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

A strange odor, a mixture of burnt smells and the scent of incense, permeated the courtyard.

Four thin-skinned coffins stood side by side in the open space of the central courtyard, their dark woods glaringly conspicuous in the pale sunlight. Jia Zhangshi's coffin was particularly large—in reality, it didn't hold much of the body's remains, mostly just charred bone fragments and ashes. But according to custom, the body had to be presented with dignity, so a white cloth was laid at the bottom, and a few larger pieces of bone were symbolically placed on it.

Liu Guangfu's and Yan Jiefang's coffins lay side by side. The two young men, one twenty-three and the other nineteen, should have been at the age of settling down and starting families, but now they lay in cold coffins. The coffin of their neighbor, surnamed Li, was placed at the very edge. He was unlucky; he had only gone to help put out the fire but bumped into Chen Feng.

The scene in the courtyard was eerie and desolate.

The Jia family was wiped out. Qin Huairu, Jia Dongxu, and Jia Zhangshi—all three were dead. Only Banggeng remained. Jia Zhangshi's funeral was handled by the neighborhood committee—although Director Wang was dead, the newly arrived neighborhood officials dared not neglect the matter; after all, four people had died overnight, and the consequences would be dire. The neighborhood committee contributed some money to buy a coffin and burial clothes, and also found two elderly women from the community to help change Jia Zhangshi's clothes—actually, there wasn't much to change; given how badly she was burned, they could only symbolically cover her with a white cloth.

The Liu and Yan families are in a slightly better situation, but only "slightly".

Aunt Erda had fainted three times from crying. She sat beside Liu Guangfu's coffin, her eyes swollen like peaches, her voice hoarse and unable to speak. Liu Haizhong was dead, Liu Guangtian was dead, Liu Guangqi was dead, and now even the youngest, Liu Guangfu, was gone. Of the five family members, four were dead, leaving only her as a widow. Two of her brothers and a sister-in-law came from her maternal family to help with the funeral arrangements, but their faces were also filled with sorrow and grief.

"Sister, after the funeral, you should move back to your parents' house," the second aunt's brother said in a low voice. "This courtyard is no longer safe to stay in; it's eerie."

The second aunt nodded blankly, then shook her head: "Move back...where will we live? There are only two rooms in the house, will your sister-in-law agree?"

Her brother fell silent. Yes, no family is well-off; what wife would be happy to have an extra mouth to feed?

The situation wasn't much better for the Third Aunt. Yan Bugui was dead, Yan Jiecheng was dead, and Yan Jiefang was dead. She had only one son, Yan Jiekuang, and one daughter, Yan Jiedi. A few people from the Third Aunt's family came, but they were all distant relatives. They could help, but providing financial assistance was difficult.

"Auntie, please accept my condolences," a neighbor said, handing her a bowl of porridge. "Eat something, don't ruin your health."

The old woman took the bowl, her hands trembling so badly that half the porridge spilled. Looking at the thin rice water in the bowl, she suddenly burst into tears, crying, "My son…!"

The wailing was so intense that it sent chills down the spines of those around her.

The first woman remained relatively calm, but her face was frighteningly pale. She helped with the funeral arrangements, poured water for the second and third women, arranged meals for relatives, and contacted the funeral home—although cremation is now encouraged, the elderly people in the compound still insisted on burial, so they needed to find a place to be buried.

"Auntie, when will this ever end?" a middle-aged woman asked in a low voice as she approached.

An older woman glanced at her. The woman was one of the people who pooled their money to hire someone. Her husband had participated in giving false testimony, and now she lived in constant fear that Chen Feng would come knocking on her door.

"Who knows?" an older woman sighed. "The police said they would protect us."

"Protection?" The woman gave a bitter smile. "When Brother Li died last night, weren't the police also standing guard outside? Did it do any good?"

The older woman fell silent. "Yeah, is it even useful? Chen Feng is like a ghost, appearing and disappearing without a trace, killing whoever he wants; there's no way to defend against him."

