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

The fire was extinguished at around 4 a.m.

When the fire department arrived, Jia Zhangshi's house was burned down to a mere shell. The charred beams and pillars leaned precariously, billowing thick smoke, and the air was filled with the acrid smell of burnt wood and kerosene. The walls, licked by flames, were blackened, resembling grotesque ghost faces.

When Jia Zhangshi's body was pulled from the ruins, it was burned beyond recognition. Curled up in a ball, a blackened blob, its head and feet indistinguishable. Only from the remaining fragments of clothing and a few pieces of burnt jewelry could one barely identify her as the cunning old woman.

"It's kerosene," the firefighters said, frowning. "There are traces of kerosene spilled on the walls and windows. It's arson."

Meanwhile, the horrific scene at Liu Guangfu's home in the Intermediate People's Court was also discovered. Liu Guangfu and Yan Jiefang lay side by side on the bed, their blankets and sheets soaked in blood, which had already congealed and turned black. Liu Guangfu had three bloody holes in his chest, and Yan Jiefang's neck had been mostly slashed open. Both men lay dead with their eyes wide open, their faces filled with rage. There were no obvious signs of a struggle in the room; the murderer had struck them while they were asleep, cleanly and swiftly.

On the passageway from the front yard to the middle yard, there was still a corpse lying there—a middle-aged man surnamed Li, whose throat had been slit open with a sharp blade, blood flowing all over the ground, and the shovel in his hand rolled to the side.

Four lives lost overnight.

Those still alive in the courtyard huddled in the open space of the central courtyard, their shock unresolved. The older women huddled together, trembling, while the children were too frightened to even cry. Several men, armed, cautiously scanned their surroundings, their hands shaking. Everyone was deathly pale, their eyes filled with extreme terror—not fear of death itself, but fear of this kind of death, silent and utterly unexpected.

The police arrived just as dawn was breaking.

Three jeeps, a dozen or so police officers, led by Officer Zhang, entered the courtyard with a furrowed brow that could trap a fly. The scene before him was worse than he had anticipated—charred ruins, four corpses, and a group of survivors who were as frightened as startled birds.

"Who discovered it first?" Zhang Gong'an asked, his voice weary.

"I...I discovered it," a middle-aged woman said in a trembling voice, "I got up to relieve myself and saw flames in the backyard, so I called for help...then everyone went to put out the fire, and Brother Li went back inside to get some things, and...he never came out again..."

"Where's Chen Feng? Has anyone seen him?"

"I saw...I saw it," said another man who had helped put out the fire last night. "When the fire was raging, I saw a figure climb over the wall from the backyard. He looked...he looked like Chen Feng. Then Brother Li shouted 'Chen Feng,' and...he collapsed."

"Are you sure you saw it clearly? Are you sure it's Chen Feng?"

"It's too dark, and the fire is too bright, I can't see very clearly," the man hesitated for a moment, "but the figure is similar, and the movements are similar too."

Officer Zhang didn't press the matter further. He knew that eyewitness accounts from such situations were not very reliable. People are prone to making assumptions when they are in a state of extreme fear.

He first inspected the fire scene. The fire department had already conducted a preliminary investigation: "The fire started on the exterior wall and windows, where kerosene was poured and then lit with a match. The door was bolted from the inside; the deceased was likely awakened by the thick smoke but didn't have time to escape."

"Where does the kerosene come from?"

"I don't know, further investigation is needed."

Officer Zhang arrived at Liu Guangfu's house again. The house reeked of blood. The forensic doctor was examining the body.

"The time of death was probably between 2 and 3 a.m.," the forensic doctor said. "Liu Guangfu had three stab wounds to his chest, the fatal one being to his heart. Yan Jiefang's neck was slashed, and his carotid artery was severed. Both died at the scene. Judging from the shape of the wounds, the murder weapon was likely the same dagger, with a very sharp blade."

"Were there any signs of resistance?"

"Almost none. Both of them were killed in their sleep, possibly without even waking up."

Looking at the two young corpses on the bed, Zhang Gong'an felt a surge of complex emotions. Liu Guangfu was in his early twenties, and Yan Jiefang was only nineteen, both just beginning their lives. Yet, they died so mysteriously.

