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

Chen Feng didn't haggle and paid. The fabric of the clothes felt ordinary, but at least they were clean and thick enough for Xiaoyu to change into. He stuffed the clothes into another cloth bag.

Leaving Apliu Street, he turned into a relatively quiet side street and stopped in front of a herbal medicine shop that also sold groceries. He bought a small bottle of safflower oil, a few rolls of ordinary gauze, and a box of band-aids—all the most common household medicines. He also bought a pack of locally common "Nanyang" brand cigarettes and two boxes of matches.

Buying cigarettes was intentional. Master Zhang and his two apprentices at the repair shop all smoked, and he would occasionally offer them one. This helped him blend into the small environment more quickly and also allowed him to hear more casual conversations amidst the swirling smoke.

Carrying several heavy cloth bags, Chen Feng slowly walked towards Furong Street.

As I passed by the first floor where landlady Chen lived, I could hear the clattering of mahjong tiles and women's laughter and chatter coming from inside. The iron gate was ajar, and I could see four middle-aged women sitting around a square table in the living room, playing mahjong.

Chen Feng stopped and knocked on the iron gate.

"Who is it?" came Mrs. Chan's voice from inside.

"Mrs. Chan, it's me, Chan Kwok-tung," Chan Fung replied in his heavily accented Cantonese.

The door was opened a crack, and Mrs. Chen peeked out. Seeing Chen Feng carrying several bags, she smiled and said, "Oh, it's Mr. Chen. You're back from work?"

"Yes, Mrs. Chen." Chen Feng gave a perfectly timed, slightly weary smile. "I worked at Chef Zhang's shop all day today, and I'm buying some groceries to cook."

He deliberately mentioned Master Zhang, indicating that he now had a proper job.

Mrs. Chan's smile widened even more: "Found a job? Great! I know Mr. Zhang's shop; he runs an honest business. With a job, you can be down-to-earth and establish yourself quickly."

"Yes, thank you for your concern, Mrs. Chan." Chen Feng said politely. "I won't disturb your card game, I'll go upstairs now."

"Okay, take your time." Mrs. Chen waved her hand and closed the door.

Chen Feng could hear the other mahjong players inside asking in hushed tones, "Who is it? Your tenant?"

"Yes, it's a new rental. It's two brothers from the north. They're quite honest. They're currently repairing machines at Wynn..."

The sound faded as the door closed.

Chen Feng carried his things and steadily walked up to the third and a half floor.

He knocked on the door and whispered his name. The door opened quickly, and Xiaoyu stood behind it. Seeing him, she breathed a sigh of relief and took the things from his hands.

"Brother, you're back. I've already cooked dinner," Xiaoyu said softly. She had changed into her old clothes from home, her hair was tied in a simple ponytail, and her complexion looked better than it had a few days ago.

Chen Feng entered the room, locked the door, and secured the table. He looked around the room; it was very tidy. On the stove in the kitchen, a small aluminum pot was steaming, and the aroma of rice wafted out.

"Okay, let's eat first." Chen Feng put the groceries he bought in the corner and went to the kitchen to wash his hands.

Dinner was simple: white rice, a plate of stir-fried bok choy, and a bowl of seaweed and egg drop soup. Chen Feng had bought the vegetables before leaving home that morning. Xiao Yu's cooking skills were still a bit rusty; the bok choy was a little overcooked, and the soup was a bit bland, but the warm, home-cooked flavor was enough to soothe her fatigue.

Chen Feng ate with great relish. After physical labor, even simple food tasted especially delicious.

"How was your day at home?" Chen Feng asked casually while eating.

"I read the newspaper for a while, listened to the radio, and... I even tried using the words you taught me to keep some accounts," Xiaoyu said a little shyly. "Brother, were you tired from work today?"

"Not tiring, just fixing machines," Chen Feng said calmly. "The boss is nice, and he paid me on time." He took out the eight Hong Kong dollars and placed them on the table. "Here, that's my pay for today."

Xiaoyu looked at the few crumpled banknotes, her eyes shining slightly. This was money her brother had earned through honest work, so it held a different meaning.

"Brother, you're amazing," she whispered.

Chen Feng smiled but didn't say anything. He finished the last bite of rice and put down his chopsticks.

Xiaoyu was about to wash the dishes, but Chen Feng told her to wait. He took out all the things he had bought that day.

"These are clothes I bought for you, two sets, you can change them." He handed Xiaoyu the two sets of floral shirts and trousers, as well as the plain scarf, "It's getting cold, you can wear this when you go out."

Xiaoyu took the clothes, touching the rough but thick fabric, her eyes a little red: "Thank you, brother."

"These are food items; they keep well. Since I'm not home often, you can make yourself something to eat." Chen Feng pointed to the dried shrimp, sausages, canned goods, and compressed biscuits. "Remember, no matter who knocks, don't open the door. If someone forces their way in..."

"I know." Xiaoyu nodded vigorously, a hint of determination beyond her years flashing in her eyes. She knew the weight of the revolver under her pillow.

"And these medicines, keep them in the cabinet, in case they get bumped or bruised." Chen Feng put the safflower oil and gauze away.

After doing all that, he asked Xiaoyu to wash the dishes, while he went to the window and lit a "Nanyang" cigarette he had just bought.

The pungent smell of cheap tobacco filled his lungs. He gently exhaled a puff of smoke and looked out the window at the chaotic yet vibrant night view of Sham Shui Po.

With her job temporarily stable and her relationship with the landlord going well, Xiaoyu is gradually adapting. On the surface, life seems to be getting back on track.

But deep down, anxiety, like a silently growing vine, quietly entwines itself.

The "100,000 yuan reward" he heard about at the repair shop today was a clear warning sign. That "Master Crane" has more power and determination than he anticipated.

The more direct and urgent crisis, however, comes from his weapons.

He subconsciously touched his waist. The cold metallic feel of the Type 54 pistol wafted through his thin work clothes.

His consciousness sank into his personal space, where he once again took stock of his "assets":

Two Type 54 pistols, three full magazines (one of which was on the gun), and spare ammunition... only twelve rounds left.

In other words, all the pistol bullets combined can fill two magazines (sixteen rounds) at most, plus four shotgun rounds.

One submachine gun, its drum magazine empty. No spare ammunition.

One revolver, kept by Xiaoyu, with six bullets, fully loaded.

In total, the remaining ammunition is: 22 pistol rounds and 6 revolver rounds.

Twenty-eight shots.

This is all the firepower reserves he and Xiaoyu have on this perilous Hong Kong Island.