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

The darkness, like the residue after being repeatedly chewed and spat out, is sticky, suffocating, and carries an inescapable smell of blood and gunpowder.

In the cargo ship's hold, time seemed to freeze once again. But this time, what froze was not simply despair and waiting, but a deeper, more profound silence, a mixture of fear, calculation, and final madness.

Chen Feng sat back in the corner of the cold pile of goods, with Xiao Yu curled up in his arms, her breathing gradually becoming steady.

His movements were light, but exceptionally focused. Using the faint, almost negligible sliver of light that occasionally peeked through the porthole (perhaps a reflection from the distant sea, or a light that wasn't completely obscured somewhere on the ship), he was carefully and methodically maintaining his gun.

The two Type 54 pistols were disassembled, and each part was carefully wiped and oiled between his rough but steady fingers.

The distinctive, slightly pungent smell of gun oil, amidst the blood and stench of the air, brought a strange, comforting sense of control.

The magazine was removed, and the gleaming bullets were ejected one by one. The primers were checked, the dust was wiped away, and then the bullets were pressed back into the magazine one by one until a slight "click" sound of the metal springs being compressed was heard, indicating that the magazine was full.

Their movements were practiced and meticulous, with an almost ritualistic focus.

This is not just about maintaining weapons, but also about organizing one's thoughts; it's about making the final and most direct preparations for the upcoming, unknown future.

Hong Kong Island.

The "Pearl of the Orient," which symbolizes freedom, wealth, and hope for a new life in the mouths of countless illegal immigrants, is now shrouded in an even heavier and more ominous shadow in Chen Feng's heart.

From the bloody revenge in Beijing to the midnight killings in Tianjin Port, and now to the life-or-death struggle in this deep-sea iron tank, he has long understood a very simple truth: there is never peace without a reason in this world, nor is there a pure land that can be obtained without effort.

Wherever there are people, desires, and struggles for interests, there will inevitably be darkness, fangs, and rules that devour people without spitting out the bones.

He and his sister, two outsiders with no roots and who could even be described as "illegal immigrants," suddenly barged into the chaotic and dog-eat-dog world of Hong Kong Island. If they didn't have enough power, enough vigilance, and even enough... ruthlessness, they would probably be swallowed up and digested instantly, like oil drops falling into boiling water, leaving not even a trace.

The middle-aged man's whisper was like a cold needle, piercing the last vestige of unrealistic fantasy.

"The Snake Beater".

Local gangsters who specialize in capturing, extorting, and trafficking illegal immigrants.

They squeeze every last drop of profit from illegal immigrants, extort money from their potential relatives and friends, and then turn the men, now worthless, into cheap "blood cows" (selling their blood and even organs), while pushing the women into an even deeper hell in Southeast Asia...

This is not alarmist.

Chen Feng believed that this was very likely the first hurdle they would face after reaching the shore.

The smugglers "sold" them to the snake catchers, making it a "perfect" handover with huge profits and no risk.

The gun is the only force he can rely on now.

Therefore, it is essential to maintain optimal condition.

After servicing his own dual pistols, he checked the condition of Xiaoyu's revolver and, after confirming that everything was in order, put it away again.

After doing all that, his gaze turned to the center of the cabin, to the ground where two corpses had been lying not long ago, but now only two dark red and black, half-congealed bloodstains remained.

Beside them lay the tattered, dirty packages left behind by the two tall, dead men.

Chen Feng got up and walked over. His movements were very light, but they immediately attracted the attention of the other three people in the cabin.

The couple immediately shrank back nervously, their eyes filled with fear and vigilance, as if Chen Feng would point his gun at them at any moment.

The middle-aged man's eyes were still half-closed, but his eyelids seemed to lift slightly.

Chen Feng ignored their reactions.

He crouched down, first kicking the two packages with his feet to make sure there were no hidden dangers, and then opened them with his hands.

The package contained little, just as he expected, the standard items for poor illegal immigrants: a few worn-out changes of clothes reeking of sweat, some dry, hardened bits of food that he didn't know what they were, and a few loose, crumpled Hong Kong dollars and US dollars—totaling only a few dozen dollars, perhaps their life savings, or perhaps their imagined "start-up capital."

There was also a tin kettle, which was empty.

Chen Feng had no interest in clothes or dry food.

He reached out and picked up only the crumpled Hong Kong dollars and US dollars. He counted them; there were about thirty Hong Kong dollars and only a dozen or so US dollars. The denominations were all very small.

He stood up and put the money into the inner pocket of his work clothes.

Then, without even looking at the rest of the items, he turned and walked back to his corner.

Almost the instant he turned around—

The man in the couple seemed to have been whipped by an invisible lash, and suddenly darted out from the corner!

His movements were so fast they were almost comical. He scrambled to the two packages and, using both hands, grabbed all the remaining clothes, leftover food scraps, empty water bottles, and even the tattered cloth covering the packages themselves, and pulled them into his arms!

It was as if it were a windfall from the sky!

The woman followed, helping the man stuff the things into her arms, her face even flushed with excitement.

Chen Feng watched this scene coldly, a faint, emotionless smile curving his lips.

human nature.

In such extreme scarcity and despair, even a tattered rag or a mouthful of spoiled dry rations becomes a "treasure" worth fighting for.

As for the original owner of these items who had just died tragically, with bloodstains still wet... who cares?

The couple clutched their loot tightly to their chests, glancing warily at Chen Feng and then at the silent middle-aged man. Seeing no reaction from either of them, they retreated to their corner like cats that had stolen fish, eagerly examining their "trophies" and letting out suppressed, satisfied sighs.

Silence fell over the cabin once again.

But this time, the silence seemed to carry a different meaning.

Just then, the middle-aged man, who had been as still as a stone, slowly and with great effort lifted his eyelids.

His gaze wasn't on the ecstatic couple, nor on the indifferent Chen Feng, but rather on a point in the void, as if piercing through thick steel plates to see the dark, surging sea outside, and the ever-approaching, brightly lit yet perilous harbor.

He spoke slowly, word by word, in an extremely hoarse, dry tone, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time:

"It's too early to be happy now."

His voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly in the deathly silent cabin.

The couple who were rummaging through their "spoils" paused, looking up at him in astonishment.

The middle-aged man seemed oblivious to their gazes and continued in his flat tone, "The smuggler... most likely never intended for us to get ashore safely."

These words were like a piece of ice, smashing into my head, which was still a little feverish from the "windfall."

The woman asked, bewildered, "What...does that mean? Didn't we already pay?"

"Have you paid?"