartment—safer than any backpack.

I stood up and walked to the window.

The curtains were pulled open a crack.

Downstairs, Furong Street was deserted, with only a few dim streetlights swaying slightly in the night breeze.

In the distance, the occasional clanging of a tram passing by and the faint barking of dogs could be heard.

Xiaoyu rolled over in bed, mumbled something, and fell asleep again.

Chen Feng glanced back at her.

His gaze softened for a moment.

Then he drew the curtains and walked to the door.

Gently open the door.

go out.

Close it gently.

The footsteps faded into the distance in the stairwell, disappearing into the night of Sham Shui Po.

-

Kowloon Walled City.

The deeper the night, the more lively this place becomes.

Fat Bo's place was unusually noisy tonight.

The gambling dens on the ground floor were bustling with noise. Dice rolled in bowls, chips piled up on the tables, some people were red-eyed with loss, and some people were smiling with wins.

The second-floor opium den was filled with smoke, where men and women lay on couches, puffing away and indulging in a life of debauchery.

On the third floor, in the largest room, a banquet was being held tonight.

A long table was set out, laden with food and drinks.

Roast goose, char siu, poached chicken, steamed fish, stir-fried crab, and several opened bottles of foreign liquor, the amber liquid swirling in the glasses.

Fat Bo sat at the head of the table, shirtless, wearing a large silk robe, and holding a thick cigar in his hand.

A stack of banknotes was placed in front of him.

A thick stack of brand-new Hong Kong dollars, bound together with rubber bands.

That was sent by the scumbag dog today.

Those new stalls on Temple Street collected their earnings in three days.

Fatty picked up the stack of banknotes, weighed them in his hand, and a satisfied smile appeared on his lips.

"Fatty."

A trusted aide leaned over, all smiles, "Uncle Quan really lost face this time. How many years has he been running those streets in Temple Street? Now that they're in our hands, he doesn't dare utter a single word."

Fat Bo laughed heartily.

The laughter echoed inside the house, drowning out the noise downstairs.

"I, Fat Bo, have lived in Kowloon Walled City for decades."

He put a cigar in his mouth, smoke escaping from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, "I'm not just here to freeload!"

He stood up.

He walked to the table, picked up a glass of wine, and looked down at the people below.

Below sat seven or eight trusted confidants, along with several heavily made-up women, embracing, drinking, and playing drinking games.

"I'm so happy today, Fatty Bo!"

Fat Bo, raising his glass, shouted, "Everyone, have fun! Drink as much as you want! Sleep with any woman you like!"

A cheer erupted from below.

"Fat Brother is awesome!"

"Follow Fatty, and you'll live the high life!"

"Long live Fatty!"

The women laughed and called out, their voices both sweet and seductive.

Fei Bo tilted his head back and downed the wine in one gulp.

He walked back to his seat, sat down again, picked up the stack of banknotes, and flipped through them one by one.

I started to think about it.

Temple Street has been taken over.

What's the next step?

There are a few streets to the east of Yau Ma Tei, which have always been Uncle Quan's territory.

That old fox, he suffered a loss this time, he's definitely not willing to accept it.

But he dared not openly turn against them—the hundreds of brothers in the stronghold were not to be trifled with.

The next step could be to reach out to Jordan.

The next step—

As Fei Bo pondered this, the smile on his lips deepened.

He seemed to see his territory growing larger and larger, stretching from the Walled City all the way to the sea, and from Kowloon West all the way to Kowloon East.

At that time, Fat Bo will no longer just be the boss of the stronghold.

It is the boss of the entire Kowloon West.

He is even the boss of the entire Kowloon.

He took a puff of his cigar and slowly exhaled.

Smoke rose under the light, blurring his face.

Those people downstairs are still making a scene.

A trusted aide embraced a woman and kissed her on the cheek. The woman laughed and tried to dodge, but couldn't escape and was forced onto the sofa.

Another confidant, holding a wine glass, played a drinking game with the person next to him. He lost, tilted his head back, and gulped down the wine, coughing violently from the choking.

Someone turned on the gramophone and played soft, melodious Cantonese opera.

Some people hummed along, some swayed along, and some were so drunk they slumped over the table and fell fast asleep.

