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

The iron gate of Yongli Machinery Repair Shop was pulled up with a clatter at 8:50 a.m.

Chen Feng arrived at the door on time, carrying two pineapple buns and a bag of soy milk he had bought from a street vendor. He was wearing the same dark blue work clothes he had worn yesterday, his hair was neatly combed, and his face showed a mix of initial nervousness and just the right amount of seriousness.

Inside the shop, Master Zhang was already there, squatting in front of an old Nanyang-made electric fan, disassembling the fan blades with a screwdriver. Two apprentices—one named A-Chang and the other A-Bing—were slowly cleaning up the oil stains and metal shavings on the floor.

"Good morning, Master Zhang," Chen Feng greeted him in broken Cantonese mixed with Mandarin.

Master Zhang looked up, saw him, and smiled slightly: "Mr. Chen, you're right on time. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"I've eaten." Chen Feng waved the pineapple bun in his hand, walked to a greasy wooden table in the corner, and put it down. "Master Zhang, what are you making today?"

"There are a few things that need fixing here," Master Zhang said, pointing to a pile of items in the corner: a jammed sewing machine head, a leaky gasoline can repair kit, and a badly rusted bench drill. "Could you fix this electric fan first? Ah Chang has been trying to take this apart for ages and still can't get it off."

Achang chuckled sheepishly to himself.

Chen Feng nodded without saying anything more. He washed his hands, dried them, and walked to the electric fan.

He didn't start immediately, but first carefully observed the fan's structure and the location of the jam. It was an old-fashioned metal-bladed fan with a simple transmission mechanism, but it was extremely poorly maintained. The shaft was covered with a thick layer of grease and dust, and something seemed to be stuck between the fan blades and the protective cover.

He picked up the wrench and screwdriver from the tool tray, tested the angle, and then said to Master Zhang, "Master Zhang, give me a tube of WD-40 (all-purpose rust preventant lubricant) and a small flathead screwdriver."

Master Zhang glanced at him with some surprise. WD-40 was considered a relatively "high-end" imported lubricant in Hong Kong at the time, not commonly used in general repair shops, and mostly known only to those in the know. This guy from the north knew the name right away, so he must be quite knowledgeable.

He pulled a half-used can of WD-40 from the bottom of the toolbox and handed it to him.

Chen Feng took it, sprayed it a few times on the shaft connection, and waited a few minutes for the lubricant to penetrate. Then, he carefully used a thin flathead screwdriver to probe into the gap between the fan blade and the protective cover, gently fiddling with it a few times, and pulled out a small tangled wad of cotton thread and hair.

"So these are the things that are stuck." Master Zhang came over to take a look.

After removing the foreign objects, Chen Feng used a suitable wrench to firmly hold the fixing nut at the base of the fan blade. With his other hand supporting the fan base, he exerted force with his wrist and turned it clockwise—the nut that A-Chang had been struggling to loosen made a soft "creak" sound and slowly loosened.

He deftly removed the nuts, took off the fan blades, revealing the rusty shaft and bearings inside. Cleaning the sludge, polishing the rust, applying oil, reassembling... the whole process was smooth and efficient, without a single unnecessary movement. In less than twenty minutes, an old fan that had been stuck and making a lot of noise was disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled.

Chen Feng plugged in the power and pressed the switch.

The fan emitted a soft hum, its three blades spinning smoothly, producing gusts of cool air. The noise level was significantly reduced compared to before.

Master Zhang's eyes lit up. A true expert's skill is immediately apparent. Chen Feng's technique was steady, precise, and efficient—clearly the work of a seasoned master, not some amateurish attempt.

"Excellent craftsmanship!" Master Zhang praised sincerely. "Mr. Chen, you used to work in a factory in the north, you must have been a key technical worker."

Chen Feng smiled modestly: "Just trying to make a living. Master Zhang, what's the next job?"

"Fix this sewing machine head," Master Zhang said, pointing to the old-fashioned Butterfly brand sewing machine. "The shuttle track is messed up; it keeps getting stuck."

Chen Feng nodded and then moved on to the next task.

The morning passed quickly. The sewing machine head was more complex than the fan, involving precise transmission and tolerance adjustments. Chen Feng spent over an hour patiently adjusting the shuttle, checking the shuttle, and correcting the needle bar position, finally oiling all the moving parts. When he reinstalled the machine head on the wooden base, stepped on the pedal, and the needle moved up and down, the shuttle swung back and forth, producing neat and even stitches, even Ah Chang and Ah Bing, who had been lazily watching, couldn't help but come over and marvel.

"Impressive, Master Chen!" Ah Bing said in broken Mandarin.

"It's alright," Chen Feng said calmly, wiping the grease off his hands.

Master Zhang was even more satisfied. The jobs he'd taken on were all brought in by neighbors; the repair fees weren't high, but they were troublesome. He himself was getting old, his eyesight and strength weren't what they used to be, and his two apprentices were incompetent, often complicating simple problems. With a reliable helper like Chen Feng, both efficiency and quality improved significantly.

Around noon, as usual, Master Zhang asked Ah Chang to go to the tea restaurant next door to buy a few servings of rice bowls. The group sat around a simple wooden table behind the shop to eat.

The meals were simple: char siu rice and soy sauce chicken rice, served with soup of the day. But for manual laborers, a hot, oily meal was a real source of satisfaction.

While eating, Chef Zhang casually remarked, "Lately, it seems like there are a lot more uniformed (patrol officers) and plainclothes (police officers) on the streets. They're walking around and looking at people everywhere. I wonder what they're up to."

Chen Feng paused almost imperceptibly in the food he was picking up, then resumed his normal eating with his head down, but his ears perked up.

Ah Chang, his mouth full of char siu, mumbled, "Of course! Master Cheung, don't you know? There's been a major case in Tseung Kwan O! More than a dozen people died! I heard it was done with submachine guns! The police are in a real bind!"

Master Zhang glared at him: "Just eat, why are you talking about such things!" He clearly didn't want to discuss such bloody matters while eating.

But Ah Chang was young and quick-tongued, and eager to show off his information to the seemingly "impressive" Chen Feng, so he lowered his voice and continued, "It's true! My cousin's friend's younger brother works in the police station and he told me secretly! He said the scene was horrific, with blood flowing like a river! All the dead were 'He Xing Sheng' Boss He's' men!"