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

After three days of mourning, Yan Jiecheng's coffin was finally laid to rest.

On the day of the funeral, less than half the people from the courtyard showed up. Xu Damao's coffin was still parked beside it. The two mourning tents and the two coffins made the courtyard look like a mass grave. Yan Bugui insisted on buying the cheapest coffin, but halfway there, a crack appeared in the bottom of the coffin. If Yan Jiefang hadn't reacted quickly and caught it, Yan Jiecheng's body would have rolled out.

"Old Yan, this..." Liu Haizhong looked at the crack, unsure of what to say.

Yan Bugui's face was ashen, but he gritted his teeth and said, "It's alright, we're almost there anyway."

The old woman was sobbing uncontrollably, but dared not complain. She knew her husband's personality; if she said anything more now, she would be scolded when they got home.

The cemetery was still the mass grave outside the city. They dug a pit, buried the body, filled it with soil, and put up a wooden plaque that read "Tomb of Yan Jiecheng." The whole process took less than half an hour, as rushed as burying a dead cat.

On the way back, no one spoke. Everyone kept their heads down, hurrying along, eager to leave this ominous place as quickly as possible. The air was thick with the smell of death, and an indescribable sense of oppression—who would be the next to lie here?

Back at the courtyard house, Yan Bugui immediately began to calculate the accounts.

The funeral cost thirty-seven yuan and twenty cents, and the gifts received amounted to sixty-eight yuan and thirty cents, resulting in a net profit of thirty-one yuan and ten cents. Furthermore, with Yan Jiecheng's death, the family had one less mouth to feed, and although the food ration was reduced, the savings on food expenses were even greater. He carefully calculated that he could save at least five yuan each month.

"Jie Kuang," Yan Bugui called over his youngest son, "starting next month, you'll bring your own lunch to school every day. Don't eat in the cafeteria anymore. A meal in the cafeteria costs 15 cents; bringing your own will save you half."

Yan Jiekuang, a junior high school student at a crucial stage of growth, was stunned upon hearing this: "Dad, the cafeteria food has meat..."

"Meat what!" Yan Bugui glared. "Don't you know what our family's situation is? Your brother just died, and we're going through a tough time. We need to save money wherever we can."

The old woman listened, tears welling up in her eyes again. Her son was dead, but her husband wasn't grieving; instead, he was calculating how much money they had saved. She dared not speak, and could only lower her head and wipe her tears.

Yan Jiefang sat in the corner, silent. He recalled the way his brother died, the crack in the coffin at the funeral, and the shrewd look in his father's eyes when he did the accounting.

In this family, it seems like the death of someone isn't a big deal.

He stood up and silently walked out of the house. In the courtyard, Xu Damao's mourning tent was still standing, the white cloth fluttering in the cold wind. Two mourning tents, two dead bodies—this courtyard was increasingly resembling a graveyard.

Sha Zhu came out of the house, saw Yan Jiefang, nodded, and didn't say anything. The two now had a strange tacit understanding—they were both potential prey, both on Chen Feng's list.

"Brother Zhu," Yan Jiefang suddenly spoke up, "who do you think will be next for Chen Feng?"

Sha Zhu was silent for a moment, then uttered two words: "The two of us."

Yan Jiefang froze.

"Or Liu Guangtian," Sha Zhu added, "Anyway, it's not like we can escape."

"What should we do then?"

"What do we do?" Sha Zhu sneered. "Just wait. Either he dies, or we all die."

After saying that, he turned and went back into the house. Yan Jiefang stood there, looking at the white cloth fluttering in the yard, his heart turning cold.

The atmosphere in the steel rolling mill wasn't much better.

After Xu Damao's death, the propaganda department transferred another projectionist, but no one dared to take over Xu Damao's job. Showing movies in the countryside became the most dangerous task, and no one wanted to go. Finally, the department head had no choice but to have everyone take turns, one week each.

"What kind of situation is this?" one projectionist complained. "We have to be on tenterhooks just to show a movie, afraid of getting hacked to death."

"Let's keep quiet," another said. "Chen Feng is a madman now; who knows what he'll do?"

In the cafeteria, Sha Zhu's chopping became increasingly heavy. The cleaver slammed against the cutting board with a loud "thump, thump," as if he were venting something.

"Zhu Zi, be gentle," the middle-aged woman helping out in the kitchen whispered, "You've almost chopped the cutting board to pieces."

