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

The stench of blood still lingered in the alley.

Chen Feng leaned against the cold brick wall, breathing heavily. Five corpses lay scattered at his feet, blood spreading across the bluestone slabs like dark red streams, shimmering eerily in the moonlight.

Scarface lay on his back, eyes wide open, a bloody hole in his forehead still oozing blood and foam. He still held a homemade pistol in his hand, but hadn't pulled the trigger. The other four died in different ways: one had his throat slit, one had a dagger stuck in his chest, and two had their heads split open.

Chen Feng himself hadn't expected the battle to end so quickly. When he rushed out from around the alley corner, Scarface and his five men were huddled together, whispering amongst themselves, completely unprepared for his sudden attack. First, he shot Scarface in the head, and while the others were still stunned, he unleashed a barrage of daggers and cleavers, cutting them down like vegetables, ending the fight in less than two minutes.

Hurry, we have to be quick. Gunshots have already been fired, and the police could arrive at any moment.

Chen Feng suppressed his nausea and quickly searched the five corpses. He pulled a Type 54 pistol from the scarred man's pocket, with four bullets still in the magazine. He then searched the others and found two homemade pistols, some shotguns, and several magazines. There wasn't much money, only a little over a hundred yuan in total, but he took it all.

Most importantly, he found a note in Scarface's pocket with a few words scrawled on it: "The mass grave in the west of the city, meet me at the usual place. The other half after it's done."

The other half? Is it the remaining two hundred and fifty yuan? It seems that Scarface and his gang were indeed hired killers, either by Yi Zhonghai or the deaf old woman, and the money hasn't been paid in full yet.

Chen Feng tucked the note into his pocket, checked the body again to confirm there were no survivors, then turned and quickly left. Just as he stepped out of the alley, the sound of police sirens rang out in the distance.

He quickened his pace, taking only the side streets and winding through seven or eight alleys to make sure he had shaken off any potential pursuers before heading towards the small Western-style building.

On the way, the scene from earlier kept replaying in his mind—Liu Guangfu and Yan Jiefang saying they were looking for Xiaoyu and using Xiaoyu to lure him out.

These two people must die. And they must die quickly.

But how to kill them? The courtyard house is definitely heavily guarded now, and the police will probably be stationed there. Forcing their way in won't work.

We need to find a way to lure them out.

Chen Feng remembered the note—"Meet me at the usual spot in the mass grave west of the city." Scarface and his gang were dead, and the person who hired them probably didn't know yet. Maybe… he could pretend to be one of Scarface's men, go to the courtyard to make contact, and lure Liu Guangfu and his group out.

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

He needs a more reliable approach.

It was past two in the morning when Chen Feng returned to the villa. He slipped in through the back door, bolted it, and went up to the third floor to the room he had chosen.

He placed the guns and bullets he had collected on the table and began to count them.

There were two Type 54 pistols, one his and one Scarface's. There were three homemade pistols, crude but still usable. There were a total of 63 rounds of ammunition, 38 from the Type 54 pistols and 25 from the homemade pistols.

With the money he had left over, he had over five hundred yuan. That should be enough for him for a while.

But more importantly, he now has two proper handguns, greatly increasing his firepower. If he were to encounter a situation like last night's shantytown again, at least he wouldn't be so passive.

Chen Feng checked his wounds. His right shoulder was still swollen, but it was better than yesterday. The knife wound on his back hadn't become infected and was slowly healing. He reapplied the medication, changed the gauze, ate something, and then lay down in bed.

I'm tired. Not just physically, but mentally too.

It's been almost a month since I escaped from prison. I killed ten people (five including Scarface), and injured countless others. Every day I live in hiding, constantly fearful, like a rat living in the shadows.

But he can't stop. If he stops, he'll lose everything.

He had to keep going. Keep killing, keep running, until he found Xiaoyu, until he killed all his enemies.

Or, until one dies.

Chen Feng closed his eyes, forcing himself to sleep. He still had things to do tomorrow—go to the orphanage to find Xiaoyu, and then figure out how to deal with Liu Guangfu and Yan Jiefang.

The next morning, Chen Feng was awakened by birdsong.

Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, casting a long, thin patch of light on the wall. He sat up and moved his right shoulder—it still hurt, but he could move it. The wound on his back had also healed considerably.

He ate something and then began to prepare.

I'm going to the orphanage today, so I can't bring too many weapons. A gun is too conspicuous, so I can only bring a dagger. But I can't be completely unprepared for self-defense either, just in case I encounter danger.

