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

Yau Ma Tei, Gascoigne Road.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the gaps in the branches and leaves of the old banyan tree by the roadside, casting dappled, flickering light spots on the sidewalk.

A faint smell of smoke drifted from the roast meat shop on the street corner, mixed with the astringent smell of dried banyan leaves, making one's nasal passages feel stuffy.

Chen Xiaoyu, carrying her schoolbag, walked south along the sidewalk.

She was wearing a light pink dress that reached her knees, revealing a glimpse of her slender calves.

White ankle socks, black buckled leather shoes, with a little dust on the shoes from when they passed by the road construction site.

Her hair was tied in a ponytail with a pink ribbon. The ribbon was a little loose, and the ponytail tilted to the left, swinging back and forth.

She didn't walk fast, but her steps were hurried.

Since leaving school, she has been thinking about that math problem.

She spent a long time calculating on the draft paper, wrote down an equation, and the teacher collected the papers when she was only halfway through solving it.

She hasn't finished solving it yet.

She kept her head down, muttering to herself.

She walks this road every day; she could walk back with her eyes closed.

After leaving the school gate, walk south along Gascoigne Road for 300 meters, turn into that narrow alley, cross two streets, and walk another 200 meters to reach Fuk Wing Street.

Sometimes her brother would wait for her at the alley entrance, and sometimes he wouldn't, but no matter whether he waited for her or not, she could always walk back by herself.

As she turned into the alley, she looked up at the entrance—no one was there.

The alley was narrow, with old buildings on both sides. The walls were gray and peeling, revealing dark red bricks underneath.

Most of the windows were closed, their panes covered in dust. Occasionally, a few were open, with clothes hanging out to dry, swaying gently in the breeze.

The road surface underfoot was a bumpy, uneven cement surface, with a few thin weeds growing in the cracks, trampled and bent over.

She walked into the alley, and after taking a dozen steps, she heard footsteps behind her.

It wasn't the kind of footsteps that sounded as someone passed by—it was very light, but it was always there, neither fast nor slow, keeping about the same distance from her.

She glanced back.

A woman in her thirties followed behind her, with blonde hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a dark gray trench coat, and holding a folded map in her hand.

He had a smile on his face, but it looked like it was painted on; the corners of his mouth were upturned and the corners of his eyes were curved, but the stiffness in his expression was impossible to hide.

Chen Xiaoyu turned her head back and continued walking forward, but her hand had already reached into the side pocket of her backpack.

The revolver was in that pocket; it wasn't large, but it fit her hand perfectly.

Her brother taught her that a gun is a person, and it should never be out of her sight.

The blonde woman caught up with her and walked beside her, bending down and speaking in a soft, gentle voice, like a kindergarten teacher soothing a child to sleep: "Little one, how do I get to this place? Can you show me?"

She handed me the map and pointed to a place circled in red.

That place is far from here, on the other side of Hong Kong Island, it takes more than an hour by car.

Chen Xiaoyu looked at the map and then at her surroundings—there was no one else in the alley, no one in front of her, no one behind her, the windows on both sides were closed, and even the clothes hanging out to dry were not moving, as if they were frozen in place by something.

Her heart started racing, like a rabbit was thrashing inside her chest.

She shook her head: "I don't know."

After saying that, he quickened his pace and walked forward.

He reached into the side pocket of his backpack and gripped the handle of the revolver.

It was cold, metallic, and heavy, like a piece of iron held in your hand.

Her brother's hands were much bigger than hers, and when he held the gun, it was like he was holding a toy, but her hands were small, and her fingers could barely reach the trigger guard.

But it's enough; enough to pull the trigger.

The blonde woman followed, getting closer to her, close enough to smell her perfume—not the cheap kind, but the expensive kind, faint, like some unknown flower.

She pulled her hand out of her trench coat pocket, empty, but it was a large hand with distinct knuckles, and her nails were neatly manicured and coated with clear nail polish.

"Little friend, don't be afraid. I'm not a bad person."

Not a bad person—Chen Xiaoyu had heard this phrase before.

When I was in Beijing.

Chen Xiaoyu stopped.

The blonde woman also stopped, bent over, the painted smile still on her face, but something in her eyes had changed.

The change was very subtle, like a door opening silently, with a sliver of light shining through the crack, a light that was chillingly cold.

Chen Xiaoyu turned around.

He pulled his hand out of the side pocket of his backpack.

The gun was already in his hand; its black body gleamed with a dark metallic sheen in the dim light of the alley.

She held the gun with both hands, raising it in front of her, the muzzle pointed at the blonde woman's chest.

Her brother had taught her—never point a gun at someone unless you decide to shoot.

Once you decide to fire, don't hesitate, don't aim for too long, and pull the trigger as soon as you've aimed.

The blonde woman's eyes widened.

She saw the gun, the small hands holding it, and the little finger resting on the trigger.

Her smile was still frozen on her face, the corners of her mouth still curved upwards, but the door in her eyes was completely open, and cold light poured out from within.

She reached her hand inside her trench coat and touched her waist.

Chen Xiaoyu pulled the trigger.

Bang—the gunshot rang out in the narrow alley, like someone throwing a large stone into a water tank. The sound bounced back and forth between the two walls, causing an open window above to slam shut with a clang, and making the white shirt on the clothesline flutter violently as if blown by the wind.

The blonde woman's body jerked backward, and a burst of blood erupted on her shoulder.

She took two steps back and bumped into the wall, causing the plaster to crumble and fall off.

She looked down at the wound on her shoulder—blood gushed from the black hole, flowing down her dark green trench coat and spreading into a large patch of dark red.

She looked up at the little girl in front of her—

Chen Xiaoyu has already run away.

She ran very fast, and the debris crunched under her feet.

The schoolbag bounced back and forth on my back, and the tin pencil box inside rattled.

Her hair was disheveled, and a pink ribbon fell to the ground, where it was stepped on by her leather shoes and became covered in dust.

The blonde woman leaned against the wall, her hand covering the wound on her shoulder.

Blood gushed from between her fingers and flowed down the back of her hand.

She drew her gun from her waist, pointed it at the retreating figure, and placed her finger on the trigger.

The sound of hurried footsteps came from the alley entrance.

Scorpion led his men in from the alley entrance, charging ahead with MP5 submachine guns in their hands.

He saw Chen Xiaoyu running towards him, saw the still-smoking revolver in her hand, and saw the expressionless look on her face—her eyes staring straight ahead, her lips pressed into a line, like a small stone statue being pushed forward.

He raised his gun.

Chen Xiaoyu ran past him, out of the alley, onto Jordan Road, and into the crowd.

Her figure flickered left and right in the crowd, getting smaller and smaller, farther and farther away, like a small fish swimming upstream.

Soon I was engulfed by the bustling crowd and couldn't see anything anymore.