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

The night was as deep as spilled ink, so thick it couldn't be dissolved.

On the edge of the old western district of Tianjin Port City, there is a long-abandoned area of ​​low-rise houses awaiting demolition.

The crumbling walls and ruins, silhouetted against the pale moonlight, and the broken doors and windows, like empty eyes, indifferently gazed upon this forgotten corner.

The air was filled with the damp, musty smell, the sour stench of rotting garbage, and a deathly, dusty scent unique to ruins.

A few beams of flashlight flickered among the ruins, like a few restless fireflies, tearing through the local darkness, only to be quickly swallowed up by the even darker night.

The beam of light eventually converged in front of a relatively intact red brick house, but the doors and windows were gone.

The house is not big; it may have been a small workshop or warehouse in the past.

The room was empty and covered in a thick layer of dust, with broken furniture and construction debris piled up in the corners.

Six figures stood in the center of the house, forming a loose semicircle.

The leader was a short, stocky middle-aged man with a square face, a bulbous nose, and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the red glow of the cigarette tip flickering in the darkness.

Standing beside him were five henchmen of varying heights and builds, but all of them had menacing eyes and held weapons, some openly and some covertly—machetes, steel pipes, and two of them were even holding old-fashioned hunting rifles with their barrels sawed off, the muzzles of which were pointed menacingly toward the door.

The flashlight beam shone haphazardly on the open space in front of the door, as if waiting for something.

Time passed second by second, and in the ruins, only the howling of the night wind and the faint sound of port whistles could be heard in the distance.

"Damn it, why isn't it here yet?"

A skinny young man, growing impatient, muttered under his breath, "That old bastard Fatty San wouldn't be playing a trick on us, would he?"

"What's the rush?"

The square-faced man at the head of the group exhaled a smoke ring, his voice thick with a Tianjin accent, deep and muffled.

"He can run away, but he can't hide. Fatty San's teahouse is still there; does he dare to try anything funny?"

"Brother, that kid... is he really that fat?"

Another henchman licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with greed.

"Fatty San said he spent over two thousand just on gold bars, he definitely has more on him!"

"Whether it's fat or not, we'll know once we peel off the skin."

The square-faced man sneered.

"After this job, we brothers can live it up for a while. Cheer up, that kid's got guts; he can come up with that much money to buy gold, he's no pushover!"

Just then, very faint footsteps came from outside.

It was steady and light, yet still clearly discernible amidst the silent ruins.

The six men immediately tensed up, their flashlights beaming towards the doorway, and their grip on their weapons tightening.

A figure slowly stepped from the darkness outside the door into the circle of light.

The dark blue overalls were faded from washing and covered in dust.

The hat was pulled down low, covering half of her face.

His steps were unhurried, as if he were strolling leisurely rather than walking into a deadly trap.

It was Chen Feng.

He stopped at the doorway, about seven or eight meters away from the six people inside.

The flashlight beam was blinding, but he didn't raise his hand to shield it. He simply lifted the brim of his hat slightly, revealing a pair of eyes that remained calm and unwavering even under the bright light. He slowly scanned the six people in the room, their weapons, and finally settled on the face of the square-faced man in the lead.

"Just the few of you?"

Chen Feng spoke, his voice flat and emotionless.

The square-faced man threw away his cigarette butt, stomped it out, stepped forward, and sized Chen Feng up and down, a sinister smile creeping across his face: "Comrade Wang? Or... should I call you something else?"

Chen Feng didn't speak, he just looked at him.

"Tsk tsk,"

The square-faced man clicked his tongue and deliberately shone his flashlight in Chen Feng's face.

"You've done a good job disguising yourself. That beard, that complexion... If it weren't for that old bastard Fatty San being so careful, you would have almost fooled us."

He paused, then his voice suddenly rose, carrying a smug and ruthless tone, like a cat toying with a mouse: "I know who you are! Even though you're disguised, your eyes don't lie! You're Chen Feng, the ruthless star from Beijing, the one with dozens of lives on his hands! Isn't that right?!"

He practically roared out the last three words, which echoed through the empty house.

His five henchmen behind him also let out low, malicious sneers, their gun barrels and blades intentionally or unintentionally moving forward.

Chen Feng's expression remained unchanged; he didn't even blink, as if the person the other person was talking about had nothing to do with him.

He simply asked, "Oh? So you're planning to double-cross me?"

"A double-cross?"

The square-faced man burst into laughter as if he'd heard a joke. His laughter echoed through the ruins, sounding particularly jarring. "Chen Feng, Chen Feng, don't you understand the situation yet? Double-crossing is between brothers in the underworld! But for a fugitive like you, wanted nationwide with a bounty of a thousand dollars, we call this… eliminating a menace for the people! And while we're at it, we'll collect some reward money to spend!"

His greedy eyes roamed over Chen Feng, as if he could already see wads of cash: "Be a good boy, hand over all your money, gold bars, and everything of value! Maybe I'll be in a good mood and give you a quick death, so you'll suffer less!"

One of the henchmen, carrying a hunting rifle, took two impatient steps forward, the muzzle almost touching Chen Feng's chest, spitting as he shouted, "Did you hear me? Hurry up! What are you dawdling for! We have guns now, what do you have?!"

He brandished the hunting rifle in his hand, then pointed to another one in his companion's hand, his face full of arrogance and confidence.

Chen Feng's gaze fell on the gun barrel that was almost pressed against his chest, then slowly rose to look at the arrogant subordinate, then at the square-faced man in the lead, and finally swept over the other eager faces.

He gently shook his head.

The movement was slow, carrying an indescribable...regret? Or perhaps, a pity chilled to the extreme?

"I have nothing."

Chen Feng finally spoke again, his voice still calm, yet sharp as an icy blade, each word clear and distinct, reaching everyone's ears: "I only have... the confidence to kill you all."

The room fell silent instantly.

Even the henchman who was arrogantly waving his shotgun froze for a moment.

Are you confident you can kill me?

Facing six men, two guns, and four knives, in an open, unobstructed house, locked on by a flashlight beam, he said... he was confident he could kill them?

After a brief silence, an even more jarring burst of laughter erupted.

"Hahaha! You think you can kill us?"

The square-faced man laughed so hard he almost fell over, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Chen Feng, are you fucking scared out of your wits? Or do you think all those myths you have in Beijing will still work in Tianjin? Look around! There are six of us! Two shotguns! What are you going to do to kill us? With your eyes?!"