Sha Zhu ignored her and continued to exert force. A fire burned within him, making him miserable. Chen Feng, Chen Feng, Chen Feng! This name was like a curse, haunting him, haunting the entire courtyard, haunting the entire steel mill.

Why? Why can that bastard kill people everywhere, while they can only hide like rats?

"Zhu Zi!" The cafeteria manager walked in. "You'll be working overtime tonight; we have a reception duty."

"What overtime?" Sha Zhu said irritably. "I'm exhausted."

"This is a political task," the director said sternly. "If you don't do it, plenty of others will."

Sha Zhu gritted his teeth and remained silent. He knew what the director meant—if you don't want to work here, get out. Jobs were hard to find these days, and he couldn't afford to lose his livelihood.

"Okay," he mumbled in response.

The director nodded in satisfaction and turned to leave. Sha Zhu watched his retreating figure, then brought the cleaver in his hand down with a vicious chop.

"Bang!"

A crack appeared on the cutting board.

Chen Feng hadn't left his rented room for five days.

He huddled in a corner, motionless, like a hibernating animal. He ate only one meal a day: a steamed bun, some pickled vegetables, and a little water. The rest of the time he sat or lay down, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his next move.

He was waiting. Waiting for the outside situation to calm down, for the police to relax their guard, and for his prey to lower their guard.

These past few days, he's occasionally peeked out the window. There are noticeably fewer community security teams and activists on the streets. A few days ago there were guards every three or five steps, but now you can only see one or two occasionally, and they all seem to be just going through the motions, standing there for a short while before leaving.

It seems even the police can't hold on any longer. A city-wide manpower cordon requires a huge amount of manpower and can't be maintained indefinitely. So many people have died, but Chen Feng still hasn't been caught; there must be pressure from above, and the officers below are exhausted.

it's time.

Chen Feng pulled out some money from the crack in the wall, counted out twenty yuan, and then took out his ID. He needed to buy some things—more food, a new knife (the old kitchen knife was left at Yan Jiecheng's scene), and… a job.

He can't stay here forever. Even though the landlady is hard of hearing and blind, she'll become suspicious after a while. He needs a legitimate reason to stay here.

As evening approached, Chen Feng went out.

He wore those worn but clean clothes and a hat pulled low over his shoulders. Walking down the street, he tried his best to look like an ordinary worker, head down, walking briskly.

I went to the black market first. It was a bit more lively than a few days ago, but I was still very wary. The stall owners all wore masks and spoke in very low voices.

Chen Feng bought ten steamed buns, two pounds of pickled vegetables, and a new kitchen knife. The knife was very sharp, its blade gleaming coldly. He tested it and found it very comfortable to hold.

"Brother, is things still a bit tense lately?" he asked the stall owner casually.

The stall owner, a middle-aged man, had his face covered, only his eyes showing: "It's a bit looser now, but you still have to be careful. I heard that the murderer in the south of the city hasn't been caught yet; the police are still investigating."

"Oh." Chen Feng nodded, paid the money, and left the black market.

He walked along the street and saw a job posting at the entrance of a small restaurant: Dishwasher needed, room and board provided, monthly salary 15 yuan.

Chen Feng thought for a moment, then went inside.

The restaurant was small, with only five or six tables. It was past lunchtime, and there weren't many customers. The owner, a fat man in his fifties, was calculating the bills behind the counter.

"Boss, are you hiring?" Chen Feng asked.

The boss looked up and sized him up: "What can you do?"

"She can do everything: washing dishes, sweeping the floor."

Do you have a letter of introduction?

Chen Feng pulled out a letter of introduction for "Li Jianguo" and handed it over. The boss looked at it, then at Chen Feng: "Li Jianguo? This photo..."

"This photo was taken a few years ago," Chen Feng said without changing his expression. "I've lost weight recently."

The boss looked at it again, then didn't ask any more questions: "Okay, you can start work tomorrow. From six in the morning to eight in the evening, with a two-hour break in between. Meals and accommodation are provided. You'll live in the small room at the back. The monthly salary is fifteen yuan, and it will increase if you do well."

"it is good."

Chen Feng took the key from the owner, thanked him, and left the restaurant.

He walked to the alley behind the restaurant and found the small room. The room was even smaller than the rented room, barely big enough for a bed and a table. The window faced the alley, dark but secluded.

