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

"Disperse! Disperse! Don't gather here! You're obstructing official business!"

The police began to disperse the crowd more forcefully, but with limited effect.

People stepped back a few paces, then gathered back together, whispering amongst themselves.

However, at the more central command site, the atmosphere was so heavy it was almost palpable.

Inside the makeshift command tent, smoke filled the air. Several key personnel were gathered together, their faces increasingly grim.

"Public opinion is very unfavorable to us."

An official in charge of propaganda said with great concern,

"The public generally shows no sympathy for the deceased, and even applauds. If we devote too much police resources to tracking down the 'murderer,' it may trigger negative public opinion, saying that we are protecting a thug, or... that we are incompetent and can only fill in this kind of 'acting on behalf of heaven' case."

"Nonsense!"

The branch bureau chief, a stern-faced old policeman in his fifties, slammed his fist on the table.

"Twenty-eight people died! Twenty-eight lives! Whether they were human or ghosts in life, this is a shocking case! It must be solved! Otherwise, where will the Tianjin Port Public Security Bureau put its face? What about social stability?"

"But Chief,"

The criminal investigation captain gave a wry smile.

"The crime scene investigation was extremely difficult. The explosion and intense gunfight almost destroyed all conventional clues. The killer was extremely professional, leaving almost no obvious personal traces—footprints were covered by the explosion and bloodstains, fingerprints... it's estimated that gloves were worn. There were quite a few shell casings, but they were of various types, many of which were used by the victims themselves, making it difficult to directly point to the killer."

He paused, then lowered his voice: "Moreover, judging from the intensity of the battle and the identities of the deceased, the murderer... is probably no ordinary person. To single-handedly fight against more than twenty armed desperados, and yet... almost completely annihilate them while escaping unscathed. That combat prowess, that mental fortitude..."

Silence fell over the tent.

We're all veteran police officers, so we naturally understand what this means.

Ordinary revenge killings and double-crosses rarely reach this scale and efficiency.

This is more like a... militarized clearing operation.

"Could it be...?"

A young investigator hesitated before speaking, breaking the silence, "Could it be... that... Chen Feng mentioned in the Beijing city cooperation notice?"

The moment the name was uttered, the air inside the tent seemed to drop several degrees colder.

Chen Feng.

Over the past few months, this name has transformed from a wanted criminal in Beijing into a chilling code name within the entire northern public security system.

Prison break, serial murders, bombings, family massacres... a series of bloody and cruel cases, coupled with the fact that the perpetrator has not yet been caught, have shrouded this name in a legendary (or nightmarish) hue.

"Don't talk nonsense!"

An older policeman next to him immediately reprimanded him, but a hint of surprise flashed in his eyes. "Chen Feng's case is in Beijing! How could he possibly come to our Tianjin Port? And... and cause such a commotion? Besides, if he really came, wouldn't we have known something beforehand?"

"But……"

The young investigator muttered indignantly, "Didn't the notice for assistance say that Chen Feng might be fleeing with his sister? Tianjin Port is an important port. If he wanted to escape by boat, wouldn't it be normal for him to come here? Besides, Fatty San's teahouse also secretly does some 'escape' business..."

That makes sense.

The people in charge in the tent exchanged glances, all seeing the seriousness in each other's eyes.

"Contact them in Beijing immediately."

The branch chief acted decisively, "Provide a detailed report of the situation at the scene, especially the possible characteristics and methods of the perpetrator, and ask them to assist in the assessment. In addition, strengthen checks at all ports, stations, and exits from the city! Distribute photos… photos of Chen Feng and his sister Chen Xiaoyu to every checkpoint! Detain any suspicious persons immediately!"

"yes!"

The order was quickly relayed.

The entire Tianjin-Port Public Security system was like a machine that had been whipped hard, and it started operating even more frantically.

However, the goal they were searching for had now merged into the ocean like a drop of water.

As the sky brightens in the early morning, the harbor begins to reveal its complex, busy, and vibrant side.

Huge cargo ships sounded their horns and slowly entered or left their berths. On the dock, cranes roared, and stevedores shouted as piles of cargo were lifted or lowered.

Fishing boats return to port, bringing fresh catches of fish that smell pungent and fishy.

