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

Inside the courtyard house, the Yan family's weeping continued from dusk until late at night.

Yan Jiecheng's body lay on a broken bed board, covered with a white sheet, in the mourning tent that Xu Damao hadn't yet dismantled. Yan Bugui was shrewd—since the mourning tent was already there, why spend money to build one? It was a funeral anyway, so they might as well make do.

The three women wept uncontrollably, fainting several times only to be choked awake. Yan Jiefang knelt beside his brother's body, his eyes red and swollen, saying nothing. Yan Bugui, on the other hand, didn't cry much; he was busy settling accounts.

"Jiefang, go to the coffin shop tomorrow and ask how much the cheapest coffin costs." Yan Bugui pushed up his glasses, his voice hoarse but calm.

"Father, my brother..." Yan Jiefang raised his head, his eyes bloodshot.

"I know," Yan Bugui interrupted him, "but the dead can't be brought back to life, and the living still have to live their lives. Just buy the cheapest coffin; it's going to be buried anyway, so whether it's expensive or cheap, it'll rot in the same way."

Upon hearing this, the third aunt cried even harder: "Old Yan, how could you be so heartless! You treated him like your own son!"

"What's wrong with my own son?" Yan Bugui said sternly. "Didn't I love him enough when he was alive? Now that he's dead, he's going to be a burden to the living? There's Jiefang who hasn't married yet, and Jiedi who needs to go to school. Can't we be more frugal?"

He spoke with conviction, but his fingers trembled slightly. He was also heartbroken; after all, it was his own son. But heartache aside, money couldn't be squandered. These days, money is more precious than life.

The candlelight flickered in the mourning hall, illuminating the corpse beneath the white sheet, Yan Bugui's shrewd face, and the swollen eyes of the old woman. Everyone else in the courtyard kept their doors closed; no one came out to offer condolences. It wasn't that they were heartless; they were afraid. Afraid that Chen Feng would come again, afraid that they would be next.

At Liu Haizhong's house, his second aunt was packing up her things.

"Dad, let's go stay at my parents' house for a few days," said the second aunt as she stuffed clothes into her bundle. "We can't stay in this courtyard anymore. Jiecheng is dead, and who knows who will be next."

Liu Haizhong sat on the kang (a heated brick bed) smoking, his expression obscured by the swirling smoke: "Leave? Where to go? You don't want your job? You don't want your family?"

"Is your life more important or your job?" the second auntie cried anxiously. "Chen Feng is a madman; he kills anyone he sees. Our Guangtian and Guangfu are still young; they can't be hurt!"

When his two sons were mentioned, Liu Haizhong fell silent. Yes, his sons couldn't be harmed. But he was unwilling to give up. He was the second oldest man in the courtyard; if he ran away now, he would lose face.

"Wait a little longer," Liu Haizhong stubbed out his cigarette. "The police said they've increased security; the compound is guarded 24/7. Chen Feng won't dare come back."

"Dare not?" the second aunt sneered. "How did Yan Jiecheng die? Right at the gate of the courtyard, with the police guarding outside, he still died, didn't he?"

Liu Haizhong fell silent. He knew his wife was right, but he just couldn't bring himself to run away.

At Jia Zhangshi's house, she was sleeping with a stick in her arms. But she wasn't asleep at all; her eyes were wide open, and her ears were perked up, listening to the sounds outside.

She was afraid. Afraid that Chen Feng would come again, afraid that she would die silently like Yan Jiecheng. But she was even more afraid of leaving this courtyard. Although it was dangerous now, at least it was her home, with the Chen family's two south-facing rooms and the belongings she had accumulated over the years.

"I can't leave," Jia Zhangshi told herself. "If I leave, I'll lose the house and all my belongings. No matter how powerful Chen Feng is, how many people can he kill? The police will catch him sooner or later."

She hugged her grandson tightly and closed her eyes. But sleep wouldn't come; the image of Yan Jiecheng lying in a pool of blood kept flashing through her mind.

At Yi Zhonghai's home, an older woman was feeding her husband medicine. Yi Zhonghai's fever had subsided, but he was still very weak, his eyes half-open and half-closed.

"Old Yi, it's time to take your medicine," an older woman said softly.

