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

"Young man, you have a good eye!" The old man patted him on the shoulder. "Where are you from? How long have you been doing this?"

Chen Feng was prepared: "I'm from the north, and I couldn't find any relatives there. I used to work in a machinery factory for seven or eight years, mainly repairing machines."

He didn't specify which machine factory it was, nor did he mention the Red Star Steel Rolling Mill. This kind of ambiguity is common on Hong Kong Island, as many refugees and immigrants have a past they are unwilling to discuss in detail.

"Oh..." The old master nodded, not delving into it further. These days, it's perfectly normal for skilled people to end up in Hong Kong looking for a living. He glanced at his two good-for-nothing apprentices, then at the young man in front of him who, despite his heavy accent, clearly possessed real talent, and made up his mind.

"Young man, are you looking for work now?"

Chen Feng's heart skipped a beat, and his face showed just the right amount of helplessness and expectation: "Yes, it's not easy to find a job when you're unfamiliar with the place."

The old master craftsman pondered for a moment: "My shop is small, and I can't afford to hire long-term workers. But recently I've taken on a few urgent jobs that I can't handle by myself, and my two good-for-nothing sons are useless." He pointed to the two smirking apprentices.

"If you're really good at repairs, you can come and help out. You can be paid by piecework or by the day. What do you say?"

This was exactly the opportunity Chen Feng wanted—temporary, technical, relatively independent, and paid according to his work, allowing him to engage with society without drawing too much attention.

"We can give it a try." Chen Feng nodded. "What's your name, Master?"

"My surname is Zhang, and the neighbors all call me Master Zhang," the old man said. "And you?"

"My name is Chen Guodong," Chen Feng said, giving a pseudonym.

"Okay, Mr. Chen." Master Zhang didn't ask any more questions. "Then come over tomorrow, at nine in the morning. Try it out for one day and see how you do. The pay... eight dollars a day, including lunch, how about that?"

Eight dollars a day was a lower-middle wage in Hong Kong at the time, but for a newcomer from the mainland with no connections, it was quite good. More importantly, it was a start.

"Okay, thank you, Master Zhang." Chen Feng readily agreed.

After leaving "Yongli Machinery Repair," Chen Feng didn't go home immediately. He walked around the neighborhood again, familiarizing himself with the surrounding environment, noting down several forks in the road leading in different directions, and observing where there were police posts, phone booths, and areas with high pedestrian traffic where he could easily hide.

When I returned to Fuk Wing Street, it was almost dusk.

He went upstairs and knocked on the door. Xiaoyu's wary voice came from behind the door: "Who is it?"

"It's me," Chen Feng replied in Mandarin.

The door opened, and Xiaoyu breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him.

"Brother, you're back."

"Hmm." Chen Feng entered, locked the door, and, as usual, used a table to barricade it. He looked at Xiaoyu; the girl's complexion was better than in the morning. "How was your day at home?"

"I...I cleaned the house again, and even read the newspaper aloud, imitating what I heard on the radio," Xiaoyu said softly, with a hint of boasting. "Brother, have you found a job yet?"

Chen Feng went to the kitchen, washing his hands as he said, "I found a temporary worker to fix the machines. I'll try it out tomorrow."

"Fix the machines?" Xiaoyu's eyes widened slightly. "Brother, can you fix the machines here?"

"The principles of the machines are all similar." Chen Feng picked up a kitchen knife and began to chop the vegetables he had bought today—a crucian carp and a bunch of water spinach. "I used to do this in a factory. As long as you understand the blueprints and figure out the structure, it's not a big problem."

He spoke calmly, but he knew in his heart that this was more than just a job.

This was his first step in rebuilding his "identity" in this city. A northern worker who could repair machines, though with an unusual accent, earned his living through his skills, which was perfectly reasonable. Through this job, he could gradually learn about local prices, interpersonal relationships, and social rules, accumulating a small but clean amount of capital.

More importantly, places like machine repair shops are often well-informed and frequented by all sorts of people. He could gather information discreetly—about the aftermath of the beach incident, the movements of local gangs, and any clues that might be related to them.

Dinner was steamed crucian carp and water spinach with garlic sauce, served with white rice. Simple home-style dishes, but piping hot.

During dinner, Chen Feng said to Xiao Yu, "Starting tomorrow, I'll be going to work during the day. You'll be home alone. Remember what I told you: lock the door, and don't open it for anyone. If someone tries to force their way in..." He paused, "...you know what to do."

Xiaoyu pursed her lips and nodded vigorously. She knew her brother was referring to the revolver under the pillow.

"I'll be careful, brother. You...you have to be careful too."

"Um."

After dinner, Xiaoyu washed the dishes, while Chen Feng sat by the window, using the last rays of daylight to continue reading the Sing Tao Daily. His gaze lingered on the local news section, searching for any reports that might be related to "Tseung Kwan O wasteland," "multiple deaths," or "shooting." But the newspaper was calm, with only a few inconspicuous social news items.

Have both the police and the gangs chosen to suppress the news for the time being?

Or is it that covert investigations and searches are already being quietly spread throughout the city like an invisible net?

Chen Feng put down the newspaper and looked out the window at the deepening night.

The lights of Sham Shui Po gradually illuminated the city, outlining its bustling cityscape. In the distance, from the direction of Victoria Harbour, the faint sound of ship horns could be heard.

He touched his waist, where the Type 54 pistol still felt cold to the touch.

Within the system space, resources are plentiful, but not unlimited.

The five thousand Hong Kong dollars are slowly decreasing.

Tomorrow, he will rejoin the community as a "mechanical repair apprentice".

Eyes in the shadows may still be searching, and the list of blood debts still weighs heavily on the heart.

But life must go on.

Making a living is the first step to survival, and also the best disguise for hiding one's true self.

In the darkness of night, Chen Feng's eyes were calm and deep.

Tomorrow will be a new day.

On the edge of Kowloon Walled City, in the study on the top floor of a three-story tenement building, the atmosphere was as oppressive as leaden clouds before a storm.