At the entrance to the courtyard, two policemen leaned against the wall, smoking, their faces grim. They were ordered to protect the place, but they knew in their hearts that if Chen Feng really came, the two of them wouldn't stand a chance. Four people had died last night, and today there were four coffins in the courtyard; the pressure was immense.

"Team Leader Zhang said to increase patrols and send a few more people tonight," the younger one said.

"What's the use of sending a few more people?" The older policeman exhaled a smoke ring. "Chen Feng knows this place like his own backyard. He has plenty of ways to get in. Unless we fence off the whole area and have guards on duty 24 hours a day."

"How many people would that require?"

"At least one class."

Neither of them spoke. Police resources are stretched thin right now; it's simply unrealistic to allocate an entire squad of officers to this one compound.

"We can only hope they catch him soon."

"How can we catch them? We can't even find a trace of them."

Just then, a few people came in, carrying a large pot and several bamboo baskets. They were hired by the neighborhood committee to help with the funeral meal. According to custom, meals must be provided at funerals, and all the relatives and neighbors who come to help should have a bite to eat.

The pot was set up, the fire was lit, and wisps of smoke rose. The courtyard gradually came to life—or rather, to have the presence of living people. But the busy figures moving about and the hushed conversations all carried an air of repression and fear.

Everyone was stealing glances at the four coffins, wondering in their hearts: who will be next?

Meanwhile, in the western shantytown.

Despite the excruciating pain in his right shoulder, Chen Feng made his way through the narrow alleyway. He had changed into tattered clothes and put on a worn-out straw hat, the brim pulled low, obscuring most of his face. On his back was a tattered cloth bag containing a few cornbread buns and some pickled vegetables—something he planned to bring when he found his sister.

The shantytown remained unchanged: dilapidated, crowded, and chaotic. Low shacks were crammed together, alleyways were so narrow that only one person could pass at a time, sewage flowed across the ground, and the air was filled with the stench of mold and rotting garbage.

But today, Chen Feng sensed that the atmosphere was somewhat different.

At this time of day, the shantytown would usually be bustling with activity—children crying, adults yelling, pots and pans clattering. But today, it's unusually quiet. Occasionally, a few figures can be seen, but they all hurry past, heads down, avoiding eye contact.

Chen Feng became alert and reached for his waist—the gun was there, wrapped in cloth and tucked into his waistband.

He walked to the shack where the old woman from the black market lived; the door was ajar. He knocked, but there was no response.

"Old lady?" he called softly.

Still no sound.

Chen Feng pushed open the door; the room was empty, not a soul in sight. The bedding on the kang (heated brick bed) was neatly folded, the stove was cold, and the water vat was only half full.

The person is gone? When did they leave? Why did they leave?

Chen Feng's heart sank. The old lady was one of the few people he could trust in this city, and now that even she was gone, it meant that the situation was really bad.

He walked around the room, and just as he was about to leave, he suddenly heard footsteps outside.

It was very light, but very dense; there was more than one person.

Chen Feng immediately slipped behind the door and peered out through the crack. Three men were walking down the alley, dressed in ordinary clothes, but they walked cautiously, their eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

It's not the police. Police officers don't walk like that.

Who was that? A hired assassin? Or...?

Chen Feng held his breath and waited for the three men to pass by. They seemed to be looking for something, going from house to house, but they didn't knock on the doors; they just peeked through the windows.

Once they were out of sight, Chen Feng quietly slipped out of the shack and wandered into another alley. He had to leave quickly; the shantytown was no longer safe.

He retraced his steps, but walked very carefully, constantly aware of his surroundings. The wound on his right shoulder began to hurt again, each step feeling like a needle prick. The wound on his back was also inflamed, and he could feel his body temperature rising.

I need to find medicine. I also need to exchange money.

Chen Feng remembered the deaf old woman's bankbook. Two thousand three hundred yuan was deposited in the bank. It was impossible to withdraw it; the police had surely notified all the banks, and would call the police as soon as someone tried to withdraw the money.

But the black market has a way. Some people specialize in this business—exchanging bankbooks for cash, offering discounts of 50% or even 70%, and they have connections to withdraw the money.