Yi Zhonghai shook his head, his voice hoarse: "I'm not drinking anymore, it's no use anyway."

"Don't talk nonsense," the middle-aged woman said, her eyes reddening. "You'll be alright."

"Good?" Yi Zhonghai smiled bitterly. "What's so good about it? My hand is ruined, I've lost my job, so many people have died in the hospital... It's better to be dead than alive."

An elderly woman cried, her tears dripping into the medicine bowl. She didn't know what to say, only repeating over and over, "It will pass, it will pass..."

But will it really pass? Nobody knows.

At the same time, the black market in the west of the city.

Chen Feng was wrapped in a tattered military overcoat he'd salvaged from a garbage dump, his face covered with a black cloth, only his eyes visible. He walked lightly through the narrow alleyways of the black market, his eyes scanning his surroundings warily.

It's even quieter here than a few days ago. Two-thirds fewer stalls are open, and fewer people are buying things. A tense atmosphere hangs in the air; everyone is wearing masks and speaking in hushed tones.

Chen Feng walked up to a grain stall. The stall owner was a middle-aged man who was also wearing a mask.

"Is there anything to eat?" Chen Feng asked in a low voice.

"Yes," the stall owner glanced at him, "cornbread, steamed buns, pickled vegetables, what do you want?"

"Give me ten steamed buns and two pounds of pickled vegetables."

"One dollar and twenty cents."

Chen Feng took out the money and handed it over. The stall owner took the money, took out steamed buns and pickled vegetables from the sack behind him, wrapped them in oil paper, and handed them over.

Chen Feng took the item and was about to leave when the stall owner suddenly spoke up: "Brother, things have been tense lately, how dare you come here?"

"There's no other way," Chen Feng said in a hoarse voice, "we still have to eat."

The stall owner nodded and didn't ask any more questions. Chen Feng continued walking, looking for a stall that sold "identities".

Everything is for sale on the black market, including identity documents. People from other places who come to Beijing without a household registration, or fugitives like Chen Feng, need a legal identity to rent a house, find a job, and survive.

He circled around a few times and finally found it in a corner. The stall owner was a thin old man wearing a tattered hat with the brim pulled low.

"What do you want?" the old man asked, his voice hoarse.

"Identity," Chen Feng said, "a complete set: letter of introduction, ID card, and household registration booklet."

The old man looked up at him and said, "This thing isn't cheap."

"How much?"

"One hundred yuan, no bargaining."

Chen Feng was startled. One hundred yuan! That was equivalent to three months' wages for an average worker. But he gritted his teeth: "Okay, I'll buy it."

He took out a wad of cash from his pocket, counted out a hundred dollars, and handed it over. The old man took the money, counted it carefully, and then took out a cloth bag from his pocket and opened it.

Inside was a complete set of identification documents: an ID card with a photo, name, age, and address; a letter of introduction stamped with the official seal of a certain street office; and a photocopy of a household registration booklet.

Chen Feng picked up the ID card and looked at it. The photo showed a strange man, around thirty years old, who bore a resemblance to him. The name was "Li Jianguo," age thirty-one, and address a hutong in Xicheng District.

"This photo..." Chen Feng frowned.

"Don't worry," the old man said, "it's dark, you won't be able to see clearly. Besides, your face is covered, so no one will look closely."

Chen Feng thought about it and agreed. As long as he had a legal identity to rent a place, and he didn't go out much, it should be fine.

He carefully put away his ID and then asked, "Do you know of any places you can recommend? I'd like to rent a place."

"Yes," the old man pulled out another slip of paper from his pocket. "These are some addresses, all for private rentals, no household registration required. Go and look for them."

Chen Feng took the note, thanked him, and turned to leave.

Instead of going directly to rent a house, he returned first to the shack by the moat. There were still some things he had hidden there—the dagger, the kitchen knife, and some money.

He packed everything up and put it into a tattered cloth bag. Then he changed into a relatively clean set of clothes, which he had picked up from the garbage dump a few days ago. He washed them, and although they were old, they were still quite neat.

He combed his hair and smeared some ash on his face, looking more like the down-on-his-luck worker "Li Jianguo," just like the photo on his ID card.

With everything ready, he left the shack and headed toward the first address on the note.

