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

Night falls earlier and deeper in the shantytowns than in the city.

As the sun set, this crowded and chaotic area was plunged into darkness. Sparse kerosene lamps shone from the crooked shacks, flickering like will-o'-the-wisps. The air was thick with the mixed stench of coal smoke, garbage, and excrement, making each breath feel like a blockage in the lungs.

Chen Feng huddled in the corner of an abandoned shack, his back against the cold earthen wall. The shack was small, only five or six square meters, with several large holes in the roof through which one could see the night sky. Some dry grass and tattered burlap sacks were laid on the ground, just enough for a person to lie down.

He slowly gnawed on a hard cornbread, each bite taking a long time to swallow. The cornbread was made with low-quality cornmeal, dry and rough, and had a musty smell. But he ate it carefully, even picking up the crumbs that fell on his hands with his fingers and eating them.

I wandered around the shantytown all day but found nothing.

He asked dozens of people—children scavenging for food in garbage dumps, women washing clothes by sewage ditches, and old people squatting in the corner sunbathing. Everyone shook their heads, saying they had never seen a little girl with a mole on her neck. Some people avoided eye contact, as if they were hiding something; others looked at him warily, mistaking him for an undercover agent gathering information.

Maybe Xiaoyu really never came here. Maybe she went somewhere else, or... she's already dead.

Chen Feng dared not think about that possibility. He stuffed the last bite of cornbread into his mouth and drank some cold water from the kettle. Then he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and forced himself to rest.

We'll continue searching tomorrow. The shantytown is huge; he only explored a small section on the east side today, and hasn't gone to the west or north yet. Maybe Xiaoyu is over there.

But besides looking for people, he had other things to do.

Many of the enemies from the courtyard still remain. Liu Guangfu is injured but not dead; Yan Jiefang is still alive; that old hag Jia Zhangshi is still around; and there are also Auntie Da, Auntie Er, Auntie San... none of the people in the courtyard who contributed money are missing.

The blood debt has not yet been repaid.

Chen Feng touched the gun in his arms. The gun was ice-cold, like a block of ice. There were four bullets left in the magazine, and two spare magazines. That was enough.

But he doesn't want to use a gun now. Gunshots are too loud and would give him away. He still prefers a knife, silent and deadly with a single strike.

He mentally reviewed the layout of the courtyard house. The front yard, the middle yard, the back yard, the location of every room, the height of every wall, every escape route—he knew it all by heart, enough to navigate it with his eyes closed.

But he knew it was too dangerous to go to the courtyard house now. After what happened last night, the courtyard was definitely on high alert, and the police might be keeping watch. Forcing his way in would be suicide.

We need to think of a way to lure them out.

How to extract it?

Chen Feng remembered the middleman Yi Zhonghai had used to hire the killer—Wang Mazi was dead, but he might still be in contact with the desperados Wang Mazi had introduced before. Or, the people in the courtyard might still be hiring people.

He could pretend to be a middleman, go to the courtyard to make contact, and lure those people out.

But this idea is very risky. If it's discovered, we could be surrounded.

He needs a more reliable approach.

As he thought about it, drowsiness washed over him. Chen Feng leaned against the wall and slowly fell asleep. But he was a light sleeper, easily awakened by the slightest noise.

In the middle of the night, he heard footsteps outside. There was more than one person; the footsteps were light but frequent. He immediately became alert and reached for the knife in his pocket.

The footsteps stopped outside the shack. Someone was speaking in a low voice:

Is this the place?

"This is the place. Someone saw him wandering around here during the day."

"Let's go in and take a look."

Chen Feng's heart leaped into his throat. The police? Or people hired by the courtyard house?

He quietly moved to the door of the shack and peeked out through the crack in the door. There were three figures outside, all dressed in dark clothes and carrying sticks or something similar. They weren't police officers; police officers wouldn't be so sneaky.

They came to see him.

Chen Feng gripped his knife tightly. He should be able to handle three people. But what if they had guns? What if there were more than three?

Just then, someone pushed open the door of the shack. Moonlight shone in and fell directly on Chen Feng's face.

"Here it is!" the man shouted.

The other two rushed in immediately. Chen Feng didn't give them a chance and struck first. Like a leopard, he pounced on the man in front, stabbing him in the stomach while dodging a club swung from behind.

"Ah!" The person who was stabbed screamed and dropped the stick in his hand to the ground.