But what chilled him even more was the killer's ruthlessness and efficiency. They infiltrated under cover of night, first setting fires to create chaos, then taking advantage of the confusion to kill with a single, swift blow. This method went beyond ordinary revenge; it was more like… a purge.

Chen Feng was clearing out the entire courtyard house.

Starting with Qin Huairu, then Jia Dongxu, then Yi Zhonghai, then Yan Bugui, then Liu Haizhong, and now it's Liu Guangfu and Yan Jiefang's turn, along with Jia Zhangshi. All those who participated in framing him and causing his family's ruin are dying one after another.

Who's left? There's an older woman, a second older woman, a third older woman, and a few middle-aged people who contributed money but didn't participate directly.

These people probably won't live much longer either.

Officer Zhang felt a wave of powerlessness. He'd been catching fugitives for so many years, and he'd never encountered an opponent like this. It wasn't cunning, nor was it cruelty, but rather a kind of… obsession. An obsession that wouldn't rest until all enemies were killed. This obsession sustained Chen Feng, turning him into a tireless killing machine.

"Captain Zhang," a young police officer approached, "we've questioned all the survivors, and their accounts are basically consistent—around 2 a.m. last night, a fire broke out in the backyard, and everyone went to put it out. In the chaos, someone saw a figure resembling Chen Feng, and a man surnamed Li shouted before being killed. But no one saw Chen Feng do it, and no one saw how he got in or out."

"What about the joint defense team?" Zhang Gong'an asked, even though he knew the chances were slim.

"The joint defense team sentry at the entrance of the alley said they did not see any suspicious persons entering or leaving."

As expected. Chen Feng knows this place too well; he knows how to avoid all the eyes and ears.

"Expand the search area," Zhang Gong'an ordered. "Search all possible hiding places within a two-kilometer radius of the courtyard house. Pay special attention to abandoned buildings, basements, and air-raid shelters."

"yes!"

"In addition," Officer Zhang added, "we have notified all police stations to conduct thorough investigations of all rental properties, hotels, and guesthouses within their jurisdictions, starting today, to check for any suspicious individuals who have recently checked in. Chen Feng is injured and needs medication and treatment; he may go to a clinic or pharmacy."

"clear."

The police officers obeyed and left. Officer Zhang stood in the courtyard, looking at the survivors. Their eyes were empty, their expressions numb, like a flock of lambs waiting to be slaughtered.

He knew that protecting these people was nearly impossible. Chen Feng was in the shadows, while they were in the open. Chen Feng had enough time and patience to wait for them to relax their guard and become isolated.

Unless... Chen Feng can be caught. Or, Chen Feng stops on his own.

But will Chen Feng stop? He's killed so many people, his hands are stained with blood, can he turn back?

Officer Zhang was unaware of this. All he knew was that it had to end this as soon as possible. Otherwise, this courtyard house might truly be wiped out.

A small Western-style building in the west of the city, with a basement.

Chen Feng sat on a broken chair, tending to his wounds by the dim light of a kerosene lamp.

The basement was cluttered with junk—empty bottles, old furniture, broken picture frames, and several dusty wooden crates. There was a musty, dusty smell in the air, but it was quiet and safe.

He found several bottles of liquor in a wooden crate; the labels were faded, but the liquor was still clear. He opened one bottle, smelled it, and detected a strong odor of alcohol. Perfect, he could use it for disinfection.

The wound on my right shoulder reopened, and the blood soaked through the gauze. The knife wound on my back also started to become inflamed, with red and swollen edges that hurt when touched.

Chen Feng gritted his teeth and poured some wine onto his wound.

"hiss--"

The intense pain from the alcohol irritating his wound made him gasp, cold sweat instantly beading on his forehead. But he gritted his teeth and cleaned it meticulously, bit by bit. Some of the skin and flesh around the wound was already necrotic and needed to be removed. He heated the dagger over a kerosene lamp and then carefully scraped away the necrotic tissue.

Each scrape made him tremble with pain. But he didn't utter a sound, only beads of sweat dripping from his forehead.

After treating the wound, he reapplied the anti-inflammatory powder and bandaged it with a clean cloth. The whole process lasted more than half an hour. By the end, he was soaked through, as if he had been pulled out of the water.