Chen Feng put his purchases away and returned to his rented room to pack his belongings. He left a month's rent for the landlady, explaining that he had found a job and was moving out. The landlady didn't ask any questions, accepted the money, and nodded.

Chen Feng, carrying a tattered cloth bag, left the rented room. He didn't look back; this place, where he had stayed for a few days, was just a temporary refuge, not a home.

He went to the small room behind the restaurant and put his things away. Then he lay down on the bed and looked at the low ceiling.

With a job, a place to live, and legal status, he could finally settle down and slowly plan his next steps.

But what's next?

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 needed to know how these people were doing. Was Sha Zhu still in the steel mill canteen? What about Liu Guangtian and Liu Guangfu? What about Yan Jiefang? And Jia Zhangshi and Yi Zhonghai—were they still in the courtyard house?

He needs to find out this information.

How can I find out?

Chen Feng opened his eyes and stared at the dark wall. The restaurant was bustling with people, a good place to gather information. Those who ate there included workers, officials, and neighbors. If you listened carefully, you could always glean some useful information.

He can start from here.

First, establish a foothold, then gradually gather information and make plans.

No rush. He has plenty of time.

None of those prey will escape.

In the courtyard house, life seemed to have returned to normal.

People go to get off work and come home as usual, cook and eat as usual, chat and argue as usual. But everyone is on edge, ready to snap at any moment.

After Yan Jiecheng's death, the courtyard remained quiet for several days. There were no new murders, and the police relaxed their vigilance somewhat. However, no one dared to let their guard down; they still closed their doors early at night and bolted the windows.

Liu Guangtian and Liu Guangfu now walk to and from get off work together, carrying sticks in their hands. Although they know the sticks are no match for Chen Feng's knife, they at least give them courage.

Yan Jiefang has been on sick leave for the past few days, saying he's not feeling well. Actually, he's been scared. He's afraid to go out, afraid to be alone, and spends all his time hiding in his room with the curtains drawn and the lights off.

The third aunt felt sorry for her youngest son, but dared not offer any advice. She knew that everyone in the courtyard was on edge, and no amount of persuasion would be of any use.

Madam Jia has been much more energetic these past few days. She heard that the police have lessened their efforts to arrest Chen Feng, and feeling safer, she has started to plan for the two south-facing rooms of the Chen family again.

"Dongxu is dead, Huairu is dead, this house belongs to our Jia family." She said to Banggeng, "After a while, Grandma will transfer the house to your name, and you won't have to worry about finding a wife in the future."

Banggeng didn't understand any of this, he just nodded. He doesn't go out much these days, he spends all his time at home playing with that broken tin frog.

Yi Zhonghai's health gradually improved, but his right hand was rendered useless, and he lost his job. The factory gave him a pension, but it wasn't much, just enough to live on. Now he sits in his room all day, looking out the window, without saying a word.

The older woman was worried about him, but dared not ask too many questions. She knew her husband was suffering, but didn't know how to comfort him.

Sha Zhu has been going to and from get off work as usual these past few days, but he's become much quieter. People in the cafeteria say he's changed; the talkative and cheerful Sha Zhu of the past is gone, and now he has a gloomy face all day and a frightening look in his eyes.

Only he knew that the fire still burned in his heart, causing him great pain. He was waiting for Chen Feng, waiting for that resolution.

In a small room behind the restaurant, Chen Feng began his new "job".

He gets up at six every morning to clean the restaurant and wash the dishes left over from the previous day. Customers start coming in for breakfast at seven, and he's responsible for serving dishes and clearing tables. Lunch and dinner are peak times, and he's busy until eight before he can rest.

The work was tiring, but it provided food and shelter. More importantly, he could hear a lot of news.

"Have you heard? Another person has died in that courtyard house in the south of the city."

"Which one is it?"

"I think it was the fifth or sixth, I can't remember exactly."

"Has the murderer been caught?"

"No, I heard the police are still looking for him."

"If you ask me, that murderer was a pitiful man too. I heard his whole family died, and he was sent to a labor camp. How could he not go insane?"

"What's there to pity about! He killed so many people, he deserves to be shot!"

The guests were chattering amongst themselves, while Chen Feng listened expressionlessly. He was like a stone, deaf and blind, focused only on his work.

But in private, he was gathering information.

