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

West of Temple Street, there's Snake King Chan's chicken stall.

At two in the morning, most of the neon lights went out, and the whole street was dark, with only a few lonely streetlights swaying with a dim yellow light in the night wind.

The two heavily made-up women at the entrance of the chicken stall had long since left work; the iron gate was half-closed, and a sliver of light shone through the crack.

Snake King Can sat in the innermost booth of the chicken stall, with several bottles of beer in front of him. Two bottles were already empty, and the third bottle had just been opened when foam gushed out of the bottle and spilled all over the table, which he did not wipe up.

He was wearing a wrinkled silk shirt with the collar open, revealing his lean chest.

Her hair was a mess, her face still had tear stains that hadn't been wiped away, her eye sockets were sunken, and her eyes were as red as a rabbit's.

Clutching the third bottle of beer in his hand, he took a big gulp.

The liquor dripped down his chin and into his neck, feeling cool. He shivered, but didn't stop, taking another swig.

Sitting beside him were two trusted confidants, one named Ah Ji and the other Ah Ya—both were old men who had followed him for over a decade, ever since he was still in the human trafficking business, through thick and thin, never letting him down.

But neither of them dared to speak at that moment; they simply sat beside him and watched him drink.

Ah-Ji was in his thirties, thin, and had a black mole on his face.

He held a cigarette between his fingers, unlit, just holding it. Ah Ya was a few years younger and stronger than him, wearing a black short jacket, her hands in her pockets, her eyes fixed on the table, as if trying to see right through it.

Snake King Can finished his third bottle of beer, slammed the bottle down on the table, and the glass bottom hit the wooden board with a dull thud.

He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, and stared at Ah Ji, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal: "Ah Ji, how much money do we have left?"

Ah-Ji paused for a moment, his voice dry: "Brother Can, there aren't many left."

Snake King Can pushed the empty bottle aside, braced himself on the table with both hands, leaned forward, and stared at Ah Ji: "How much is so little?"

Ah Ji swallowed hard, his voice so low that only a few people nearby could hear him: "Less than two hundred thousand."

Snake King Can's expression changed.

He leaned back in the booth, looking at the ceiling.

That chandelier hadn't been replaced in a long time; the bulb was covered in a layer of dust, and the light shining through the dust was dim and yellowish, like a diseased eye.

Two hundred thousand isn't enough to cover the losses.

Lei Luo demanded compensation for the losses of those gang leaders. The fat-headed Qiang Ge wanted 50,000, the tall and thin Wen Ge wanted 80,000, and the scarred gang leader wanted 30,000. All in all, it came to nearly 300,000.

Where did all the money go after he sold so much stuff?

I gambled.

He had good luck with the lottery those few days and thought he could win back his losses.

They kept throwing tens of thousands of dollars into the game, winning and losing, losing and throwing more money in the end, until they had no money left at all.

All that money is now in the casino's safe deposit box, and we can't get a single penny back.

Ah Ji looked at him, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she didn't.

Snake King Can took a cigarette out of his pocket and put it in his mouth.

The flame flickered in the dim light and lit the cigarette butt.

He took a deep breath, the smoke swirling in his lungs before exhaling through his nostrils. The smoke rose in the lamplight, blurring his ashen face.

He held the cigarette between his fingers, looking at Ah Ji: "Ah Ji, how much of that stock do we have left?"

Ah-Ji opened his notebook, glanced at it again, and lowered his voice even further: "Brother Can, we're running low on stock. Hank gave us 300 packs last time, and we sold almost 200. We have a little over 100 packs left."

Snake King Can put the cigarette in his mouth, then took it out and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

"Ah Ji, go prepare the truck. Take the rest of the goods with you."

Ah-Ji was stunned: "Brother Can, where are we going?"

Snake King Can stood up, tucking his bulging briefcase under his arm: "Go to the hotel. Find that foreign woman."

A high-end hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui.

At 2:30 a.m., the lobby was empty except for the young woman at the front desk who was dozing off, her head nodding like a chicken pecking at rice.

The carpet was dark-colored and so thick that half a foot could sink in, and it made no sound when you stepped on it.

A crystal chandelier hangs down, casting a soft light that illuminates the marble walls and gilded decorative lines.

Snake King Can stepped out of the elevator, followed by Ah Ji and Ah Ya.

