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

Hank put the cigarette back in his mouth.

The Yankees said they wanted to take his head, but he didn't believe them.

This is an American military base, with thousands of soldiers, dozens of armored vehicles, and several warships.

No matter how powerful the Northman is, he's still just one person. How can one person kill him?

His lips curled up, but the smile was brief.

The bullet struck him in the forehead.

The bullet pierced through the forehead and exited from the back of the head, leaving a cloud of blood mist.

Hank's body stiffened, as if someone had pressed the pause button, and the expression on his face froze on the slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

Before the smile could fully open, blood had already begun to gush from the blood hole between his eyebrows.

The cigarette slipped from his loosened fingers, fell to the ground, and sparks flew from the butt.

The two bodyguards reacted extremely quickly—one lunged in front of Hank and used his body to shield him; the other grabbed Hank's arm and dragged him into the small building.

But it was too late.

A second bullet flew from the darkness, piercing the first bodyguard's neck; blood spurted from his neck and splattered onto Hank's face.

The third bullet struck the second bodyguard in the thigh, causing him to kneel on the ground with blood gushing from his groin and severing an artery. No matter how hard he pressed, he couldn't stop the bleeding.

The beams of searchlight swept wildly across the camp, the sounds of car engines starting came from all directions, and the clatter of footsteps grew ever closer.

Hank's body lay at the bottom of the steps, his eyes still open, staring at the night sky, blood still oozing from the hole between his eyebrows, trickling down his nose and dripping onto the ground.

The bullet turned his brain into mush, and Hank was dead the moment he pulled the trigger.

The soldiers rushed over with their guns at the ready, their flashlight beams swaying wildly in the darkness, illuminating the corpses on the ground.

Some were shouting "Sir," some were shouting "Call an ambulance," and some were shouting "Seal off the gate." The voices of more than a dozen people mingled together, creating a buzzing sound.

Some people maintained order, some checked the wounds, and some carried Hank's body onto a stretcher.

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He lay on that green stretcher, his arms hanging down and swaying.

An armored vehicle sped out from behind the small building, and the machine gunner on the roof rotated the turret, pointing the gun at every direction in the darkness.

Chen Feng is no longer there.

He stored the sniper rifle and camouflage net in his spatial storage.

Early morning at Changi Airport in Singapore.

The waiting hall was bustling with people: some dragging suitcases, some carrying children, and some holding tour guide flags.

Chen Feng was first in line at the first-class exit. He handed over his passport. The border guard flipped it open, glanced at it, looked up at him again, stamped it, and let him through.

Chen Feng entered the waiting hall, and an announcement came over the loudspeaker: passengers, please board the plane.

He walked toward the boarding gate.

The plane was a bit smaller than when we arrived. I had a window seat with the tarmac outside.

He sat down and fastened his seatbelt.

Several silver-gray passenger planes were parked near the jet bridge in the distance outside the porthole, with ground support vehicles shuttling between them.

An airplane was taking off, and the low, deep roar of its engines could be heard through the glass.

The plane taxis to the runway, accelerates, pitches up, and lifts off the ground.

The ground outside the porthole receded into the distance, and the airport's outline grew smaller and smaller.

The gray wall rose from the ground, passed through his sight, and then fell back down.

He sat on that plane for several hours, watching the clouds outside the window change from white to gray, and then from gray to orange.

The sun rose from the sea, turning the entire sky orange-red.

Hong Kong Island, Kai Tak Airport.

The plane landed in the morning, and sunlight streamed in through the porthole.

Chen Feng walked out of the airport and got into a taxi: "Yau Ma Tei, Fuk Tak School."

The taxi stopped in front of Fude School.

The school gate was closed.

He got out of the car and walked to the window of the gatehouse. An old man was sitting inside reading a newspaper, wearing reading glasses.

Chen Feng spoke up: "Hello, I'm looking for Chen Xiaoyu."

The old man pulled his reading glasses down further and glanced at him over the lenses: "Who are you to her?"

"elder brother."

The old man flipped through the register: "Chen Xiaoyu, Class 2, Grade 6."

He pointed to the teaching building inside, "Third floor, at the end of the corridor."

Chen Feng went inside.

The corridor was quiet, and sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting bright patches of light on the floor.

He went up to the third floor, and the door to the classroom at the end of the corridor was open, from which came the sound of a teacher lecturing.

He stood at the door and looked inside through the glass. Xiaoyu was sitting in the third row by the window, wearing a light pink dress, her hair tied in a ponytail, and writing in her notebook with her head down.

She's grown taller and her face is fuller; she's not as skinny as before.

That dress was bought at the mall last time. It's made of pure cotton and has tiny floral prints. The hem reaches the knees, revealing a glimpse of slender calves.

I bought it a size too big, but it fits perfectly now.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on her and making her pale pink dress appear slightly translucent; her hair shimmered softly in the sunlight.

She wrote a line in her notebook, paused to think, and then continued writing.

A girl with pigtails sat next to Xiaoyu, who secretly glanced at Xiaoyu's homework, then quickly looked away and lowered her head to write her own.

Xiaoyu didn't notice her, nor did she notice the person standing at the door.

She wrote very carefully, her head down and her back straight.

Chen Feng stood at the door watching her.

She didn't know her brother had come.

She had no idea that the most dangerous person in the world was standing at the classroom door, watching her do her homework.

She only knew that the question was very difficult, and she couldn't figure it out after thinking about it for a long time.

She put down her pen, rubbed her eyes, picked it up again, and drew a circle on the draft paper.

Chen Feng looked at her for a moment, then turned and left.

His footsteps were light in the corridor. Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a bright patch of light on the floor. He walked through that patch of light and went downstairs.

The school gate was still closed, and the old man in the gatehouse was still reading a newspaper.

Chen Feng walked out of the school gate and stood by the roadside, the sunlight shining on him.

He looked up at the sky—it was very blue, with a few white clouds drifting slowly by.

The Golden Princess nightclub was not yet open; the roller shutter door was half-closed.

Two people stood at the door, wearing black short jackets and with their hands in their pockets.

Seeing Chen Feng get out of the taxi, one person turned and ran inside to report the news, while the other came up to greet him: "Boss Chen, you're back."

Chen Feng nodded.

The door to the office on the third floor was open.

Chen Feng walked to the coat rack, took off his jacket and hung it up, then sat down at his desk.

Leaning back in my chair, I stared at the ceiling.

The door was pushed open, and the skinny monkey walked in.

He stopped in front of the desk and looked Chen Feng up and down: "Brother Da Gang, are you alright?"

"fine."

Skinny Monkey finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Chen Feng nodded, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the ceiling.