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

On Hong Kong Island, Lui Lok's villa is located halfway up Victoria Peak. Its gray-white exterior is bathed in a pale gold glow by the morning light, making it indistinguishable from the surrounding mansions from the outside.

Several black cars were parked at the entrance, their paint gleaming dimly in the sunlight, their bodies so clean they reflected images.

Two bodyguards in black suits stood on either side of the iron gate, guns tucked into their waistbands, their faces expressionless, their eyes scanning the surroundings.

The curtains in the living room were half-drawn, and sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting bright patches of light on the off-white carpet. The air was filled with the aroma of cigars and coffee.

Lei Luo sat on the sofa, dressed in dark gray casual clothes, his hair neatly combed, a cigar between his fingers, slowly smoking.

Smoke rose in front of him, blurring the expression on his face.

On the long table in front of me were several untouched cups of coffee, several plates of delicate pastries, and several newspapers from that day.

The living room was full of people.

Snake King Can sat to Lei Luo's right, half-lying down, half-leaning, his eyes half-closed like a snake basking in the sun.

His face was pale, his eyes were sunken, his lips were dry, and he looked much more haggard.

He wore a dark silk shirt, open at the waist, revealing his lean chest. His slender eyes scanned the room, seemingly observing something.

The fat, big-eared Qiang Ge huddled in the corner, wearing a flashy shirt, a thick gold chain around his neck, and several gold rings on his fingers. His bulky body filled the single sofa to the brim.

He didn't touch his coffee, just held the cup, circling his fingers around the rim again and again, like a fat pig trapped in a cage pacing aimlessly.

Wen, a tall, thin man, sat next to me, a cigarette between his fingers, unlit, his eyes fixed on the newspaper on the coffee table—the front page headline was about the dock bombing, a black headline with large, eye-catching font that took up half the page.

The photo was blurry, showing only billowing smoke and towering flames. His fingers tapped lightly on his knees, one tap after another, like some kind of countdown.

The leaders of the other clubs sat further away, some smoking, some holding coffee, and some leaning back on the sofa with their eyes closed, resting.

Everyone looked grim—the incident at the pier had shaken the entire island of Hong Kong.

Several grenades, machine guns firing, and even rocket launchers came out.

This is a war, not a gang war.

It's already a big deal for triads on Hong Kong Island to fight each other with machetes; they rarely use guns, let alone grenades, submachine guns, or rocket launchers.

This matter has exceeded their expectations.

Lei Luo placed his cigar on the edge of the ashtray, leaned forward slightly, and scanned each person's face with his gaze.

The room was so quiet that you could hear the ticking of the wall clock.

He spoke, his voice not loud, but every word clear: "Gentlemen, you've all heard about what happened at the docks. Do you have anything to say?"

The hall masters looked at each other, none of them daring to speak first.

The fat, big-eared Qiang Ge swallowed hard, his voice strained out as if he had a mouthful of mud: "Brother Luo, we're not getting involved in the dock business."

Brother Wen, standing beside him, nodded, his voice shrill like a woman's: "Yes, Brother Luo. We're not getting involved in the dock affairs."

The tall, thin Wen Ge chimed in, rattling off a string of words: "Brother Luo, that northerner's even brought out a rocket launcher, what are we going to fight him with? A watermelon knife? A bicycle chain? That's just suicide!"

The remaining people nodded in agreement, chattering amongst themselves, filling the room with a buzzing sound, like a pot of porridge boiling.

Lei Luo leaned back on the sofa, tapping his fingers lightly on his knees twice. He waited until their voices subsided before speaking, his voice calm, as if he were chatting casually: "That's fine."

As soon as those two words were uttered, the room fell silent. Everyone was looking at Lei Luo.

"From now on, the docks and smuggling will all belong to the North."

Snake King Can suddenly opened his eyes, sat up straight, and moved his lips as if to say something, but did not say anything.

All those words rushed to my throat, but something blocked them up.

Lei Luo looked at him, the smile still lingering on his lips, but the light in his eyes changed, turning several degrees colder: "Anyone with objections can go talk to the Northman themselves. The docks are his territory, and he sets the rules. I won't stop anyone who thinks they can talk to him."

Snake King Can swallowed back the words that were about to come out of his throat.

He looked at Lei Luo's cold face and recalled the rumors—the North Man killed fifteen of Tyrannosaurus Rex's men by himself, destroyed Fat Bo's territory by himself, and wiped out all one hundred men that Ruan Xiong brought by himself.

That Northman even brought out a rocket launcher, what does he have to negotiate with them?

He leaned back on the sofa, squinting his eyes, curled up limply like a snake whose spine had been broken.

Lei Luo looked around and waited a few seconds—no one spoke, no one stepped forward to say they wanted to talk to the North.

He put the cigar in his mouth, took a puff, and slowly exhaled, the smoke rising in the sunlight. His voice returned to its usual casual tone: "Snake King Can, what do you say?"

Snake King Can opened his eyes, and Lei Luo was looking at him.

There was no expression in those eyes.

He said "No objection," his voice squeezed out from deep in his throat, hoarse and weak, like a string about to snap.

Lei Luo nodded, leaned back on the sofa, picked up the coffee on the coffee table, and took a sip.

Put the cup down and stand up.

Everyone in the room stood up.

Lei Luo straightened his collar, his voice not loud, but every word carried weight: "That's settled then. From now on, the docks belong to the North. Anyone with objections, go directly to him."

After saying that, he turned around and walked towards the stairwell. His leather shoes made a crisp sound on the floor, tap, tap, tap.

The living room was quiet for a moment.

The leaders of those gangs filed out, their footsteps fading into the distance, while the sounds of car engines starting came from the doorway, one after another, growing ever more distant.

Only Snake King Can remained standing in the center of the living room, like a forgotten wooden stake in a corner.

Watching Lei Luo's figure disappear at the top of the stairs, her lips moved as if she wanted to call out—but she didn't.

He turned and walked towards the door.

Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting his long shadow across the off-white carpet, resembling an elongated question mark.

He took a few steps and suddenly stopped. He saw the newspaper on the coffee table—front page headline, dock bombing, bold headline, eye-catching large characters, and thick smoke billowing in the blurry photo below.

Without glancing a second time, he strode out.

Lei Luo's villa, study.

The door was closed, the curtains were drawn, and only a table lamp was lit.

Leilo sat behind his desk, a half-smoked cigar between his fingers.

The sounds of car engines starting downstairs had ceased; the leaders of those gangs had all left. Snake King Can had left too.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Da Shengxiong walked in. He was wearing a crisp police uniform, his police cap neatly tucked under his arm.

He walked to the desk, stopped, and bowed slightly: "Brother Luo."

Lei Luo looked at him, tapping his fingers lightly twice on the table: "What did the Yankees say about the docks?"

Da Shengxiong shook his head: "The Northerners didn't say anything. I called them, and one of his men answered, saying he was resting."

Leilo leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

The Yankee is resting—of course he needs to rest, how could he not be tired after killing so many people?

Lei Luo sat up straight and stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray: "Very well. Let's proceed with the dock matter as we discussed today."

Da Shengxiong hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice: "Brother Luo, what about Snake King Can—"

Lei Luo raised his hand: "He wouldn't dare. He makes a living through human trafficking and smuggling. If the docks are closed, he still has other ways. If all else fails, he can go talk to the North. If he dared to go talk to the North, he wouldn't be Snake King Can."

Da Shengxiong nodded. He turned and walked towards the door.

Lei Luo called out to him, looked at him, and said calmly, as if chatting casually, "It's good to leave the docks to the Northerners. He can hold them off; no one else can. Hong Kong needs someone like him."