The other two were stunned for a moment, but quickly reacted, brandishing sticks and rushing forward. Chen Feng drew his knife, kicked aside the man blocking his way, and rushed out of the shack.

There are two more people outside! Five people in total!

Chen Feng's heart sank. He was surrounded.

There were five men, all armed. In the moonlight, he could see their faces—all strangers, but with fierce eyes, clearly desperados.

"Chen Feng!" someone shouted, "Today is your death day!"

They were definitely after him. Who hired them? The people from the courtyard house? Or the police with the bounty?

Chen Feng didn't have time to think. He turned and ran, but after only a few steps, two more people appeared in front of him, blocking his way.

Seven people. He was completely surrounded.

"Running away? Why aren't you running anymore?" A man grinned maliciously, the machete in his hand gleaming coldly in the moonlight.

Chen Feng looked around, searching for a way out. To his left was a shack, to his right a garbage dump, and there were people in front and behind him. There was nowhere to escape.

We'll give it our all.

He pulled a pistol from his pocket and aimed it at the person in front.

"A gun!" someone exclaimed.

But these men were clearly no ordinary thugs; they didn't panic upon seeing the guns. One of them shouted, "He only has one gun! Let's all attack together, he won't have time to fire!"

As soon as he finished speaking, seven people rushed forward at the same time.

Chen Feng pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The gunshots were particularly piercing in the silent night. The man at the front fell to the ground with a gaping hole in his chest. But the others didn't stop; instead, they pounced on him even more fiercely.

"Bang! Bang!"

Chen Feng fired two more shots, and two more people fell. But the gunfire also gave away his position, and shouts and footsteps came from afar—the people in the shantytown had been alerted.

We can't fire anymore.

Chen Feng holstered his gun, drew his dagger and kitchen knife, and faced the remaining four men. The blades flashed, and blood splattered. Chen Feng, like a trapped beast, tore at them frantically. He took several blows to the body and was slashed in the back, but he felt no pain; only one thought occupied his mind—to fight his way out!

"puff--"

A knife cuts a person's throat.

"Click—"

A blow landed on Chen Feng's shoulder, possibly fracturing his bone. He groaned and, with a backhand motion, plunged a knife into the other man's stomach.

There were two people left. But the person in the distance was getting closer, and the beam of their flashlight was swaying.

Chen Feng knew he had to leave immediately. He feinted with his knife, forcing one person back, then turned and rushed towards the garbage heap. The garbage heap was very high, with the shantytown wall behind it.

He climbed onto the garbage heap, slipped, and nearly fell. Two men caught up with him, one of them brandishing a knife and slashing at his leg.

Chen Feng suddenly turned around, kicked the man in the face, and used the momentum to leap up and grab the top of the wall. He gritted his teeth, strained, flipped over the wall, and jumped down.

Upon landing, a sharp pain shot through his right shoulder—the blow he had just received was likely quite serious. But ignoring the pain, he scrambled to his feet and ran.

Shouts came from behind: "He jumped over the wall and ran away! Chase him!"

Chen Feng ran wildly through the dark alleyways, choosing only the narrowest and darkest paths. His right shoulder ached terribly; every step felt like being pricked with needles. The knife wound on his back was also bleeding, and his clothes were already soaked.

But he can't stop. To stop means death.

He ran for what seemed like an eternity until he could no longer hear the pursuers, and finally stopped in an abandoned brick kiln. He leaned against the wall, panting heavily, covered in cold sweat, blood streaming down his arms and back.

He examined the wounds. His right shoulder was swollen, possibly with a fracture. The knife wound on his back wasn't deep, but it was long, and blood was still seeping out.

It needs to be treated. But he has no medicine and no gauze.

He gritted his teeth, tore off a relatively clean part of his clothes, and used it to make a simple bandage. Then he took out the remaining cornbread from his pocket, broke off a small piece, and swallowed it with water.

I've expended too much energy and need to replenish it.

After finishing his meal, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. His mind was a jumbled mess.

Who hired those people? They acted so quickly; the incident happened last night, and they found him tonight. And they weren't just ordinary thugs; they were desperate criminals.

Those people in the courtyard? How could they possibly have that kind of ability? Hiring someone is always a long and drawn-out process, and they always fail.

Could it be the police? The police don't need to be so sneaky when arresting people; they can just surround and arrest them directly.

