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

The space suddenly became much more spacious. The fifteen wooden crates (including the two that were taken out and put back) only occupied about two-thirds of the space, leaving enough room to hold more items and making it much easier to move around.

Only after doing all this did Chen Feng finally breathe a sigh of relief.

He walked back to the living room, sat on the cold floor mat, and looked at his hands in the dim light streaming in from the window. His hands still bore the traces of sawdust and a faint smell of gun oil from when he pried open the box.

Overnight, the situation changed dramatically.

The ammunition crisis was unexpectedly resolved, and the country even acquired reserves far exceeding expectations.

The system's functionality has achieved a key breakthrough, securing a sustainable supply channel.

The pressure from the 200,000 bounty still lingered, but having a powerful weapon in hand gave him confidence. At least, if he were to be surrounded and ambushed again, he wouldn't have to worry about bullets anymore, and could even use grenades and smoke bombs to create opportunities for escape.

More importantly, he uncovered a crucial source of revenue for Uncle Quan's docks—arms smuggling. This was extremely valuable intelligence, but also a double-edged sword that could harm both himself and others.

How can we utilize these newly acquired powers and intelligence?

Should they continue to lie low, relying on their work at the repair shop and their gradually integrated identity, slowly accumulating experience and waiting for the storm to pass?

Or... could we be more proactive? For example, could we use this batch of weapons and system modules to do something to disrupt or even retaliate against Master He, who has a 200,000 yuan bounty on his head? Or, could we obtain more benefits or information through Uncle Quan's connection?

Countless thoughts churned in my mind, but this time, it wasn't anxiety and helplessness, but rather a cold, calculating excitement.

He was no longer the fugitive who could only passively hide and struggle to make a living.

He now has henchmen and trump cards.

Although the road ahead is still fraught with danger, at least he saw the possibility of tearing a crack in the darkness or even igniting a fire.

Chen Feng lay down, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling.

Outside the window, the night in Sham Shui Po was deep.

But in the man's heart within this cramped room, a new storm may be brewing.

This time, however, he will no longer be a small boat tossed about in the storm.

He wants to be... the hand that stirs up the storm.

---

In the Kowloon Pier area, in Uncle Quan's "office" on the second floor of a warehouse, overlooking most of the berth, the atmosphere was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.

Uncle Quan, Deng Yongquan, sat behind his large desk covered with a thick glass top, his face ashen, veins throbbing on his forehead. He gripped a stubbed-out cigar tightly, almost crushing the butt. His usually calculating and composed hawk-like eyes were now bloodshot, churning with unbelievable rage and a hint of… barely perceptible heartache.

Three people stood in front of the desk, all silent and trembling, not daring to utter a sound.

On the left is the bespectacled accountant, his glasses askew, his hair disheveled, his face pale, and his body trembling slightly. In the middle is "Sad Dog," the foreman in charge of the dock's nighttime security and the safety of the "goods"—a burly man with a scar on his face, known for his ruthlessness, now also sweating profusely, his eyes darting around. On the right is Uncle Quan's henchman, Fei Jiming, his face equally grim, but he manages to maintain a semblance of composure.

"Say it again." Uncle Quan's voice wasn't loud, even a little hoarse, but every word was like an icicle piercing the hearts of the three people in front of him. "A dozen boxes of goods, right under your noses, vanished without a trace?"

The accountant's legs went weak, and he almost knelt down, his voice trembling with tears: "Uncle Quan... I really don't know! I... I was keeping count at the door the whole time, I only went to the toilet once, it was less than three minutes! When I came back... a few boxes of goods were missing! I thought I was seeing things, so I called Brother Sanggou over to check, but... the more I looked, the fewer there were! They were clearly moved in, but... they just disappeared!"

"Bullshit!" Uncle Quan slammed his hand on the table, the glass groaning under the weight. "Three minutes? A dozen boxes, each weighing dozens of kilograms, you think you can move them in three minutes? Even if you could, how? Fly away? Why didn't anyone see anything? Why was there no sound? Do you think I'm stupid?!"

The accountant was so frightened that he trembled all over and couldn't speak.

Uncle Quan's gaze shifted to Sang Gou, sharp as a knife: "And you? What are your men eating? Dozens of men at the dock, and you can't even keep an eye on a dozen or so boxes of goods? Were they asleep? Or did you take bribes and embezzle from your own posts?!"

"No! Uncle Quan! I didn't!" Sang Gou knelt down with a thud, his eyes red with anxiety. "I swear to God! I swear to Brother Guan! I absolutely haven't done anything to betray you, Uncle Quan! All of us brothers were on duty tonight, not a single one of us slacked off! The dock entrances and exits, the warehouse front and back, were all guarded! Even a rat couldn't get in! But... but those goods are just so... strange, Uncle Quan!"

"Strange?" Uncle Quan laughed angrily. "You're telling me strange? A dozen boxes of weapons disappeared without a trace, and you're telling me strange?! I think it's you bunch of useless bastards!"

He grabbed a purple clay teacup from the table and smashed it hard on the ground! The teacup shattered, and shards of porcelain and tea splashed everywhere.

Fei Jiming stepped forward and said in a low voice, "Uncle Quan, calm down. Getting angry now won't help. The most important thing is to find out the cause and see how to remedy the situation."

Uncle Quan's chest heaved as he gasped for breath, struggling to calm his raging emotions. He knew Fei Jiming was right; getting angry wouldn't solve anything. But he simply couldn't swallow this anger!

He had gone to great lengths, used countless connections, and spent a fortune to bring this batch of weapons from the sea! He had originally hoped that with these in-demand items, he could not only make a fortune but also further consolidate his position within the gang and even take the opportunity to squeeze out that unlucky bastard, Master He's, territory.

Now look what's happened! The goods had just arrived, barely warmed up, and right here at the most crucial dock, right under the noses of his dozens of men, a full thirteen boxes were lost!

This isn't just about money! This is a fucking slap in the face! A complete disgrace!

If this news gets out, how will Uncle Quan maintain his foothold in Kowloon West? What will those old guys within Hing Shing who have long disliked him think? Will that bastard Master He laugh his head off? Will other gangs think that Deng Yongquan is already a pushover they can easily bully?

"Investigate!" Uncle Quan spat out the order through gritted teeth. "Sang Gou, you take men immediately and search every corner of the dock, every inch of ground! Look for tunnels, hidden compartments, or other places where people can hide and smuggle goods! Question everyone who was at the dock tonight, one by one! Find out where they went at what time, what they did, whether they saw any suspicious people or things, get all the answers!"

"Yes, Uncle Quan!" The dog felt as if he had been granted a pardon, and he scrambled to his feet and rushed out.