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

He wasn't short of money for the time being. But he knew very well that money and certificates from China were basically worthless once they left the country.

To establish a foothold overseas, one must have hard currency—gold or the US dollar.

The US dollar is too difficult to deal with, so gold is a relatively realistic option.

Moreover, in port cities like Tianjin, where smuggling and black market transactions are active, privately exchanging or buying gold, although illegal, is a relatively "regular" business in the black market and is unlikely to attract excessive attention.

He walked to a grocery store in the middle of the alley that looked relatively "proper".

The shop had a relatively wide storefront, with shelves displaying daily necessities such as cigarettes, matches, soap, needles and thread. Behind the counter sat an old man wearing reading glasses, fiddling with an abacus.

The old man looked to be in his sixties, with deep wrinkles on his face and cloudy eyes that occasionally flashed with a sharp glint, unlike an ordinary street vendor.

Chen Feng went inside.

The shop was filled with the smell of stale tobacco and dust.

The old man looked up, glanced at him through his reading glasses, said nothing, and continued fiddling with the abacus.

"Boss, do you have Daqianmen?" Chen Feng asked in a calm voice, speaking in Mandarin with a slight Northeastern accent—this was part of his disguise.

The old man didn't even look up: "No, but I have Hengda. Want some?"

"Three packs, please." Chen Feng took out the money and placed it on the counter.

The old man then stopped what he was doing, slowly got up, took out three crumpled packs of Hengda brand cigarettes from the top of the shelf, threw them on the counter, picked up the money, looked at it in the kerosene lamp, and then opened the drawer to make change.

Chen Feng took the change and cigarettes, but didn't leave immediately. He opened a pack, took out a cigarette, lit it in front of the kerosene lamp on the counter, and took a deep drag. The pungent taste of the cheap tobacco hit his throat. He coughed twice, as if he had choked.

"Boss, this cigarette of yours... it's strong enough," he said, frowning.

The old man glanced at him but didn't reply.

"Boss," Chen Feng lowered his voice, leaning forward slightly as if making small talk, "I have something to ask you. I have a relative in the south... Hong Kong, who wants to send some things over recently. He asked me to see if I could exchange them for some... 'yellow goods'."

"Gold" is a euphemism used on the black market to refer to gold.

The old man's fingers, which were manipulating the abacus, paused slightly. He raised his eyelids and looked Chen Feng over carefully once more. This time, his gaze held a hint of scrutiny and wariness.

"Your relative? From Hong Kong?" The old man's voice was hoarse and dry. "What kind of business do they do?"

"I'm a sailor, it's a small business." Chen Feng exhaled a puff of smoke, trying to sound casual. "Well, the price of 'yellow goods' over there isn't as good as here, so I'm trying to make some profit. I don't know much about this, so I'm just asking around."

The old man remained silent for a while, seemingly trying to determine the truthfulness of Chen Feng's words. In black market transactions, especially those involving sensitive items like gold and foreign currency, the most taboo things are those with unclear origins and ambiguous intentions.

"I only sell tobacco, alcohol, and groceries here," the old man said slowly, his gaze returning to the abacus. "I don't understand what you mean by 'yellow goods'."

This is a typical example of making excuses and testing the waters.

Chen Feng wasn't in a hurry. He took out two ten-yuan bills from his pocket, gently placed them on the counter, and pushed them towards the old man: "Boss, please help me out. Just give me some pointers. I know the rules, and I won't cause you any trouble."

The old man's eyelids twitched as he looked at the two crisp banknotes. Twenty yuan—in this small grocery store, it might take several days of selling goods to earn that much.

He hesitated for a few seconds, then discreetly swept the banknotes into the counter drawer before lowering his voice: "Go out the door, turn right, walk to the end, there's a 'Fuhai Teahouse.' Go inside and find the owner, just say 'Old Abacus' sent you, wanting some 'Tieguanyin' tea. Remember, only talk to the owner, don't talk to anyone else."

"Fuhai Teahouse? Tieguanyin?" Chen Feng noted it down.

"Hmm," the old man nodded, said no more, and started fiddling with the abacus again, as if the conversation had never happened.

Knowing he couldn't get any more information, Chen Feng thanked him and turned to leave the grocery store.

Following "Old Abacus's" instructions, he turned right and walked to the end of the alley. It was even darker there, with only one shop still lit up, its door adorned with a tattered lantern bearing the faded red characters "Fu Hai." The curtain hung low, and faint sounds of mahjong tiles and conversation drifted from inside.

Chen Feng lifted the curtain and went inside.

The interior was slightly larger than the exterior, with six or seven square tables, most of which were empty except for one at the very back where four people were playing mahjong, the air thick with smoke. Behind the counter sat a chubby, smiling middle-aged man, reading a newspaper by the light. Seeing Chen Feng enter, he raised his eyelids, his professional smile unchanged: "Comrade, would you like some tea? How many?"

"One," Chen Feng walked to the counter, looking calmly at the portly shopkeeper, "Boss, do you have 'Tieguanyin' tea?"

The portly shopkeeper's smile faltered slightly, a barely perceptible glint of shrewdness flashing in his eyes. He put down his newspaper, sized Chen Feng up and down, his smile unchanged: "Yes, we do have some, but this year's new tea hasn't arrived yet. We only have last year's tea, which isn't as good. Would you like some, comrade?"

"Old tea is fine too, as long as it quenches my thirst," Chen Feng replied, following the usual procedure for black market meetings.

The code was matched.

The portly shopkeeper's smile became more genuine as he emerged from behind the counter: "Chen's tea is in the back warehouse. Comrade, would you like to come and pick some out with me?"

Chen Feng nodded and followed the fat boss through a small door with a curtain hanging on it, into a narrow corridor behind. At the end of the corridor was a wooden door, which the fat boss took out a key and opened.

Behind the door was a small room, more like a makeshift office and warehouse. Tea boxes and miscellaneous items were piled against the wall, and in the middle stood an old desk and two chairs. The room had no windows, only a single incandescent bulb casting a dim, yellowish light.

The portly boss closed the door, his smile vanishing, replaced by a businessman's shrewdness and caution: "Introduced by 'Old Abacus'? A new face. What's your name, comrade? Which ship are you on?"

Chen Feng knew this was a trap, and he was prepared: "His surname is Wang. He works with fishing boats in Liaoning Province. His boat is currently undergoing maintenance in Tianjin Port. He's asking around for a relative in Hong Kong."

"Relatives in Hong Kong?" The portly boss narrowed his eyes. "What do you want to know?"

"I'd like to trade in some 'yellow goods'," Chen Feng said bluntly. "The quantity doesn't need to be too large, just that the quality is good and the color is good. The price is negotiable."

The portly boss didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked behind his desk, sat down, lit a cigarette, and slowly took a drag: "'Sex goods'...it's tough these days, not easy to get. The police are cracking down hard, and the supply is scarce."

This is the prelude to bargaining and testing the waters.

"That's why I sought out someone as discerning as you, boss," Chen Feng said calmly, pulling up a chair to sit down. "Price isn't an issue. As long as the products are good and the connections are secure."

The fat boss took another drag of his cigarette, peering at Chen Feng through the smoke.