The first address was in a secluded alley in Xicheng District. The landlady was an elderly woman in her seventies, hard of hearing and with poor eyesight.

"Who are you looking for?" the old lady asked in a loud voice.

"Li Jianguo," Chen Feng said, showing his ID card, "I heard you have a house for rent?"

The old lady squinted at the ID card, then looked at Chen Feng: "Living alone?"

"Yes, alone."

"Okay, five yuan a month, I'll pay for three months now."

Chen Feng took out fifteen yuan and handed it to her. The old lady took the money, counted it, and put it in her pocket: "Come with me."

She led Chen Feng into the courtyard. The courtyard was small, with only three rooms; she lived in one, and the other two were rented out. One of the rooms was already rented out, and the other was vacant.

"This is the room," the old lady pushed open a broken door. "It's furnished, just a bit old. You pay for your own water and electricity, and you cook in the yard."

Chen Feng went inside to take a look. The room wasn't big, about ten square meters, containing a bed, a table, a chair, and a worn-out wardrobe. The window wasn't large, but it allowed for ventilation. Old newspapers were pasted on the walls, some parts of which were yellowed and peeling.

The conditions were poor, but it was enough for him. At least it provided shelter from the wind and rain, had a door and a lock, and was much better than a shack.

"Okay, I'll rent it," Chen Feng said.

The old lady nodded and took out a lease agreement: "Sign it."

Chen Feng signed his name as "Li Jianguo". The old lady looked at it, but couldn't read, so she put it away.

"Here's the key," the old lady handed over a rusty key. "Lock the door tonight and don't disturb my sleep."

"understood."

The old lady turned and left, returning to her room. Chen Feng closed the door, bolted it, and let out a long sigh.

We have a place to stay. It's simple, but at least it's a safe haven.

He placed the tattered bag on the bed, opened it, and took out its contents: a dagger, a kitchen knife, money, identification, and the steamed buns and pickled vegetables he had just bought.

He hid the knife under the bed board, and the money and identification in a crack in the wall. Then he took out a steamed bun, broke it in half, and ate it with pickled vegetables.

The steamed buns were cold, and the pickled vegetables were very salty, but he ate them with relish. This was the first time he had eaten in a real house since his escape, and the first time he didn't have to worry about being discovered at any moment.

After finishing his meal, he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Old newspapers were pasted on the ceiling, some words still legible: "Grasp revolution, promote production," "The working class is the leading class,"...

He thought of the steel rolling mill, his former coworkers, and that ordinary but peaceful life.

Can not go back.

There's no going back.

Chen Feng closed his eyes. The faces of those people flashed through his mind—Sha Zhu, Liu Guangtian, Liu Guangfu, Yan Jiefang, Jia Zhangshi, Yi Zhonghai…

There's still one left who hasn't been killed.

He opened his eyes, his gaze icy.

It'll be soon. Very soon.

With this identity and this place to live, he can plan more calmly and wait more patiently.

Wait until the heat dies down a bit, until the police relax their vigilance a bit, until those people let their guard down.

Then, one by one, we solved them all.

Not a single one will be left.

Chen Feng sat up in bed and walked to the window. The window was small, only allowing a glimpse into a corner of the yard. It was completely dark, and the yard was pitch black, with only a faint yellow light coming from the old lady's room.

He stood there for a long time, until the light went out.

Late at night.

It's time to rest.

Chen Feng went back to bed, lay down, and closed his eyes.

But he couldn't fall asleep. He was still planning his next move.

Tomorrow, he needs to familiarize himself with the surroundings. This alley, this street, the nearby police station, the market, the shops…

He needs to know where it is safe, where it is dangerous, where he can buy things, and where he can get information.

Also, he needed to know the situation at the courtyard house. Were the police still guarding it? Were those people still in the courtyard? Had anyone moved out?

These questions all need answers.

Chen Feng opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling.

No rush. He has plenty of time.

He's currently in the shadows, and so are those people (who are being protected), but the police are in the open. If we're patient, we'll eventually find an opportunity.

He closed his eyes again.

This time, sleepiness finally came.

Before he sank completely into darkness, his last thought was of Xiaoyu.

Little Rain, wait a little longer. Wait until your brother sends those beasts down to keep you company.

It will be soon.