Chen Feng couldn't understand it. But he knew he couldn't stay here any longer. The shantytown had been exposed, and those people would definitely come looking for him again.

He needs to move to a different place.

where to go?

He thought of the mass grave in the west of the city. Although it was eerie, it was relatively safe as no one went there usually. Besides, he hadn't searched it carefully yet; perhaps Xiaoyu really had been there.

Yes, go to the mass grave. Heal your wounds, continue searching, and then... take revenge.

Chen Feng struggled to his feet and walked towards the west of the city. Every step was difficult; his right shoulder ached so much that he broke out in a cold sweat, and the wound on his back was tearing open.

But he can't stop.

The blood debt has not yet been repaid.

My younger sister hasn't been found yet.

He must continue.

At the same time, the courtyard was brightly lit.

Two mourning tents were erected in the front and middle courtyards. One was for Yan Bugui, and the other for Liu Haizhong and Liu Guangqi. Three coffins were placed under the tents, covered with white cloth, and eternal flames flickered in the night wind, casting a ghastly white light inside.

The cries of weeping rose and fell. The third aunt lay prostrate on Yan Bugui's coffin, her sobs no longer audible, only mechanical convulsions. The second aunt had regained consciousness, but was delirious, alternating between crying and laughing, muttering, "His father... Guangqi... don't go..."

Liu Guangfu's right arm was wrapped in thick gauze and hung in front of his chest. He stood motionless in front of his father's and brother's coffins, his eyes frighteningly red, but without a single tear.

Yan Jiefang knelt before his father's coffin, burning paper money. The firelight illuminated his young face, which showed sadness, but even more so, fear—he would never forget the way Chen Feng ran past his door last night.

The other survivors in the courtyard gathered in the middle, not daring to be alone. The men, armed, warily scanned their surroundings; the women huddled together, sobbing softly; the children, too frightened to cry, hid behind the adults.

Several people from the neighborhood committee arrived to assist the police in calming the situation. A staff member surnamed Zhao stood in the middle, his voice tired but trying to remain calm:

"Don't be afraid, everyone. The police have increased patrols, and there are people guarding the courtyard. Chen Feng won't dare to come again."

Nobody believed it. The police said something similar last night, and what happened? Yan Bugui died, Liu Haizhong died, Liu Guangqi died.

Officer Zhao knew his words weren't convincing, but that was all he could say. He'd been instructed to keep the crowd calm and prevent any unrest.

"Starting tonight," Officer Zhao said, "all adult men in the compound will be divided into three groups to patrol in shifts. Each group will have four people, working two-hour shifts. If any suspicious activity is discovered, report it immediately."

No one objected, but no one responded enthusiastically either. Everyone was tired, scared, and just wanted to hide away, no longer wanting to fight.

"In addition," Officer Zhao added, "the neighborhood office will help with the funeral arrangements for these families. The coffins have already been purchased, and the funeral procession will be tomorrow. The bodies will be buried in a cemetery outside the city. The expenses... will be covered by the neighborhood office, and the families in the compound will contribute the rest."

When money was mentioned, someone muttered under their breath, "We're scraping together money again... We're almost starving..."

But no one dared to speak up. Talking about money at this time would be too inhumane.

Officer Zhao pretended not to hear and continued giving instructions: "The police will send people to protect you during the funeral procession, so don't be afraid. After the funeral, the compound will be reorganized and management strengthened..."

He said a lot, but no one in the courtyard listened. Everyone had only one thought in their minds—would Chen Feng come back? Who would be next to die?

Night fell, and the patrol began.

The first group consisted of four people—Liu Guangfu (who insisted on participating despite his injury), Yan Jiefang, and two middle-aged men from the courtyard. They carried sticks and kitchen knives, wandering around the courtyard, their eyes fixed on every corner.

The second and third groups were resting inside, but no one could sleep. Everyone kept their eyes open, listening to the sounds outside, and would tremble at the slightest disturbance.

This night felt exceptionally long.

Everyone is thinking the same question—when will this end?

Chen Feng was lying behind a grave mound in the mass grave, gritting his teeth as he bandaged his wounds.

The night wind blew through the graveyard, making a mournful sound, like countless ghosts weeping.

But Chen Feng wasn't afraid. He had seen something more terrifying than ghosts—the human heart.

Blood debts must be repaid in blood.

Not a single one will be left.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to rest.

Tomorrow will be another new day.

The killing continues.