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

The gambling den owner stood in the corner, trembling, clutching a bag of goods he hadn't had time to put away.

South of Temple Street is Snake King Chan's noodle stall.

The drug stall is hidden in a narrower alley on the south side of Temple Street. The storefront is a dilapidated general store with a sign that reads "Cigarettes and Liquor" on the outside, but the shelves inside are stocked with heroin.

A man with a gap in his teeth stood at the entrance of the noodle stall, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, slowly smoking.

There were more than a dozen people standing behind him, all dressed in dark clothes and holding knives.

Two guards stood at the entrance, their faces pale.

The man with the gap-toothed man took the cigarette out of his mouth, flicked off the ash, and said in a hoarse voice, like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal: "From today onwards, close the door. Don't ever open it again."

The two guards exchanged a glance, then turned and ran into the noodle stall.

A short while later, the lights in the noodle stall went out, and the iron gate was pulled down.

The man with the gap-toothed man put the cigarette back in his mouth, turned around, and left.

East of Temple Street, at the residence of Snake King Can.

night.

On the fifth floor of this old building, the lights in the stairwell had long been broken, the plaster had peeled off, revealing the dark gray cement underneath, and a musty smell permeated the air.

Skinny Monkey stood at the door of Snake King Can's house, followed by Iron Head.

The door was closed, but a sliver of light shone through the crack.

Tie Tou raised his foot and kicked the door.

With a loud crash, the iron gate slammed against the wall and bounced back, with rusted iron sheets falling off the door frame in a clattering sound.

Snake King Can was sitting in the living room with several packets of white powder spread out in front of him, and he was repackaging them into small bags.

Hearing the door open, he looked up sharply and saw Skinny Monkey and Iron Head standing in the doorway.

Snake King Can's face turned white, as white as paper.

With a tremor of his hand, the packet of heroin fell onto the table, spilling all over it.

He jumped to his feet, his chair tipping backward and crashing to the floor with a dull thud. His hand rested on the gun at his waist, but he didn't dare draw it.

Skinny Monkey walked over, stood in front of him, and looked down at the white powder on the table.

He picked up a bag, weighed it in his hand, then put it down. Looking at Snake King Can, he spoke, his voice not loud, but every word like a nail: "Brother Can, Brother Da Gang asked me to ask you a question."

Sweat began to bead on Snake King Can's forehead, beads of sweat trickling down his temples: "Wh...what did you say?"

The skinny man stared at him, his eyes devoid of any expression: "Where did your goods come from?"

Snake King Can's hands began to tremble violently, his lips quivered, and his voice was hoarse as if he had a mouthful of sand: "I...I found a way myself...in Southeast Asia..."

The skinny monkey took a step forward, getting closer to Snake King Can.

Snake King Can took a step back, bumped into the armrest of the sofa, stumbled, and almost fell.

Skinny Monkey looked at him: "Brother Can, you're lying to me."

Snake King Can's legs began to tremble. He steadied himself by holding onto the sofa armrest, his voice shaking, "Brother Monkey, I...I really didn't lie to you...it's from Southeast Asia...a friend introduced us..."

The skinny monkey looked at him, remained silent for a long time, and then drew a knife from his waist.

The blade is not long, but it is very sharp and gleams coldly under the light.

He reached out and grabbed Snake King Can's right hand, pressing it onto the table, his five fingers spread out like five carrots.

Snake King Can's face turned as white as paper, his lips trembled, and his voice sounded like a mix of crying and laughing: "Brother Monkey—Brother Monkey—listen to me—"

Skinny Monkey looked at him, the knife tip pressed against his little finger, his voice calm as if in casual conversation: "Brother Can, I'll ask you one more time. Where did the goods come from?"

Snake King Can's tears flowed down his face.

It wasn't sadness, it was fear—a fear that seeped from the very marrow of my bones, a fear that I couldn't suppress.

He looked at the skinny monkey, at his expressionless face, at his unfathomable eyes.

"It's—it's Hank—Hank from New Island—he's an American—he employs mercenaries—he asked me to help him sell goods—I—I'm just helping him sell—the goods are his—it has nothing to do with me—"

The skinny monkey's eyes twitched slightly, just for a moment.

He released Snake King Can's hand and put the knife back in his waistband.

Snake King Can lay sprawled on the sofa, trembling all over, like a fish pulled from the water, his mouth agape, gasping for breath, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Skinny Monkey stood in front of him, looking down at him. His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail: "Brother Can, Brother Da Gang said this is a warning. Next time, it won't just be a matter of one finger."

He turned and walked towards the door. Tie Tou followed behind. The two walked out the door, their footsteps fading into the distance in the hallway.

Snake King Can slumped on the sofa, staring at the empty door, his hands still trembling uncontrollably.

He looked down at his hands; all five fingers were still there.

He suddenly laughed, a laugh more painful than a grimace, his features contorted, his face streaked with tears and snot. He laughed for a long time, then burst into tears.

Princess Jin, third-floor office.

night.

Outside the window, neon lights flickered tirelessly in the night, red, green, and yellow illuminating the entire street with dazzling colors. Faint music drifted from downstairs, indistinct and muffled through the floorboards, as if seen through a thick veil.

Chen Feng sat behind his desk, holding an account book in his hand, slowly flipping through it.

The skinny monkey stood in front of him and recounted everything that had happened that day.

The chicken stall had several packages of goods confiscated, the gambling stall had several packages of goods confiscated, and the noodle stall was shut down.

Snake King Can was intimidated but didn't make a move; he confessed everything.

Skinny Monkey placed the business card he had taken from Snake King Can's pocket on the table.

The lettering is in gold, with English text and a phone number. Above it is printed the word "Hank".

Chen Feng picked up the business card, looked at it, and put it down. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

He sat up straight, looked at Skinny Monkey, and said calmly, "Have Ah Shui investigate Hank. See if he has any other contacts in Hong Kong."

The skinny monkey nodded: "Understood."

Chen Feng stood up, walked to the window, turned his back to Skinny Monkey, and looked at the neon lights outside the window.

"Snake King Can isn't very capable. Keeping him around might still be useful."

Skinny Monkey watched his retreating figure: "Big Steel, what are your plans for him?"

Chen Feng turned around, looked at Skinny Monkey, and slowly curled up the corners of his mouth. The smile was short, flashing in the light: "Tell him to tell Hank that there aren't enough goods to sell. Ask for more."

The skinny monkey's eyes lit up.

Chen Feng walked back to his desk, sat down again, and picked up the ledger to continue flipping through it.

The skinny monkey turned around, pushed open the door, and walked out.

The door closed behind him, and the sound of footsteps faded into the distance in the corridor.

Hong Kong Island, halfway up Victoria Peak.

Leilo's villa is located at the end of a quiet private road. Its gray-white exterior walls are cut into geometric patterns of light and shadow by the shadows of the Norfolk pines in the courtyard.

The evening sunlight filtered through the gaps in the tree canopy, casting dappled gold across the neatly trimmed lawn.

Several black cars were parked at the entrance, their paint gleaming darkly in the setting sun.

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

The curtains in the living room were half-drawn, and the setting sun shone through the French windows, casting orange-red patches of light on the off-white carpet.

The air was filled with the aroma of cigars and coffee, which, when mixed together, did not smell unpleasant.

On the long table were several untouched cups of coffee and several plates of delicate pastries, as well as a copy of the day's evening paper. The front page featured news about the dock's reconstruction, accompanied by a large photo of workers welding steel plates.