Fat Bo looked at these people and felt very satisfied.

These are all his people.

Those who have followed him for many years, the newly acquired ones, those he brought from the city walls, and those he recruited from outside.

They are all his people.

He survived in the walled city for twenty years by relying on these people.

From now on, he will have to rely on these people to survive outside.

"Fatty."

A woman approached, holding a wine glass, her face heavily made up, her eyes exuding a seductive charm.

"A toast to you."

Fat Bo glanced at her.

This woman wasn't brought by him; she was already there. Her name was Ah Xiang, and she was in her thirties, still charming and very good at handling things.

He took the glass and took a sip.

Ah Xiang sat down next to him, her body pressed against his, soft and yielding.

"Fatty is really impressive today."

She whispered in his ear, her voice soft and seductive, "It makes my heart skip a beat."

Fat Bo laughed.

He reached out and put his arm around her waist.

"What? You want me to pamper you too?"

Ah Xiang lowered her head, her face turning red.

Although the red color was fake, it looked very convincing.

Fat Bo laughed heartily.

He was about to say something—

A slight noise came from outside the window.

It's very light.

So soft it was almost inaudible.

But Fatbo heard it.

He'd lived in the Walled City for twenty years; what storms hadn't he weathered?

What kind of danger haven't I encountered?

He was more sensitive than anyone else to those subtle, unusual noises.

He released Ah Xiang and looked out the window.

The curtains were drawn, so you couldn't see outside.

"Fatty?"

Ah Xiang noticed his unusual behavior and asked in a low voice.

Fat Bo ignored her.

He stared at the window, motionless.

The people inside were still making a ruckus, the music was still playing, and no one noticed his unusual behavior.

A few seconds passed.

There was nothing there.

Fei Bo slowly withdrew his gaze.

Maybe it's a stray cat.

Maybe it's the wind.

Perhaps the noise downstairs carried up to us.

He leaned back in his chair and picked up his wine glass.

But the tension in my heart was already high.

-

outside the window.

The roofs of the walled city were never flat.

Layer upon layer of illegally constructed shacks, clotheslines of varying heights, and a dense tangle of electrical wires and sheet metal.

Under the moonlight, the jumbled things cast strange shadows, like some kind of unknown monster.

Chen Feng crouched in the shadows.

In front of him was the window of Fat Bo's room.

The curtains were drawn, but light, laughter, and music shone through the gaps.

He heard it.

That loud, triumphant laughter.

"I, Fat Bo, have been in Kowloon Walled City for decades; I'm not just some nobody!"

He heard the cheers.

"Fat Brother is awesome!"

"Follow Fatty, and you'll live the high life!"

He heard women's laughter, men playing drinking games, and Cantonese opera music playing on a gramophone.

Those people are celebrating.

Celebrating the territory they seized from Uncle Quan.

Celebrating Fatbo's "victory".

Chen Feng's face remained expressionless.

He gently placed the machete, which was wrapped in cloth, aside, drew his Browning pistol from his waist, and screwed on the silencer.

Then he pulled out a homemade bomb.

The size of a can, with a pull-to-activate fuse.

He squatted there, waiting.

Waiting for the right opportunity.

Wait until it's at its liveliest inside.

When those people are all drunk and have forgotten to be vigilant.

He didn't come to kill Fatty alone.

Uncle Quan said—

"Fat Bo, Loser, and his mistress Mei Mei, none of them can be spared."

The dog isn't here tonight.

Meimei wasn't there either.

Only Fatbo, his confidants, his women, and his jubilant brothers.

Chen Feng wasn't in a hurry.

He can wait.

Wait for the scumbag to return.

Waiting for Meimei to come back.

Once they were all there.

Then--

He looked down at the bomb in his hand.

The moonlight shone on it, giving it a dim, cold glow.

He put it away.

Keep squatting.

Keep waiting.

Behind them, the night in the walled city grew deeper and deeper.

In the distance came the clamor of gambling dens, the shouts of vendors, the curses of drunkards, and the lewd laughter of prostitutes.

Those sounds blended together, becoming the city's never-ending background noise.

Chen Feng listened to those sounds without moving.

Like a sculpture.

Like a wolf lurking in the darkness.

Waiting for the prey to come to them.