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

Central, that building with its gray glass curtain wall.

Two in the morning is the quietest time in this city.

The streetlights on Queen's Road were still on, casting a row of lonely spots of orange light on the empty street.

Chen Feng squatted on the roof of the old building opposite, with binoculars set up in front of him, the lens aimed at the entrance to the underground parking lot of the building.

He put away the binoculars, took out the roll of architectural drawings from his storage space, and looked at them again by the dim light coming from the distant streetlights.

He knew the structure of the basement by heart.

The building's load-bearing walls are located at the core of the B2 level, surrounding the entire 32-story building and supporting its weight.

If explosives are placed on those walls, the entire building will collapse like building blocks being removed from the bottom, layer upon layer, and nothing can survive such a collapse.

He put the blueprints away and stood up.

When he went down from the rooftop, he didn't take the stairs.

They climbed over the edge of the roof and slid down the drainpipe.

The building's side entrance is in a narrow alley.

Several garbage cans were piled up at the entrance of the alley, their lids not tightly closed, and a sour, rotten smell, mixed with the stench of urine, was emanating from them.

The light at the entrance is broken; the bulb is shattered, and there's only an empty bulb socket left.

The door lock was a regular pin tumbler lock, nothing special.

He took out a master key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and turned it twice; the latch retracted.

I pushed open the door, slipped inside, and the door closed silently behind me.

The corridor was dark.

He crouched at the corner of the corridor and took out a piece of C4 explosive from his storage space.

It's about the size of a palm, and the detonator and timer are already inserted.

Set the timer to fifteen minutes.

He tucked it into the corner where several thick cables hung down from the ceiling.

C4 is stuck in the gap between the cable and the wall, so it is not visible from the outside.

He stood up and continued walking forward.

The stairwell is at the end of the corridor.

The door was closed, so I pushed it open and went inside.

The stairwell was darker than the corridor, and the sound of water flowing from the pipes overhead could be heard, a soft, whirring sound like some enormous creature breathing in its slumber.

He walked down the stairs.

B1 floor, B2 floor.

Level B2 is a parking garage.

Several black sedans were parked in the parking space, covered with a thin layer of dust, indicating that no one had driven them for a long time.

The air was filled with the smells of gasoline and tire rubber.

He mentally visualized the floor plan of B2, located the load-bearing wall, and strode over to it.

Those walls were made of concrete, thick and heavy, supporting the entire weight of the thirty-two floors above.

He took out twelve pieces of C4 explosive from his storage space and lined them up in a row.

One piece, two pieces, three pieces—he glued them one by one to the load-bearing wall.

The spacing between each piece is precisely calculated to ensure that the shock waves from the explosion can overlap rather than cancel each other out.

The timer is set to ten minutes, and it will explode when the ten minutes are up.

Once these walls are blown up, the entire building will be like having its bones removed from its foundation, leaving it no room to struggle.

He planted explosives in key locations on every floor, including stairwells, elevator shafts, and ventilation ducts.

Stairwells are essential routes for evacuation; if they are blown up, people upstairs won't be able to get down, and people downstairs won't be able to get up.

If the elevator shaft explodes, the elevator car will fall from the 30th floor, like an iron coffin.

If the ventilation ducts explode, thick smoke and toxic fumes will fill every room.

Thirty pieces of C4 explosive, each with its own place.

He set different time limits for each location—ten minutes, fifteen minutes, and twenty minutes.

This way, the pieces aren't fried all at once, but one after another.

The first bomb blew open a gap, the second bomb blew in, the third bomb blew to the core, the fourth, fifth, and sixth bombs—turning the entire floor into ruins.

This way, the people inside won't have any time to react.

He stuck the last piece of explosive to the load-bearing column at the underground parking lot exit, confirmed that the timer was running, then stood up and glanced at the exit on level B2.

The exit passage connects to the road outside.

He took out three sensor mines from his spatial storage and squatted down to place them in the passageway.

Place one piece in the middle and two pieces on either side.

Pressing the button on the side caused the mine to emit a faint beep, the indicator light to flash once, and then go out.

Anyone who passes by here will trigger this event.

The combined power of three landmines is enough to blow an armored vehicle to pieces.

He stood up and walked back the way he came.

Stairwell, B1 floor, first floor.

He pushed open the door and walked into the corridor. He stopped at the side door, took a cigarette out of his pocket, put it in his mouth, lit it, and took a deep drag.

He opened the side door, and the night wind rushed in from the alley, carrying the salty, fishy smell of the sea and the sour stench of garbage cans. He went outside.

The door closed behind me.

The pile of trash cans at the alley entrance was still there, but the lids weren't closed properly, and the sour, rotten smell emanating from them was even stronger than before.

A stray cat was perched on the lid of a trash can, its green eyes shining in the darkness. When it saw him come out, it jumped off the lid and ran away.

He crossed the road, walked to the old building on the other side, grabbed the drainpipe, and climbed up.

Climb to the rooftop, climb over the edge, and stand on the edge of the rooftop.

2:30 a.m.

The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a soft white light on the rooftop.

He took out a telescope from his spatial storage, set it up on the edge of the rooftop, and aimed the lens at the building opposite.

The building still stands there, its gray glass curtain wall gleaming with a dim, cold light under the moonlight.

The wall lamp by the door was still on, its orange light illuminating the tightly closed revolving door.

But he knew that things wouldn't stay normal for long.

He took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke rising in the moonlight.

He looked at the building across the street.

The first explosive charge is timed for ten minutes.

There are less than eight minutes left.

Chen Feng took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked off the ash.

The cigarette ash drifted in the night wind, like a flock of grayish-white butterflies, flashing briefly in the moonlight before disappearing.

He looked at the building across the street, his face expressionless.

The countdown is still going on.

Seven minutes.

He sat down against the parapet at the edge of the roof, his legs dangling in the air, his feet gently swaying dozens of meters above the ground.

The night breeze from Southeast Asia carries the salty smell of the sea and the coolness of early autumn.

On the distant sea, the sidelights of several cargo ships shone in the darkness, like a few low-hanging stars.

He pulled an old pocket watch from his pocket; its brass case was polished to a shine.

The second hand on the watch face ticked away, slowly and steadily, like a human heartbeat.

He stared at the second hand for a few seconds, then closed the pocket watch and put it in his pocket.

He mentally calculated the height—the building's design overemphasized space utilization; if he used C4 to blow up several key load-bearing points, the entire building would collapse like dominoes.

He put the cigarette back in his mouth, took one last drag, and the embers glowed briefly before going out.

He flicked the cigarette butt away, and it traced an arc in the air.

He watched it fall, getting smaller and smaller, until it became an invisible black dot.