Chen Feng knew of a place near the old freight yard in the north of the city, where there was an underground bank. He had heard about it from his coworkers when he worked at the steel rolling mill.

He decided to give it a try.

To get from the shantytown to the north of the city, one has to cross most of the city. Chen Feng dared not take a car and could only walk. He deliberately chose to walk through alleys, avoiding main roads and crowded places.

The journey was arduous. His wounds ached, his fever made him dizzy, and he was hungry—he had only eaten one cold cornbread since morning.

Halfway there, he stopped to rest in a public restroom and drank some cold water from the tap. The person in the mirror was deathly pale, with bloodshot eyes and chapped lips, looking like a ghost.

Chen Feng washed his face, forcing himself to stay awake. He couldn't collapse; if he did, everything would be over.

He continued walking. Around 3 p.m., he finally arrived at the old freight yard in the north of the city.

This used to be a railway freight yard, but it was later abandoned and became a no-man's-land. There are dilapidated warehouses, empty spaces piled with garbage, rusted railway tracks, and a few crumbling brick houses.

The underground bank was located in one of the brick buildings. It looked ordinary from the outside, but there were two guards at the door, their eyes wary.

As Chen Feng walked over, the two men immediately fixed their gaze on him.

"Who are you looking for?" one of them asked.

"Sixth Brother," Chen Feng said, referring to the code his coworker had given him.

The man sized Chen Feng up and down a few times: "What is it?"

"Exchange money."

"Come in."

Chen Feng followed him into the house. The room was dark, with only a kerosene lamp. Behind a broken table sat a thin, middle-aged man wearing reading glasses, looking at an account book.

"Sixth Brother, someone's exchanging money," the man leading the way said.

The sixth brother looked up at Chen Feng and asked, "What money?"

"The bankbook," Chen Feng said, taking the deaf old woman's bankbook out of his pocket and placing it on the table.

The sixth man picked up the passbook and held it up to the light to examine it closely. When he saw the number, he raised an eyebrow: "Two thousand three, that's quite a lot. Where did it come from?"

"Don't worry about that," Chen Feng said. "How much can we get in exchange?"

Old Liu put down the passbook and leaned back in his chair: "This money is too hot to handle. The entire city's police are watching the deaf old lady's passbook. It's too risky to withdraw it."

"So how much can you exchange?"

"Three-fold discount".

"Too little," Chen Feng shook his head. "At least fold it in half."

"A 30% discount?" Old Liu laughed. "Young man, do you know what the situation is like now? How many connections would I have to pull to get this money? How much risk would I have to take? A 30% discount is already very high."

Chen Feng remained silent for a moment. He knew Lao Liu was right; this money was indeed a hot potato. But at a 30% discount, it was only 690 yuan, which was far too little.

"Four times the price," he said.

The sixth brother thought for a moment: "40% off, 920. But I'll have to wait three days, I need to make arrangements."

"It's been too long, I need the money now."

"Then I'll give you a 30% discount. I can give you some now, and the rest in a couple of days."

Chen Feng gritted his teeth: "Okay."

The sixth brother took out a wad of cash from the drawer, counted out three hundred yuan, and handed it to Chen Feng: "Here's some for you. You can give me the rest when I get the rest of the money. Leave me an address, and I'll have someone come find you."

"No need, I'll come and pick it up myself in a couple of days."

The sixth man glanced at him but said nothing more: "Fine, come back here at this time in three days to collect the rest of the money."

Chen Feng took the money, stuffed it into his pocket, and turned to leave.

Once outside, he hurried away from the freight yard. Three hundred yuan wasn't much, but it would last him a while. He could buy medicine, food, and maybe even a train ticket—if he really wanted to go to the countryside to find Xiaoyu.

But before that, he had other things to do.

The four coffins in the courtyard, the weeping and wailing people, the enemies who miraculously survived...

Not a single one can be left alive.

Chen Feng touched the gun at his waist, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

Night is about to fall. Whose death anniversary will it be this new night?