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

The stamped "Temporary Residence Certificate" was now carefully kept in his personal storage space, along with his ID card. With this thin layer of official endorsement, their "existence" on Hong Kong Island finally had a sliver of legitimacy, at least giving them more confidence when dealing with routine checks.

Secondly, there's language. It's the foundation of survival. Every day, Chen Feng would set aside time to either stand by the window listening to the neighbors downstairs conversing in Cantonese, or go to the newsstand on the corner to buy the cheapest copy of the *Sing Tao Daily*, trying to understand the content by comparing it with the traditional Chinese characters and pictures. He also borrowed an old radio from his landlady, Mrs. Chen, and in the evenings, he would tune it to Cantonese news or opera channels, forcing himself to immerse himself in that fast, indistinct, and uniquely rhythmic tone.

Progress was slow and arduous. Those grammatical particles like "嘅," "咩," "佢," and "唔," along with their special usages, often left him completely bewildered. But he possessed ample patience and a strong sense of urgency. Like a diligent student, he repeatedly memorized the common phrases he heard, attempting to utter a few awkward words while grocery shopping or asking for directions. Xiaoyu followed suit; being younger, her memory seemed better, and she could occasionally correct her brother's pronunciation.

But the most important issue is making a living.

money.

The system gave me HKD 5,000. I've already spent nearly HKD 1,000 on rent, deposit, landlord's commission, and daily necessities and food. The remaining HKD 4,000 sounds like a lot, but in Hong Kong, where prices are high, if I just sit around and do nothing, I probably won't last more than a few months.

Moreover, he wanted more than just to survive. He wanted to provide Xiaoyu with a relatively stable environment, to accumulate strength, to put down roots in this city, and to prepare for whatever the future might hold—whether it was dealing with possible investigations or the blood debt that was far from over.

He needs a stable, inconspicuous way of making a living that can generate a continuous income.

These past few days, while recovering from his injury and studying the language, he's been wandering the streets of Sham Shui Po and Yau Ma Tei. He's observing how people live here: dockworkers carrying bags, waiters in tea restaurants, shoe repairmen and pot menders on the street, vendors pushing carts selling fish balls and offal, female factory workers in garment factories or electronics factories...

He also kept an eye on things hidden beneath the surface: inconspicuous pawnshops deep in alleys, underground gambling dens that only open at night, smugglers standing on street corners with shifty eyes, quietly soliciting "good jobs," and those "trading firms" with dilapidated facades but always with wary men coming and going.

Chen Feng was clear about his strengths and weaknesses.

Strengths: He is highly skilled, ruthless, and has experienced real life-or-death battles, possessing a mental fortitude far exceeding that of ordinary people. He has the system space and resources as his trump cards. He has clear goals and a strong will.

Disadvantages: He doesn't speak the language, has no local social connections or background, his identity is questionable, and he has a younger sister who needs protection. More importantly, he must keep a low profile and avoid attracting too much attention from the police or local gangs—the rumors about the beach incident haven't died down yet.

Jobs that require frequent interaction with people (such as waiters, vendors, and laborers) are not considered because they easily reveal one's accent and background, and the income is meager.

Those "quick money" businesses that operate in the gray or even black market (such as running brothels, smuggling, and debt collection) may bring in money faster, but they are extremely risky and can easily get involved in the struggles between local forces, which seriously conflicts with his principle of keeping a low profile.

He needs a job that allows him to utilize some of his skills, be relatively independent, have limited contact with others, and offer a decent income.

That afternoon, Chen Feng left Xiaoyu at home—telling her to lock the door and not to open it for anyone—while he went out onto the street again.

He changed into a set of older but cleaner clothes, looking like an ordinary young laborer looking for work. He deliberately avoided the most crowded areas of Temple Street and Ladies' Street, turning into a relatively quiet area filled with small workshops and warehouses.

As he walked past shops displaying signs for "XX Hardware," "XX Machinery Repair," and "XX Appliance Recycling," his sharp gaze swept over the shop's furnishings and the people working inside.

He stopped in front of a shop called "Yongli Machinery Repair".

The shop was small, about twenty square meters, with piles of rusted metal parts and old machinery at the entrance. Inside, rhythmic clanging of metal and the screeching of grinding wheels emanated. An experienced craftsman squatted in front of a disassembled small diesel engine, wrench in hand, his brow furrowed. Two young apprentices stood beside him, looking bewildered.

Chen Feng stood at the door for a few minutes.

The problem with that diesel engine seemed serious. The experienced mechanic tried several times, but the engine only emitted a muffled coughing sound and wouldn't start. He cursed under his breath, sweat beading on his forehead.

Chen Feng hesitated for a moment, then went inside.

He deliberately made his footsteps heavier to attract the attention of the people inside.

The master craftsman and his two apprentices looked up. The master craftsman, about fifty years old, was stocky, with a rough and tired face bearing the marks of years of dealing with grease and grime. He glanced at Chen Feng and asked in Cantonese, "What's up? Fixing something or buying parts?"

Chen Feng replied in broken Cantonese mixed with a distinct northern accent, "Master, I... know a little about machines. Is this machine clogged in the fuel line, or maybe the fuel injectors are faulty?"

As he spoke, he gestured with his hands to indicate the location of the fuel lines and fuel injectors.

The experienced craftsman paused for a moment, then looked Chen Feng over again. The young man before him was dressed plainly, but his eyes were steady, and his knuckles were large; he certainly looked like someone who had done skilled work. More importantly, he immediately pinpointed one of the key issues.

"You know how to repair diesel engines?" the mechanic asked skeptically, but with a hint of interest in his voice.

"I used to work in... a factory," Chen Feng said vaguely, walking over to the engine and squatting down. "Can I take a look?"

The experienced craftsman hesitated for a moment, but still handed him the wrench.

Chen Feng took the tools but didn't start working immediately. He first carefully inspected the engine's exterior, then touched the temperature of several key parts and listened to the sound when the crankshaft was cranked. His movements were professional and steady, clearly showing his experience.

A few minutes later, he looked up: "The fuel system needs cleaning. The fuel injector in the third cylinder is probably stuck; it needs to be removed for cleaning or replaced. Also, the starter motor's carbon brushes are probably badly worn and have poor contact."

He spoke clearly and logically, getting straight to the point. The old master's eyes lit up.