He was wearing a wrinkled silk shirt, his hair was messy, and his face was flushed from drinking, making him completely out of place in the well-decorated hotel.

The corridor was quiet, with the wall lamps casting a dim yellow light and the carpet covered with intricate patterns.

He walked to the door of the suite at the end of the corridor, stopped, took a deep breath, and raised his hand to knock on the door.

The door opened.

The woman stood in the doorway, wearing a moon-white silk nightgown, her blonde hair draped over her shoulders, and her face without makeup.

Those grey-blue eyes shone brightly in the dim light, looking at Snake King Can as if he were a mouse oblivious to its own mortality.

Snake King Can bent over, his face plastered with a wide smile, his lips agape and his eyes crinkling, looking more like he was about to cry: "Ms. Jensen, I'm so sorry to bother you so late at night. I have something urgent to discuss with you."

Ms. Jensen looked at him for a moment, then stepped aside.

Snake King Can walked in.

Chicken and Duck followed behind, and when they reached the door, Ms. Jensen raised her hand to stop them.

Those grey-blue eyes looked at them, and his voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail: "He came in alone."

Ah-Ji and Ah-Ya exchanged a glance, then looked at Snake King Can.

Snake King Can nodded. The two retreated into the corridor, and the door closed behind them.

The suite was large, with a thick carpet in the living room, a blanket and a pillow on the sofa, and a half-read English novel and a cup of cold black tea on the coffee table.

Ms. Jensen walked to the sofa, sat down, and crossed her legs.

The hem of her bathrobe slipped open, revealing a section of her fair calves.

Snake King Can stood in front of her, not daring to sit down.

Ms. Jensen looked at him and spoke softly, "What is it?"

Snake King Can swallowed hard, placed his briefcase on the coffee table, and opened it.

Inside were neatly stacked banknotes, Hong Kong dollars, brand new and piled up in stacks.

There were also dozens of bags of heroin piled up next to it, sealed in transparent plastic bags and stacked neatly.

"Ms. Jensen, here is the remaining payment and the unsold goods."

Ms. Jensen glanced down at the bag of banknotes, then at the cocaine.

Then he raised his head, his gray-blue eyes expressionless, and looked at Snake King Can, waiting.

Snake King Can took a step forward, his voice dry: "Ms. Jensen, there's a problem in Hong Kong. Someone's stopping me from selling. The goods aren't selling."

Ms. Jensen leaned back on the sofa, tapping her fingers lightly on her knee twice, her voice still soft: "Who is it?"

Snake King wiped the sweat from his forehead, beads of sweat trickling down the back of his hand: "Northern guy. The boss of Golden Princess. He has a lot of influence in Hong Kong, a lot of men under him, and Lui Lok backs him up. The whole Yau Ma Tei is his territory. If he doesn't let me sell, I can't sell."

Ms. Jensen was silent for a moment, then stood up, walked to the window, turned her back to Snake King Can, and looked at the neon lights outside the window.

The surface of Victoria Harbour shimmered, and cargo ships slowly passed by in the distance, their horns drifting in through the glass, muffled and indistinct.

She stood there for a moment, then turned around, looked at Snake King Can, and lowered her voice, so low that only he could hear her: "Snake King Can, stop the shipments to Hong Kong for now. Keep a low profile and don't cause any more trouble."

Snake King Can nodded vigorously, like a chicken pecking at rice, bending over so much that he almost buried his head in his crotch: "Yes, yes, I will definitely keep a low profile, I will definitely keep a low profile."

Ms. Jensen walked back to the sofa, sat down, crossed her legs, and looked at the bag of banknotes and the heroin on the coffee table: "Take the goods back. Take the payment back too. I'll talk to Mr. Hank."

Snake King Can put the items back into his briefcase, zipped it up, tucked it under his arm, and looked at Ms. Jensen, his voice dry: "Ms. Jensen, what about Mr. Hank—what if—?"

Ms. Jensen looked at him, her grey-blue eyes still expressionless: "I'll talk to Mr. Hank. You go back first. I'll let you know if there's any news."

Snake King Can nodded and turned to walk towards the door.

As he reached the door, he stopped and glanced back at Ms. Jensen. He seemed about to say something, but remained silent, then pushed open the door and walked out.

In the corridor, Ah-Ji and Ah-Ya were still standing at the door. When they saw him come out, they went to greet him.