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

Ruan Bao stood in the center, holding a submachine gun, looking around. The gold chain around his neck shone like a burning snake in the night vision goggles.

Six men, armed with machine guns, submachine guns, and grenades, possessed fierce firepower.

It's not that we can't fight head-on, but it's unnecessary.

Chen Feng placed the submachine gun on the ground and opened the system interface deep within his consciousness.

A semi-transparent light screen floated in the darkness, and a densely packed list slowly emerged.

His finger pointed to the "Individual Rocket Launcher" section, which offered 500 points and two rockets.

On the Hong Kong Island black market, a rocket launcher can fetch over ten thousand Hong Kong dollars and is still hard to come by; 500 points isn't expensive.

He clicked "redeem".

The light screen flashed, and the rocket launcher appeared in the personal space.

He stepped out, opened his eyes, and took the rocket launcher out of his spatial storage.

The Russian-made RPG is a portable weapon, about one meter long, with a metal grip and a military green firing tube.

The loading method is very simple: insert the rocket from the front, tighten it, release the safety, aim, and pull the trigger.

He took out the two rockets from his spatial storage and loaded the first one.

The light from the high-mast lamps shone down from overhead, illuminating the area in front of the warehouse.

Ruan Bao's men stood there, some standing, some squatting, some lying down, like a group of targets exposed under the lights.

Chen Feng stood up, carrying the rocket launcher, his right shoulder against the tail of the launcher, his left arm supporting the body of the launcher, and his eyes close to the sight.

The center of the crosshairs was aligned with the machine gun mounted on the pier.

"Yankees—where are you—come out—"

Ruan Bao's shouts drifted in the night wind, hoarse as if squeezed from the depths of his throat.

He fired his submachine gun in all directions until he ran out of bullets, the spent cartridges clattering to the ground.

I changed the magazine and kept firing.

He heard a sharp whistling sound behind him, like a train whistle or a baby's cry, shrill and piercing, cutting through the air from the darkness.

His pupils suddenly contracted—

The rocket, trailing a long plume of flame, tore through the night like a fiery meteor, heading straight for the pier.

The machine gunner lay prone on the ground, and by the time he heard the shriek, it was too late.

He looked up—the rocket had hit him squarely.

Boom—an orange-red fireball soared into the sky, and the shockwave, carrying shrapnel and debris, swept in all directions.

The machine gunner was thrown into the air like a tattered sack caught in a gale, his body tumbling several times before crashing to the ground a few meters away.

The machine gun was blown to pieces, its parts scattered all over the ground, and the still-burning barrel stuck crookedly in a crack in the concrete floor.

The blast wave knocked Ruan Bao to the ground, his ears ringing and his vision going black.

My mouth was filled with the taste of blood; I had bitten my tongue, and blood was flowing from the corner of my mouth.

He lay on the ground and shook his head, but the buzzing in his ears didn't go away.

A second shriek came.

He looked up sharply.

The rocket, trailing a fiery tail, roared from the darkness, heading straight for the two people behind the container.

Boom! The metal sheet of the container was torn apart and rolled up like a piece of paper.

In the firelight, the two figures crouching behind were thrown up and then pushed away by the shockwave.

Ruan Bao lay on the ground, trembling all over, like a dog terrified by thunder.

The Northerners have rocket launchers, and the Northerners on Hong Kong Island actually have rocket launchers.

This isn't an ordinary gang fight; this is war.

He brought twenty heavily armed men with him, who came from New Island on an American naval transport ship, carrying American machine guns and submachine guns.

The person he faced, the mainland guy he chased from Hong Kong Island to Borneo, the owner of the Golden Princess nightclub—he had a rocket launcher.

Where did it come from?

Ruan Bao couldn't understand it.

All he knew was that his men were blown to bits in front of him, and that machine guns and submachine guns were powerless against overwhelming firepower.

Chen Feng put the rocket launcher into his personal space, picked up the submachine gun from the ground, and walked towards the warehouse door with the gun in his hand.

The high-mast lights were still on, their stark white light illuminating the charred craters and scattered parts on the ground.

He stepped over the still-smoking wreckage and walked up to Ruan Bao.

Ruan Bao lay on the ground, trembling all over, like a snake whose spine had been stepped on.

The submachine gun fell a few steps away, and the grenade rolled at his feet, the safety pin still on; he hadn't had time to pull it out.

Chen Feng stood in front of him, looking down at him.

Ruan Bao looked up and saw those expressionless eyes.

His eyes reddened, and tears mixed with dust and gunpowder smoke streamed down his cheeks.

"Yankee—you—where did you get that rocket launcher?"