Finally, he decided to hide the Type 54 pistol in his clothes, carrying only one magazine with seven bullets. He tucked the dagger into his boot. The kitchen knife was too big, so he left it behind.

He needed to change his clothes. His current clothes were too tattered; he looked like a homeless person, and would be suspicious if he went to the orphanage. He found a few old clothes in the small villa—a dark blue Zhongshan suit, old-fashioned but still respectable; a pair of black trousers; and a pair of old leather shoes.

He changed his clothes and looked in the mirror. The person in the mirror was a stranger—his hair was shorter, his face was clean, he was wearing a Zhongshan suit, and he looked like an ordinary worker or a minor official. Only his eyes were too cold, like ice.

He adjusted his expression to make himself look more gentle. Then he put on his hat, pulled the brim down, and went out.

The orphanage was in the east of the city, about four or five miles from the small villa. Chen Feng dared not take a car, fearing he would be recognized, so he could only walk. He took detours along side streets, choosing those with fewer people.

On the way, he saw many police officers patrolling and community security team members setting up checkpoints at intersections to check pedestrians' documents. But no one checked him—he looked too normal.

An hour later, he arrived at the entrance of the sales home.

The orphanage was a three-story building that had been a church school before liberation. The exterior walls were painted with a pale yellow paint, which was now peeling off. A sign that read "Dongcheng District Orphanage" hung at the entrance. The iron gate was half-open, and you could see into the courtyard where several children were playing.

Chen Feng stood at the door for a while, took a deep breath, and then went inside.

A middle-aged woman was hanging clothes to dry in the courtyard. Seeing him, she paused, then asked, "Comrade, who are you looking for?"

"I...I want to ask about someone," Chen Feng said, trying to make his voice sound gentle. "My sister...disappeared a few months ago, and I heard she might be here."

The woman sized him up a few times: "What's your sister's name? How old is she?"

"Chen Xiaoyu, fifteen years old, thin, with big eyes and a mole on her neck," Chen Feng described, his heart pounding in his throat.

The woman thought for a moment and shook her head: "No. None of the children we've taken in recently are named Chen Xiaoyu. And none with moles on their necks... I don't think there are any."

Chen Feng's heart sank. No? Xiao Yu hasn't been here before?

"Could you...could you help me check?" he persisted. "Maybe she's using a different name?"

Seeing his anxious look, the woman sighed, "Alright, come with me, I'll take you to the director. But don't get your hopes up too high, all the children we take in are registered."

She led Chen Feng into the building and to an office on the second floor. The office was small, and inside sat a woman in her fifties, wearing glasses, who was looking at documents.

"Dean Zhang, this comrade wants to find his sister," the woman said.

Dean Zhang looked up at Chen Feng: "Your sister?"

Chen Feng explained the situation again.

After listening, Dean Zhang pushed up her glasses: "Chen Xiaoyu? Fifteen years old? Has a mole on her neck?" She stood up, walked to a filing cabinet, rummaged through it for a while, took out a notebook, and flipped through a few pages.

"There is no child named Chen Xiaoyu in the registration records from March this year to now. There are three children here with moles on their necks, but they are all boys and their ages don't match up."

Chen Feng's last hope was shattered. Xiao Yu didn't come here.

"Thank you..." he said softly, turning to leave.

"Wait," Dean Zhang called out to him, "How...how did your sister disappear?"

"Fire," Chen Feng said. "Our house caught fire, my parents died, and my sister is missing."

Dean Zhang's gaze softened slightly: "I see... then your sister might have gone somewhere else. Have you reported it to the police station?"

"I reported it," Chen Feng said, "but there's been no news."

"Then wait a little longer, maybe we'll hear back in a while," Dean Zhang said. "Also, you can go check out the nearby shantytowns. Some homeless children go there to beg or do odd jobs to survive."

The shantytown. Chen Feng had already been there, but couldn't find it.

"Thank you," he said, "I'll look elsewhere."

Leaving the orphanage, Chen Feng walked the streets, feeling utterly lost. The orphanage was gone, the shantytown was gone, the mass grave was gone. Where could Xiaoyu go?

Could it be... that he's really dead?

The thought was like a knife, stabbing deep into his heart. But he forced himself not to think about it. Xiaoyu must still be alive, somewhere, waiting for him to find her.

But where can we find it?

Chen Feng wandered aimlessly through the streets, his mind a jumbled mess. Before he knew it, he had arrived near the shantytown in the west of the city.