From the guests' casual conversation, he learned about the current situation of the courtyard: the police were still there, but fewer in number; the people in the courtyard were still there, but they were all terrified; Sha Zhu was still in the steel mill canteen, Liu Guangtian and Liu Guangfu were still in the workshop, Yan Jiefang had taken leave, and Jia Zhangshi and Yi Zhonghai were still in the courtyard...

He also knew that the police had shifted their focus from city-wide surveillance to targeted monitoring. Their main efforts were concentrated around the courtyard houses and the steel mill, while other areas were being less vigilant.

This means he has more room to maneuver.

Chen Feng pondered. His next target: Liu Guangtian.

After work, Liu Guangtian would pass through a small alley where there were few people, making it an easy place to strike. Moreover, Liu Guangtian was timid and easy to deal with.

But how do we know Liu Guangtian's specific route?

Chen Feng thought for a moment and decided to stake out the area near the steel rolling mill. Restaurants were less busy between 2 PM and 4 PM, so he could ask for leave to go out.

He approached his boss: "Boss, I'd like to ask for two hours off this afternoon to take care of some business."

The boss looked at him: "What is it?"

"Something came up at home."

The boss hesitated for a moment, but then agreed: "Okay, come back soon."

"Thank you, boss."

At 2 p.m., Chen Feng left the restaurant. He took a shortcut to the vicinity of the steel rolling mill and found a secluded spot to squat down.

The steel rolling mill closes at 5:30 p.m. He needs to know which road Liu Guangtian takes and when he passes through that alley.

He waited for more than three hours. During that time, he saw many workers leaving get off work, but he didn't see Liu Guangtian. Just as he was about to give up, he saw that familiar figure.

Liu Guangtian and Liu Guangfu walked out together, both with their heads down and their steps hurried. They were heading in the direction of that alley.

Chen Feng quietly followed, keeping his distance. He saw the two enter the alley, walk quickly through it, and then separate—Liu Guangtian went left, and Liu Guangfu went right.

Liu Guangtian walked alone.

The opportunity is here.

Chen Feng quickened his pace, but didn't make a move. They were still near the factory area, where there were many people and eyes. He wanted to wait until Liu Guangtian went to a more secluded place.

Liu Guangtian entered a narrower alley. This alley was flanked by back walls on both sides and was rarely used. He walked quickly, glancing back frequently, clearly frightened.

Just as he reached the middle of the alley, he suddenly heard footsteps behind him.

Liu Guangtian's heart tightened, and he quickened his pace. But the footsteps grew closer and faster.

Just as he was about to run, a cold hand covered his mouth.

"Don't move." A hoarse voice rang in his ear.

Liu Guangtian froze. He smelled the stench of blood and the chilling aura of killing intent.

It's Chen Feng.

He tried to shout, but his mouth was covered tightly. He tried to struggle, but the other person was very strong and he couldn't break free at all.

A knife was pressed against his neck.

"Liu Guangtian," Chen Feng's voice was low, "that night, you said you saw me behaving inappropriately towards Qin Huairu. Did you see it?"

Liu Guangtian shook his head frantically.

"Didn't you see it?" Chen Feng sneered. "Why would you say so if you didn't see it?"

The blade pressed down, cutting through the skin.

"I...I was wrong..." Liu Guangtian cried, "Chen Feng, please forgive me...I didn't mean to...Xu Damao told me to say it..."

"Xu Damao is dead," Chen Feng said. "Now it's your turn."

"No...don't..." Liu Guangtian wanted to beg for mercy, but before he could finish speaking, the knife slashed down.

Blood gushed out. Liu Guangtian's eyes widened, and his body went limp.

Chen Feng released his grip, watching him fall to the ground, twitch a few times, and then remain still.

He crouched down and rummaged through Liu Guangtian's body. He pulled out a few cents, a work ID, and some food coupons.

He carefully collected the money and tickets, then threw his work ID on the ground. He stood up, glanced at the corpse, and turned to leave.

The alleyway fell silent again, with only the blood slowly spreading on the ground and seeping into the soil.

Chen Feng walked quickly but steadily. He circled several streets to make sure no one was following him before returning to the restaurant.

When the boss saw him return, he asked, "Did you finish your business?"

"It's done," Chen Feng said.

He went into the kitchen and started washing the dishes. His hands were steady, and his eyes were calm, as if nothing had just happened.

But in my heart, that fire still burns.

It burned even brighter.

Next up, Liu Guangfu? Or Yan Jiefang?

one by one.

Not a single one will be left.