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

Ah Bing scoffed, "Dream on! Two hundred thousand isn't so easy to find. Right now, countless people in Kowloon are trying to find that northerner. Even the police are investigating him diligently. Do you think that guy's stupid? He's definitely hiding in some incredibly secluded place!"

"I wonder if that guy is really from the North," Achang muttered. "Maybe he's a hitman hired by some local enemy?"

Master Zhang tapped the table: "Eat! Talking about this all the time, be careful you don't get into trouble!"

The two then shrank back and buried their heads in their rice.

Chen Feng ate his meal silently, seemingly uninterested in the gossip. But his mind was racing.

The bounty has been increased to 200,000... Master He is truly desperate and has gone all out. The allure of this number is devastating. It's foreseeable that there will be more "eyes" on the streets, the checks will be stricter, and there may even be cases of people making false accusations and baseless charges for the reward.

He must be more careful with his words and actions, and try to minimize unnecessary outings, especially in light rain.

They continued working in the afternoon. Besides repairs, Chen Feng also began to subtly ask Master Zhang for advice on where to buy local hardware parts and special tools, and even chatted about his experiences modifying old machines. Master Zhang was happy to share, feeling that this young man from the north was not only skilled but also willing to learn, and valued him even more.

At the end of the day, Chen Feng received his usual eight yuan wages. Adding the extra ten yuan Zhang gave him at noon, his total income for the day was eighteen yuan. It wasn't much, but it was enough to sustain him and Xiao Yu for a while, and they might even have a little left over.

He didn't go home immediately, but went to the market first.

As usual, he bought some vegetables, a fish, and a block of tofu. When paying, he bargained with the vegetable vendor in much more fluent Cantonese, eventually getting a 50-cent discount. The vendor smiled and said he was "good at accounting" and knew how to manage money.

He went to the grocery store and bought a small bag of sugar and half a pound of eggs. Passing a stall selling used books, he stopped and picked out a slightly worn "Handbook of Common Cantonese Phrases" for 50 cents. This would help him master the local language more quickly.

As I walked back carrying my things, dusk was approaching. The streetlights gradually came on, and neon signs began to flash.

There seemed to be more "thugs" on the streets. They were in groups of three or five, squatting or standing, their eyes scanning the faces of passersby. Some of them, who looked like small leaders, were whispering orders to their men to "be smarter."

The atmosphere was even more tense than in the morning, with an invisible pressure permeating the air, like the gloom before a storm.

Chen Feng kept his eyes straight ahead, carrying his groceries and tool bag, and walked steadily through the crowd. He could feel several gazes lingering on him, but perhaps because of his overly "ordinary" attire and the unremarkable shopping basket in his hand, those gazes quickly moved away.

Back at No. 132 Fu Rong Street, I ran into Mrs. Chen and a few of her mahjong friends who had just finished playing mahjong.

"Mr. Chen, you're back? What delicious food did you buy?" Mrs. Chen asked with a smile.

"I bought a fish, I'll make a tofu fish soup." Chen Feng held up the fish in his hand, his smile simple and honest.

"You've got good taste! Fish soup is so nourishing!" one of the mahjong players remarked. "Mr. Chen, you two brothers really know how to take care of yourselves."

After exchanging a few brief pleasantries, Chen Feng turned and went upstairs.

I opened the door, and Xiaoyu was already waiting. The aroma of rice filled the room.

"Brother, you're back."

"Okay." Chen Feng put down his things, locked the door, and secured the table. He handed the groceries to Xiaoyu, then walked to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain, and looked down at the street.

As dusk fell, several suspicious figures loitered across the street, their eyes occasionally glancing at the building.

The storm of the 200,000 yuan reward has already reached Fuk Wing Street.

Chen Feng lowered the curtains, his expression calm.

He went to the kitchen and began to prepare the fish. His movements were practiced and his expression focused, as if he were just an ordinary older brother preparing dinner for his younger brother after getting off work.

On the cutting board, the fish scales are scraped off, the internal organs are cleaned, and it is rinsed with clean water.

The water in the pot started to bubble, and the tofu was cut into small pieces.

Everything proceeded as usual.

But the hands holding the kitchen knife were frighteningly steady.

A sharp glint flashed in the depths of his eyes, disappearing in the rising fumes.

Beneath the surface of everyday life lies a vigilance and calculation deeper than the darkness of night.

A storm is coming.

And he must continue to play the role of the ordinary repairman "Chen Guodong" in the gaps of this storm, until... the necessary moment.

It was late at night.

The hustle and bustle of Fuk Wing Street in Sham Shui Po gradually subsided like the receding tide, leaving only the faint sound of ship horns from the distant pier and the occasional passing vehicle. In the small room on the third and a half floor of No. 132, the lights had long been turned off.

Xiaoyu was fast asleep in the bedroom, making even and soft breathing sounds.

Chen Feng lay on the living room floor, his head resting on a cloth bag stuffed with old clothes. He stared at the ever-changing, blurry light and shadow reflected on the ceiling by the neon lights outside the window.

He was not sleepy at all.

The invisible pressure I felt on the streets during the day was like a sticky spider web, entwining my heart. Those lurking "thugs" with greedy eyes, the seemingly casual but actually sharp scrutiny of the patrol officers, and that chilling figure that Ah Chang and Ah Bing mentioned during dinner—two hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars.

Two hundred thousand.

In an era when the average worker's monthly salary was only a couple hundred yuan, this was practically an astronomical figure. It was enough to drive the most timid to take risks, to make the most cunning rack their brains, and to drive the city's lowest-class thugs, who would stab someone for a few yuan, completely insane.

Grandpa He is determined to dig three feet into the ground and do whatever it takes to get him out.

Can this routine of working at the repair shop every day, buying groceries after get off work, and playing the role of an ordinary worker really last?

Perhaps in the short term. His disguise appears to be successful so far. His language skills are improving rapidly, he deliberately imitates the behavior of local workers, he has a relatively stable job and social circle (though small), and he has even established preliminary, superficially good relationships with his landlord and neighbors.

But the risks increase exponentially.

The soaring bounty means the scope and intensity of the search will expand dramatically. Not only the underworld, but also figures from the gray areas—such as well-informed landlords, money-grubbing smugglers, and even low-level informants who might betray anyone for the reward—will be drawn into this "treasure hunt."

Any tiny flaw can be magnified infinitely by countless eyes blinded by greed.