It was still so messy and dirty here. The mixed smells in the air reminded him of the fight last night. Scarface was dead, but the person who hired him was still around. Liu Guangfu and Yan Jiefang were still planning to lure him out with Xiaoyu.

These people all have to die.

But the most important thing now is to find Xiaoyu. But how do we find her?

Standing at the entrance to the shantytown, Chen Feng looked at the crowded and chaotic shacks inside and suddenly had an idea—since Xiaoyu might have stayed here, she must need to eat and sleep. She might have done odd jobs in exchange for food, or scavenged for food in the garbage dump.

He could ask the kids who often rummage through the garbage. There might be connections between them.

He walked into the shantytown and came to a garbage dump. Several children were rummaging through it, and when they saw the adults coming, they all looked up warily.

"Little friend," Chen Feng crouched down, trying to appear friendly, "I'd like to ask about someone. A little girl, fifteen years old, thin, with big eyes and a mole on her neck. Have you seen her?"

The children looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Never seen it before."

"I don't remember."

"There are so many children here, who can remember them all?"

Chen Feng pulled out a few pieces of candy from his pocket—he'd bought them on the street earlier, intending to give them to Xiaoyu. He distributed them to the children: "Think carefully again, have you seen them before?"

The children's attitude softened a bit after receiving the candy. One of the older boys thought for a moment and said, "I think... I think I've seen a woman before, she had a mole on her neck. But she didn't come often, sometimes she would come to pick up things, sometimes she would wash clothes for people in exchange for food."

Chen Feng's heart raced: "When? Where?"

"Just...just a while ago," the boy said, "in that area to the east, near the sewage ditch, there was an old lady named Wang who often had people wash her clothes and give her some food."

"Where does Grandma Wang live?"

"Go straight ahead, the third shack, the one with a red ribbon hanging at the door is it."

"Thank you!" Chen Feng gave the boy the rest of the candy and then quickly walked eastward.

The smell from the sewage ditch was even worse, but Chen Feng didn't care. He found the third shack, and sure enough, there was a tattered red cloth hanging at the door.

He knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" came an old woman's voice from inside.

"I...I want to ask about someone," Chen Feng said. "I heard you have a young girl here who does your laundry?"

The door opened, and an elderly woman in her seventies poked her head out, sizing him up: "Who are you looking for?"

"A little girl, fifteen years old, thin, with big eyes and a mole on her neck."

The old lady thought for a moment: "Oh, you mean Xiaoyu? She came to help me wash clothes a few times and bring me some food. But that child... hasn't come in a long time."

"how long?"

"It's been about two months," the old lady said. "The last time she came, she said she was going to find her brother, and then she left and never came back."

Xiaoyu? Chen Xiaoyu?

"Did she...did she say where she was going to find her brother?" Chen Feng pressed.

"She didn't say," the old lady shook her head, "She just said her brother was in the city and she was going to go find him. I felt sorry for her, so I gave her two cornbread buns."

Two months ago. Shortly after the fire. Xiaoyu was still alive and searching for him.

But what about now? Where did she go? Have they been found?

"Do you know where she might go?" Chen Feng asked.

"How would I know?" the old woman said. "That child is stubborn; she won't say anything when asked. But... I think I heard her mutter something about 'the usual place.' Maybe... maybe she arranged to meet her brother somewhere?"

"The usual place?" Chen Feng was stunned. What "usual place" did he and Xiao Yu have?

When they were children, they often played by the moat. There was a big willow tree there, and a big rock under the tree. They would always sit there, watching the river and the boats.

Yes, by the moat, under the big willow tree.

That was their "old haunt".

Chen Feng's heart suddenly raced. Xiao Yu might have gone there, waiting for him.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" Chen Feng thanked him repeatedly, then turned and ran.

The moat was in the north of the city, far from the shantytown. But Chen Feng ran incredibly fast, like a gust of wind.

He was going to find Xiaoyu.

After killing so many people and shedding so much blood, he finally had a glimmer of hope.

My sister is still alive.

They were waiting for him.

Beside the moat, under the big willow tree.

He was going to see her.

Take her away.

Leave this city, leave this place filled with hatred and death.

restart.

The blood debt has not yet been repaid.

Not all of our enemies are dead yet.

But now, none of that matters anymore.

Finding Xiaoyu is the most important thing.

Chen Feng ran wildly through the street, ignoring the people he bumped into, drawing a chorus of curses. But he didn't care.

He had only one thought in his mind—to go to the moat, to the big willow tree, to find Xiaoyu.

Night deepened.

The wind by the moat is very cold.

But Chen Feng's heart is warm.