The voice was like a mix of crying and laughing, intermittent and out of tune, carrying a despair that seeped from the very marrow of the bones.

Chen Feng raised his gun, pointing the muzzle at his forehead, his voice as calm as if he were having a casual conversation: "Think about it in your next life."

Ruan Bao closed his eyes.

boom.

The dock, early morning.

The eastern sky was turning a pale white, and the morning light rose from the sea, gilding the top of the shipping container with a thin layer of gold.

The waves continued to pound tirelessly against the embankment, splash, splash, splash.

The workers hadn't arrived for work yet; the dock was filled with corpses and shell craters. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood, mixed with the salty smell of the sea, making one's throat tighten.

Skinny Monkey squatted behind a pile of containers on the east side of the dock, waiting there all night.

Before Ruan Bao's men could come out from this side, they only heard gunshots and explosions.

He peeked out and glanced in the direction of the dock, then stood up, gun in hand, and led the ten men deeper into the dock.

Ironhead came from the west, Gaptooth from the south, and Mud Loach from the north, each leading their own men in from their respective directions.

The four met at the warehouse entrance.

The warehouse entrance was a mess.

The charred craters, scattered parts, and the still-smoking machine gun wreckage, along with the densely packed shell casings reflecting the sunlight, created a scene of carousel-like beauty.

The bloodstains meandered along the cracks in the cement, turning black in the shadow of the shipping container.

There were more than a dozen corpses lying haphazardly, some wearing dark combat uniforms, some wearing black short jackets, and some whose faces were unrecognizable.

Skinny Monkey stood at the warehouse entrance, looking at the battlefield where the smoke had not yet dissipated, and at the metal containers that had been blown apart by rockets, and the corners of his mouth slowly curled up.

Big Steel Bro won.

That person won again.

He lowered the gun he was holding, turned around, and led the ten men toward the outside of the dock.

Iron Head followed behind him, Gap Tooth followed behind him, and Mud Loach followed behind him.

Ah Shui and the remaining brothers waited outside the dock to finish up—cleaning up the bodies, repairing the walls, and maintaining order; everything had been arranged the night before.

Chen Feng walked out of the warehouse.

The tactical jacket was stained with gray and dark red blood.

With a gun slung over his shoulder, still smoking, he walked at a leisurely pace, stepping over broken glass and spent cartridges as he headed out of the dock.

Skinny Monkey stood at the entrance of the dock, waiting there all night, and finally saw that familiar figure.

"Big Steel Bro".

He went to meet him.

Chen Feng looked at the skinny monkey's face and spoke, his voice as calm as if he were chatting casually: "Ruan Bao is dead."

Chen Feng walked towards the alley entrance, his figure gradually blending into the morning light.

Skinny Monkey followed behind him, Iron Head followed behind him, Gap Tooth followed behind him, and Loach followed behind him.

Outside the dock, Ah Shui and his men were cleaning up.

They put the bodies into black plastic bags, carried them one by one onto the truck, stacked them neatly, and then covered them with tarpaulins.

Blood plasma seeped from the bottom of the bag, dripping onto the metal cargo box of the truck.

Ah Shui squatted on the ground and used his finger to draw a mark on the bloodstains.

Ruan Bao had 21 men, plus Ruan Bao and Ahei, making a total of 23, all of whom have been confirmed dead.

He stood up, got into the driver's seat, started the truck, and slowly drove away from the dock.

Princess Jin, third-floor office.

The curtains were half-drawn, and the morning sunlight streamed in through the window, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow throughout the room.

The faint sounds of the bustling city outside the window could be heard, but after being separated by the glass, only a muffled buzzing could be heard.

Chen Feng sat behind his desk, wearing a dark short-sleeved shirt, black trousers, and cloth shoes. His face was expressionless, and his eyes were deep and calm.

The bodies have been disposed of, the damage to the dock has been assessed, the workers have returned to work, and the dock has resumed normal operations.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Hong Kong Island Ferry Pier

Ruan Bao is dead.

All twenty-one of the men he brought from Borneo died.

Skinny Monkey stood in front of him, Iron Head leaned against the wall, Gap Tooth sat on a chair in the corner, and Mud Loach huddled in the shadows by the door.

Skinny Monkey hesitated for a moment before speaking, "Brother Big Steel, Ruan Bao is dead. Will—will someone come seeking revenge?"

Chen Feng turned his gaze back to him, his voice calm: "Ruan Xiong is dead, Ruan Bao takes his place. Ruan Bao is dead, who will take his place? Xie Wanying? She's just a woman, she can't hold out for long. Borneo will fall into chaos on its own."