He leaned back in his chair, panting heavily, slowly calming his breathing. Then he picked up the bottle of liquor, tilted his head back, and took a large gulp.

The liquor was strong, burning my throat, but a warm feeling spread from my stomach, dispelling some of the pain and chill.

He needed rest and to replenish his strength. Last night's battle had taken a heavy toll. He killed four people, set a fire, and was almost surrounded. If he hadn't been familiar with the terrain and able to run fast, he might have been killed there.

But it was worth it. Liu Guangfu died, Yan Jiefang died, and Jia Zhangshi burned to death. These three people who most wanted revenge on him and who wanted to use Xiaoyu as bait were all dead.

Who's left? There's the first aunt, the second aunt, the third aunt, and a few minor characters.

These people are nothing to worry about. They should be terrified by now, too scared to even seek revenge.

But Chen Feng had no intention of letting them go. Not a single one could be spared. Everyone involved in causing his family's ruin and death had to die.

But there's no rush. He needs to recover from his injuries, replenish his supplies, and... continue searching for Xiaoyu.

There was no sign of her at the orphanage, no clue in the shantytown, and she didn't appear by the moat either. Where is Xiaoyu?

Chen Feng took another swig of wine, the alcohol making his thoughts drift. He remembered playing with Xiaoyu by the moat when he was a child. In summer, the river was clear, and you could see small fish swimming around. Xiaoyu always ran barefoot along the water's edge, the splashes of water sparkling in the sunlight.

"Brother, look, I caught a fish!" She held up a small fish the size of her palm, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons with laughter.

"Put it back quickly, the fish will die if it leaves the water."

"Oh..." Xiaoyu obediently put the fish back into the water, watched it swim away, and then looked up and asked, "Brother, the fish's home is in the water, where is our home?"

"Our home is in a courtyard house."

"But the courtyard house is too small. I want to live in a big house, the kind with a garden."

"When your older brother grows up and earns money, he'll buy you a big house to live in."

"Really?"

"real."

Now, he lives in a big house—a three-story villa with a garden, much larger than a traditional courtyard house, which was seized. But Xiaoyu is gone.

Promises became empty words, and homes became ruins.

Chen Feng closed his eyes, tears streaming silently down his face. The alcohol amplified his emotions; the long-suppressed sadness, anger, and despair surged up like a tidal wave, almost overwhelming him.

He killed so many people, his hands were stained with blood. But he couldn't save his parents, and he couldn't find his sister.

His parents are dead, his sister is missing, and his enemies are almost all gone. Once the last enemy falls, what reason will he have to live?

But this thought only lasted a moment before Chen Feng forcibly suppressed it. No. Xiaoyu might still be alive; he had to find her. Even if she was dead, he would find her body and bury her with his parents.

He cannot die before that.

Chen Feng wiped away his tears and took another gulp of liquor. The alcohol made him dizzy, but his heart grew colder. He pulled out his Type 54 pistol from his pocket and placed it on the table. The gun was cold, its metallic sheen gleaming in the kerosene lamplight.

There were about a hundred people. First auntie, second auntie, third auntie… everyone involved…

Then, focus on finding Xiaoyu.

He figured they were probably all gathered together now, protected by the police, making it difficult to make a move. He had to wait, wait for them to relax, wait for them to be alone.

Perhaps the same method could be used—arson, create chaos, and kill in the confusion.

As Chen Feng was thinking, he suddenly heard the sound of a car outside.

His heart tightened, and he immediately blew out the kerosene lamp, groped his way to the basement ventilation opening, and looked out through the crack.

A jeep pulled up in front of the villa, and two men in uniform got out. One was older, and the other was younger. They walked to the gate, looked at the seal on the door, and then walked around the building.

They've come for another inspection. This is the third time in the last few days.

Chen Feng held his breath and remained motionless. The basement was well-hidden, the entrance concealed behind a wine rack, and generally wouldn't be discovered. But what if they came in to inspect?

The two men exchanged a few words outside, and the younger one took out a notebook and jotted something down. Then they got back into the car and drove away.

It was a false alarm.

Chen Feng breathed a sigh of relief, but became even more vigilant. This meant that the police were expanding their investigation, even scrutinizing properties that had been seized. He couldn't stay here indefinitely; he would be discovered sooner or later.