On the streets, the flow of people going to work, the crowds heading to the early market, the carts carrying goods, and the trams ringing their bells... all intertwine to create a noisy and vibrant morning symphony belonging to the port city.

In this vast, flowing crowd, a man dressed in ordinary work clothes, with an old towel draped over his shoulder and a face showing signs of weariness and the marks of time, was carrying a heavy canvas tool bag on his back, walking unhurriedly on the road leading to the dock warehouse area.

His steps were steady, but upon closer inspection, his left arm swung slightly stiffly, and his right leg's steps were somewhat unnatural, as if he were a little tired or had suffered a minor injury.

It was Chen Feng.

Although he escaped the bloody battle last night, he was not unscathed.

Although the gunshot wound on his left arm was only a graze, it stung terribly, so he simply bandaged it with a strip of torn cloth.

The cut on my right leg from the blade was deeper, and although it has been treated, it still causes pain when I walk.

It is even more physically and mentally taxing.

The intense, continuous fighting, along with the dramatic secretion and depletion of adrenaline, left him feeling a deep sense of fatigue.

But he couldn't stop, and he couldn't reveal the slightest flaw.

His disguise had been redone; he had removed his sunglasses, his beard was more disheveled, and his skin appeared even darker and rougher in the dim morning light, making him look like a worker who spent years on ships or doing heavy manual labor.

He had already changed out of his leather jacket, and along with his blood-stained clothes, he had disposed of them at a secluded garbage incineration site during his escape last night.

Although this work uniform is old, it is clean and fits the image of a dockworker.

The canvas tool bag looked heavy. Inside, besides the necessary tools (to avoid suspicion), were the ten small yellow croakers and the remaining cash.

He wrapped these items in layers of oilcloth and tattered clothes, hiding them in different compartments of the bag.

His destination was Warehouse Area No. 3 at the dock. According to the vague records in Fatty Three's ledger and the snippets he overheard in the teahouse last night, there was a warehouse guard there called "Old Ghost" who secretly facilitated the connection between certain "special cargo ships" and "special passengers." This route was more covert and dangerous than Fatty Three's, but it might be the only option at the moment.

The frequency of police patrols on the streets has increased significantly.

Police officers on bicycles would occasionally ride by, their sharp eyes scanning the pedestrians.

Temporary checkpoints have also been set up at major intersections in the distance to check passing vehicles and suspicious pedestrians.

Chen Feng mingled with the flow of people going to work, head down, his steps naturally avoiding several conspicuous checkpoints.

When a police officer walks towards him, he will slightly turn to the side or pretend to be bumped by someone next to him, naturally changing his route to avoid direct eye contact with the officer.

His heartbeat was steady, and his breathing was even, as if he were just an ordinary worker rushing to work.

Only he himself knew that every time he brushed past the police, every glance that swept over him was like an invisible needle pricking his nerves.

Finally, he arrived at Warehouse Area No. 3.

The place was even more chaotic, with huge warehouses lying like gray monsters, and the air filled with the mixed smells of engine oil, wood, grain and various goods.

Workers pushed carts and carried sacks, moving back and forth in a noisy and busy manner.

Chen Feng did not go directly to "Old Ghost".

He stopped in a relatively quiet corner, leaned against the wall, took out a cold steamed bun from his toolbox, and ate it slowly with the cold water from his kettle.

Their eyes, however, were like the most sophisticated radar, silently scanning the surrounding environment, the warehouse number, the workers' activity patterns, and any possible surveillance or hidden sentries.

He was observing, confirming, and waiting for the right opportunity.

In the distance, from the direction of the port office building, the faint sound of a broadcast could be heard, seemingly announcing some kind of emergency notice. Some workers stopped to listen, while others ignored it and continued with their work.

After finishing his steamed bun, Chen Feng put the kettle away.

He saw the old man sitting in the small shed on the side of warehouse number 7.

The old man was thin and hunched over, wearing a dirty blue uniform. A small coal stove sat in front of him, and he was dozing with his eyes half-closed. A chipped enamel mug lay at his feet. A crooked sign hung at the entrance of the shed: "Warehouse No. 7, Old Ghost."

it's him.

Chen Feng took a deep breath, slung his tool bag over his shoulder, patted the dust off his clothes, and put on a slightly anxious and ingratiating expression before walking toward the small shed.