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

That sounds like a lot. But Chen Feng knew that in real combat, the rate at which bullets are consumed is astonishing. In the battle on the beachhead, he used up a full drum magazine (71 rounds) of his submachine gun and a dozen or so rounds of his pistol before he could take down a dozen or so men. That was only because he had the advantage of surprise attack, terrain, and the enemy's inferior firepower.

What if you're facing a prepared, organized opponent who might also be armed?

Twenty-eight bullets might only be enough to deal with a medium-sized conflict, or... a truly high-intensity life-or-death struggle.

What to do after finishing the game?

The pistols and submachine guns will become scrap metal. The six bullets of the revolver will be a drop in the ocean.

In Beijing, on the black market, he could still manage to procure some ammunition. But where could he find supplies in Hong Kong, a place where he knew no one, didn't speak the language, and had no idea about the black market?

In particular, ammunition for the Type 54 pistol and the Type 56 submachine gun was an absolute rarity in Hong Kong during that era. Local gangs mostly used smuggled, off-brand pistols or homemade firearms. Standard domestically produced firearms were extremely rare.

Inquire on the black market? Extremely risky. Even setting aside the possibility of finding a way in, asking about such sensitive supplies would immediately attract attention—why would a machine repairman from the north need automatic weapons and ammunition? It practically screams "suspicious."

Making it himself? That's unrealistic. He has no equipment, no raw materials, and no relevant knowledge or skills.

Ammunition became a thorn stuck in his throat, a fatal weakness he could not avoid.

He had to find a way to solve this problem before he ran out of bullets.

But how do we solve this?

Chen Feng took a deep drag on his cigarette, the smoke swirling in the dim light.

Perhaps... we could start with that "100,000 bounty"?

Master He offered a bounty for him because he had killed the other party's men, creating a deadly feud. But thinking about it the other way around, since Master He is a figure in the underworld who controls the docks and part of the smuggling business, could he possibly have access to arms? Or even, could his men be armed themselves?

What if we could manage to "obtain" some ammunition from Master He?

This idea is dangerous yet tempting.

However, putting it into practice would be extremely difficult. He knew nothing about the specific distribution of Crane's influence, his activity patterns, or the location of his warehouses. To act rashly would be tantamount to walking into a trap.

Or, from other sources? Local arms dealers? Smuggled immigrants who might be carrying weapons? Even... the police?

Every option comes with a huge risk.

Chen Feng stubbed out his cigarette. As the smoke dissipated, his eyes appeared exceptionally calm and sharp in the night.

Don't rush.

The ammunition problem must be solved, but we cannot act rashly. Until a safe and reliable method is found, he must cherish every bullet and avoid unnecessary conflict as much as possible.

At the same time, it's also important to start consciously gathering relevant information. The repair shop is a good place; Master Zhang is old and has lived in Sham Shui Po for decades, having interacted with all sorts of people. The two apprentices are young and quick-witted, and like to inquire about underworld news. Perhaps we can inadvertently glean some fragmented information about the local black market, arms dealing, or Master He's influence from them.

And that system... The "Marching Backpack" function requires consuming supplies or system points to unlock. Will it contain ammunition supplies? But the unlocking conditions are unclear, so we can't count on it for now.

Everything still depends on yourself.

"Brother, the dishes are washed." Xiaoyu's voice came from the kitchen.

Chen Feng snapped out of his thoughts and turned around: "Yeah, get some rest. I might be back a little late tomorrow; I need to go buy some tools and parts."

"Okay." Xiaoyu obediently walked towards the bedroom, turning back at the door, "Brother, you should go to sleep early too."

"understood."

The bedroom door closed. Chen Feng was left alone in the living room.

He walked to his makeshift bed and sat down. He took out the Type 54 pistol from under his pillow, removed the magazine, and carefully examined the weapon in the dim light streaming in from the window. The metal surface had a bluish luster, the chamber was clean, and the trigger spring had just the right amount of force.

This is his reliance, and also his shackle.

He reloaded the magazine, pushed it into the gun, chambered a round, turned off the safety, and carefully placed it back under his pillow.

Then lie down and close your eyes.

In his mind, the number of bullets, possible acquisition channels, Master He's bounty, the police search... all sorts of information and thoughts intertwined and swirled.

The pressure to survive has never truly disappeared.

He simply suppressed it temporarily beneath the surface of daily life.

The anxiety over ammunition, like the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head, reminded him:

In this seemingly peaceful new hunting ground, the crisis was never over.

He must adapt more quickly, act more cautiously, and be more proactive... to prepare for the next possible storm.

The night was dark.

The hustle and bustle of Sham Shui Po gradually subsided, with only the faint sound of cargo ship horns coming from the distant dock.

Chen Feng's breathing gradually stabilized, and he entered a light sleep.

The pistol lay cold under the pillow.

In my mind, the number of bullets was clear and glaring.

Twenty-eight.

Deep within the Kowloon Walled City lies an unassuming four-story old building with an unusually complex internal structure.

This is not where Master He (Lam Kwok-hung) usually lives or works, but a more secluded, safer, and prestigious place—a traditional "do-di" (gang meeting place) of "Wo Hing Shing" in the western Kowloon area. On ordinary days, unless there are major events, the leaders rarely gather here.

But today, the atmosphere in the hall on the third floor, which was covered with a thick carpet and had a picture of Guan Yu and a plaque that read "Loyalty Through the Ages," was somber.

Five people sat around a long, narrow rosewood conference table.

The head seat at the top is empty; it's the seat of the leader, but he's quite old and has rarely been involved in specific matters in recent years.

The first seat to the left of the head of the table sat Master He, Lin Guoxiong. Today he was wearing a dark gray Chinese silk robe, and his hair was neatly combed, but the dark circles under his eyes and the lingering fierceness between his brows betrayed his fatigue and anxiety.

Opposite him, in the first seat on his right, sat a man of similar age, lean, with high cheekbones and piercing, eagle-like eyes. This man was none other than Deng Yongquan, nicknamed "Uncle Quan," another heavyweight figure in the "Wo Hing Shing" gang in Kowloon West. Uncle Quan mainly controlled the sex industry, underground banks, and some smuggling routes in Mong Kok, overlapping with and competing with Master He's dock handling and snake-catching businesses. The two were ostensibly brothers, but privately they had no shortage of rivalry.

Sitting on either side of the lower seat were Scarface Rong, Crane Master's trusted confidant, and Airplane Ming, Uncle Quan's right-hand man, as well as Mr. He, a relatively aloof "White Paper Fan" (advisor) who was in charge of recording.