We need to find another place.

But where to go? The city is swarming with eyes everywhere, and the outskirts aren't safe either. Those hired thugs might still be looking for him, and the police are conducting a city-wide manhunt.

Chen Feng remembered the deaf old woman's bankbook. It contained over two thousand yuan. Although he couldn't withdraw it, perhaps there were other ways. For example, he could find someone on the black market and exchange the bankbook for cash, even if it was a partial transaction.

Yes, that's one way. With the money, he can leave here and go find Xiaoyu somewhere else, or... find a place to hide and wait for things to calm down.

He decided to go to the black market tomorrow to see if he could exchange his passbook for cash.

But now, he needs to rest.

Chen Feng returned to the broken chair and relit the kerosene lamp. He took out some food from his bag—a few cold steamed buns and some pickled vegetables—and ate them slowly with cold water.

After finishing his meal, he lay down on a tattered sofa next to him, covered himself with an old overcoat, and closed his eyes.

The basement was cold and damp, but it was safe.

He fell asleep quickly, but his sleep was restless. His dream was filled with blood and fire, and he heard Xiaoyu calling "Brother" in the distance.

The night was very deep.

In a courtyard house on the other side of the city, the survivors gathered together, none of them daring to sleep.

The police sent two officers to stay behind for protection, but everyone knew that if Chen Feng really came, these two officers wouldn't be able to stop him at all.

"Let's...let's move away," the third woman cried. "We can't stay in this yard anymore. If we stay any longer, we'll all die."

"Move? Where to?" The second auntie gave a bitter smile. "My job is here, my home is here, where can I go?"

"Is life more important or work?" an older woman said. "Old Yi is gone, Dongxu is gone, Guangtian is gone, and now Guangfu is gone too... If we don't leave now, we'll be next."

Those words hit a nerve. Yes, if we don't leave now, we really will die.

"But...where will we live if we move out? In a hotel? Where will we get the money?" a middle-aged man asked.

"Let's pool our money," the third aunt said. "Let's chip in and rent a place to live in for now. We'll come back after Chen Feng is arrested."

"Raise money? Where would we get the money?" The second aunt shook her head. "Last time we hired someone, we emptied our savings. Now we're struggling to even eat, let alone afford rent."

Silence filled the room. Yes, they had no money. These past few days, with the cost of hiring hitmen and paying for funerals, every household was barely making ends meet. Now they had to scrape together money for rent—how were they going to do it?

"How about... we apply for subsidies at the neighborhood office?" someone suggested.

"The neighborhood committee?" an older woman sneered. "Director Wang is dead, and the new director doesn't even know us. Why should we get subsidies?"

"Then... what should we do?"

Nobody knows. The road ahead is uncertain, there's nowhere to go, no money to spend, and only death is drawing ever closer.

This kind of despair is more terrifying than death itself.

It was late at night, but no one dared to sleep. Everyone kept their eyes open, listening to any noise outside, and the slightest sound would send shivers down their spines.

When will this kind of life end?

no one knows.

Chen Feng, meanwhile, was lying in the basement of the small villa, not sleeping soundly.

In his dream, he saw Xiaoyu. She stood in a firelight, waving to him and smiling, saying, "Brother, come quickly."

He ran towards it, but he couldn't reach it. The fire grew bigger and bigger, engulfing Xiaoyu.

"Xiaoyu!" he shouted, startled awake.

The basement was pitch black, with only a kerosene lamp burning, its flame flickering.

Chen Feng sat up and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. Another nightmare.

But this time, he noticed a detail—in his dream, Xiaoyu was wearing that floral cotton-padded jacket, with a red string around her neck and a small stone strung on it. He had picked it up by the river when he was a child and given it to Xiaoyu as a birthday present. Xiaoyu loved it and always wore it.

If Xiaoyu were still alive, she would still be wearing that red string.

Perhaps... we can use this as a clue in our search.

Chen Feng lay back down, but couldn't fall asleep again. He stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Tomorrow, I'll go to the black market to exchange money, buy medicine, and replenish supplies.

Then, continue searching for Xiaoyu.

And... kill the rest of them.

Blood debts must be repaid in blood.

Not a single one will be left.