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

"We're almost there, get ready!"

A hoarse, impatient roar, like a rusty saw, abruptly ripped through the suffocating silence of the hold.

The hatch was roughly pulled open, and instead of the faint beam of the food-delivering crew's flashlight, several bright, blinding beams of shipboard flashlights pierced the darkness, illuminating every corner of the hold and every distorted or numb face, leaving no place to hide.

Two burly crew members with gloomy faces stood on the iron ladder, not holding wooden sticks, but each holding an old hunting rifle with a dark, menacing muzzle.

Their gazes swept across the cabin like searchlights, carrying an undisguised scrutiny, impatience, and a hint of...cold calculation.

Finally, those gazes all landed on Chen Feng.

In that gaze, there was fear, anger, and a sinister, offended look that belonged to a controller.

After all, in this "business," Chen Feng caused them to lose two potential "goods" (although those two were also troublesome), and also demonstrated a level of force that could threaten their own safety.

This disrupts a delicate balance and increases the uncertainty during the "handover".

Chen Feng met those malicious gazes with an expressionless face.

He slowly stood up, his movements steady, and helped Xiaoyu, who was still curled up and somewhat bewildered, to her feet.

He knew the time for reckoning had come.

The smugglers will never forget the bloodshed in the hold, nor will they easily let go of this "troublemaker."

The road ahead, from this ship to the real land of Hong Kong Island, could be fraught with danger at every step and every breath could be filled with murderous intent.

He must prepare for the worst and be ready to handle any kind of "unexpected situation".

He ignored the crew's urging and stares, and began to methodically conduct a final check of his equipment.

First, from the bottom of the canvas tool bag, he took out the Type 56 submachine gun, carefully wrapped in rags. Unwrapping the rags, the cold, hard gun barrel and folding stock gleamed with a dark metallic sheen in the dim light.

He slung the submachine gun sling across his chest, with the gun close to his back, cleverly concealing it with the hem of his wide, stained work jacket.

From the front, all you can see is the outline of a slightly bulky backpack, which is extremely difficult to discern in the dark.

Then, he picked up the heavy tool bag again.

The bag now only contained the last few necessities and a few small yellow croakers, which were quite heavy and could serve as cover for the submachine gun and provide extra weight.

The two Type 54 pistols had already been maintained and their magazines were full.

One hand was tucked into the most convenient leather sheath at his waist, concealed by his coat, while the other spare hand was tucked into his lower back.

The cool, hard feel of the gun grip, transmitted through the thin shirt, brought a cool sense of solidity.

The scabbard of the dagger was tightly pressed against the skin on the straps on his calf, ready to be drawn at any time.

Finally, he squatted down and helped Xiaoyu straighten her oversized boy clothes, pulling the brim of her baseball cap down even further until it almost completely covered her eyes.

Then, he took her cold little hand in his and whispered clearly, "Stay with me, don't let go. No matter what happens, don't be afraid, don't make a sound. Hold onto the gun, but don't use it unless absolutely necessary."

Xiaoyu nodded vigorously, her other hand pressed tightly against the revolver at her waist, which was also loaded with bullets, through her clothes.

The cool, metallic touch was her only support against boundless fear.

The couple was already terrified out of their wits.

The man was still unconsciously clutching the few tattered clothes he had snatched from the dead man's package, but now he felt like he was holding a hot potato, unsure whether to throw them away or keep them, and he trembled like a leaf in the wind.

The woman clung tightly to the man, her face ashen and her eyes vacant, as if she had already foreseen her tragic fate of being sold to a brothel in Southeast Asia, and she didn't even have the strength to cry.

Only the taciturn middle-aged man, though his face was also shrouded in a lingering worry, managed to maintain a basic level of composure.

He slowly stood up, patted off non-existent dust from his body, glanced at Chen Feng, who was fully armed and exuded a restrained murderous aura, with a complicated look, then glanced at the terrified couple, and sighed almost inaudibly.

"What are you dawdling for! Hurry up!"

The crew member on the iron ladder shouted impatiently again, the muzzle of his shotgun swaying intentionally or unintentionally.

Without further delay, Chen Feng pulled Xiao Yu along and led the way towards the iron ladder.

His steps were steady, his back straight, and even under the bright flashlight and the threat of a shotgun, he showed no panic, but rather a calmness that was unsettling.

The two crew members with guns exchanged a glance, a hint of wariness and... a faint excitement flashing in their eyes?

Perhaps they have already received instructions from "above" and know how to "deal with" this troublesome thorn in their side.

Chen Feng helped Xiao Yu climb the iron ladder, followed closely by the middle-aged man, and the couple finally followed, trembling.

Climb out of the lower deck and onto the passageway to the upper level.

It was still dark here, but the air was circulating a little better, and the salty, fishy smell of the sea breeze was stronger.

There were two or three other crew members waiting in the passageway, all carrying weapons and looking hostile.

No unnecessary words.

At the direction of a crew member who appeared to be the leader and had a scar on his face, they were urged to walk along the narrow, damp passage toward the stern.

At the end of the passageway was a rusty little hatch leading to the stern deck.

As soon as the door opened, a cold, salty, and strong sea breeze rushed in, making it almost impossible for one to stand.

Outside, there was a pitch-black night sky and a sea that was equally dark, but whose waves could be faintly heard surging.

In the distance, at the edge of sight, a dazzling array of lights, like a cascading galaxy, is embedded between the deep night sky and the horizon, outlining a undulating, magical ribbon of light.

Hong Kong Island.

That legendary land, said to be both paved with gold and riddled with traps, was right before my eyes.

But this brilliance now seems so distant and cold.

Their cargo ship did not sail to a brightly lit, regular port, but instead anchored on a dark stretch of sea far from the main shipping lanes.

Below the stern, waves crashed against the hull, producing a hollow and terrifying roar.

A sampan, even more dilapidated and smaller than the "Ghost" that had come with them, was pressed tightly against an inconspicuous depression at the stern of the cargo ship, bobbing violently with the waves.

On the sampan, two equally wiry men, dressed in tight black clothes and whose faces were obscured, were crouching, warily observing the group of people who came out of the cabin.

"Get down!"

The scarred crewman pointed his gun at the swaying sampan, his voice cold.

Getting off the violently rocking sampan from here was an adventure in itself.

This was especially true for the couple whose legs were already weak and muscles were about to give way.