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

The afternoon's work was even more demanding. We installed new motors, re-laid and reconnected the burnt-out control circuitry, and debugged relays and switches. Master Zhang, with his rich experience, gave decisive instructions; Chen Feng possessed exceptional comprehension and practical skills, executing tasks flawlessly; and although A-Chang was impulsive, he worked diligently as an assistant.

During this time, the "inspectors" at the dock came to check twice, and after confirming that they were just repairing machinery, they didn't interfere further. While Chen Feng was working with his head down, his ears were perked up, catching snippets of conversation between the inspectors:

"...Uncle Quan will be coming over tonight to check on a new batch of 'goods'..."

"...Be careful, the police have been patrolling the area all the time lately..."

"...Everyone's on edge because of what happened with Master He..."

"...Keep a close eye on these repairmen, don't let them wander off..."

Uncle Quan… that must be the fellow sect leader who took over part of Master He's territory. It seems this dock is indeed under Uncle Quan's control now. Will there be "new cargo" arriving tonight? What kind of cargo requires Uncle Quan to personally inspect it?

Chen Feng secretly made a mental note of it.

Around 4 p.m., after intense repairs, the "tiger crane" finally emitted a deep, rumbling sound. The steel cables slowly tightened, steadily lifting and moving the several huge wooden crates suspended in mid-air, and then carefully placing them on the deck of the cargo ship next to it.

Boss Li breathed a long sigh of relief, a smile spreading across his face. He readily paid double the wages and even gave Master Zhang an extra red envelope.

"Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Zhang and Mr. Chen! I'll definitely come back to you next time I need something!"

Master Zhang was exhausted, but he was in a good mood because he received a generous reward. The three packed up their tools and left the dock accompanied by Brother Shui.

On the way back, sitting in the bumpy tricycle, both Master Zhang and Achang were so tired that they dozed off. Chen Feng, however, showed no signs of fatigue. He leaned against the side of the vehicle, closed his eyes, and seemed to be resting as well.

But in my mind, everything I'd seen at the dock that day was playing back rapidly, like a movie: the terrain, the buildings, the people, the sentries, that mysterious iron gate, the few words spoken by the patrolmen…

The docks controlled by Uncle Quan... a paradise for nighttime smuggling... bringing in an untold fortune every day...

A vague outline of a plan became clearer in his mind.

Perhaps the key to solving the ammunition problem, and the breakthrough to shift the pressure of the 200,000 bounty, lies here.

Night gradually enveloped Kowloon.

The lights in the dock area gradually come on, and the hustle and bustle of the day begins to transition into the seclusion of the night.

Chen Feng, who appears to be just an ordinary repairman who buries himself in his work during the day, has quietly memorized the layout of this area.

The hunter's eyes have already locked onto a new hunting ground.

We are just waiting for the right opportunity.

The Kowloon Pier area at night is completely different from its daytime appearance.

The daytime hustle and bustle and orderliness faded away, replaced by a clandestine and efficient busyness. Beams of searchlight pierced the darkness, sweeping across the sea and dock facilities, but many corners remained shrouded in deep shadow. Ships moved in and out no longer with fanfare; the hum of motors was low, and ship lights were dim. Shadows moved swiftly between piles of cargo and warehouses, their hushed shouts and heavy footsteps weaving a peculiar rhythm.

The salty, fishy smell in the air remained, but now carried a hint of engine oil, tobacco, and an indescribable tension.

Like a shadow, Chen Feng silently lurked beneath an abandoned wooden pier on the outskirts of the dock. The area was filled with rotten cables and rusty iron barrels, about two hundred meters from the berth where the "tiger crane" was repaired during the day, right at the edge of the searchlight's sweep and the limit of hearing.

He changed into a set of dark clothes he had taken from his personal storage space, clothes that blended almost seamlessly with the night. He smeared his face with soot to conceal his overly defined features. The safety of his Type 54 pistol was off, and it was easily accessible. On his left calf, in a leg wrap, was a heavy wrench he had taken from his tool bag, sharpened to an exceptionally sharp edge—if necessary, this thing was heavier and more deadly than a knife.

Instead of acting immediately, he remained like a patient gecko, clinging to the cold, damp wooden board, gathering information with his ears and eyes.

The words he overheard during the day, "Uncle Quan will be coming over tonight to check on a new batch of 'goods'," planted a seed in his heart. What kind of "goods" would require Uncle Quan's personal inspection? They must be incredibly valuable, and likely something shady. Perhaps smuggled high-end cigarettes and alcohol, or electronics; perhaps something even more dangerous…weapons? Or maybe human smugglers?

Whatever it is, as long as it can create chaos or provide him with what he desperately needs, it's worth exploring.

He observed the target area—near the entrance to the underground warehouse with its heavy iron gate.

It was much busier there than during the day. The heavy iron gate was open, and dim light shone from inside. Seven or eight strong men were lined up, unloading rectangular, rather heavy-looking wooden crates from a medium-sized barge moored nearby and passing them into the warehouse. The crates weren't large, but the men's steps were heavy, indicating they were quite substantial.

The box was wrapped in waterproof tarpaulin, making it impossible to see what it contained.

Two people stood at the warehouse entrance. One was the head guard I had seen during the day, dressed in a black short-sleeved shirt; the other was a middle-aged man in a gray silk shirt, wearing glasses, and constantly taking notes in a small notebook—he looked like an accountant.

Further away, a black Ford sedan was parked beside a parking space, with two bodyguards in black suits and sharp eyes standing next to it. There seemed to be someone inside the car, but the windows were tinted dark, making it difficult to see clearly. That must be Uncle Quan's or one of his important subordinates' vehicles.

Chen Feng held his breath, calculating rapidly in his mind.

The moving was slow, and there seemed to be quite a few boxes. At this pace, it might take more than an hour to move everything. There were only two clearly non-combatants (tentative personnel) and a limited number of guards at the warehouse entrance. Most of the manpower was devoted to moving the boxes. Searchlights swept across the area regularly, but there was a two-minute interval between each sweep.

Most importantly, these people seemed completely unprepared for anyone to dare target them at this time and place. While security was tight on the outside, it was lax on the inside; attention was focused on the goods being moved and the possibility of an official search, with insufficient internal defenses.

A bold idea, like a spark in the darkness, burst forth in Chen Feng's mind.

Sneak into the warehouse and see what's inside? Or... to be more direct?