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

The hustle and bustle of Warehouse Area No. 3 at the dock felt like a thick, greasy film covering Chen Feng's tense nerves.

The roar of loading and unloading machinery, the shouts of workers, the crisp sound of metal colliding, the dull rolling of wheels rolling over the ground... all kinds of sounds mixed together into a chaotic background noise, which made the silence in the small shed in the corner seem particularly abrupt.

Chen Feng leaned against the cold brick wall on the side of Warehouse No. 7. The cold touch came through his thin work clothes, making the stinging pain in his left arm and the dull pain in his right leg even clearer.

He slowly chewed the last bite of the cold steamed bun, the dry, rough texture scraping against his throat. He swallowed it with the cold water, feeling like he had swallowed a handful of sand.

His gaze remained fixed on the gaunt old man dozing in the small shed.

Old Ghost.

In black market rumors, this name represents one of the most secretive and lowest-level "going to sea" routes in Jin Gang.

Unlike Fatty San, who ran a seemingly respectable teahouse as a cover, he wasn't like other smugglers who might be entrenched in some dark basement.

He sat there so brazenly in the dockside warehouse area, in the most inconspicuous guardhouse, as if he were guarding not goods, but a dangerous crevice leading to another world.

Chen Feng observed him for nearly half an hour.

The old man dozed off naturally, breathing evenly. Occasionally, he would slightly lift his eyelids due to a sudden noise in the distance, glance at the area with his cloudy eyes, and then quickly close them again, as if he were indifferent to everything around him.

But the seemingly casually placed, chipped enamel mug at his feet remained in the same spot.

Several workers who hurried past, and even two uniformed managers, subconsciously avoided the shed, rarely glancing inside.

This is not the kind of "treatment" an ordinary warehouse guard should receive.

The broadcast came through again, this time clearer, seemingly repeatedly emphasizing the need to strengthen port security checks and personnel screening.

Several passing workers whispered about the "major case" in the west of the city last night, their tone filled with shock and a hint of barely perceptible excitement.

Time is passing by, second by second.

Every minute, the police search net could tighten further; every minute, the risk of him and his sister being exposed would increase.

Can't wait any longer.

Chen Feng finished the last bit of cold water, tightened the kettle lid, and stuffed it back into his tool bag.

He took a deep breath; the salty, briny air of the harbor seemed to carry with it the smell of rust and danger.

The feigned, slightly anxious and ingratiating expression on his face became more natural—in some ways, it wasn't even entirely feigned.

He slung the heavy tool bag over his shoulder, adjusted the weight distribution on his shoulder to make the injury in his left arm feel better.

Then he strode toward the small shed.

The steps were slow but steady, making a slight sound as they landed on the uneven cement ground.

Old Ghost seemed to still be dozing off, showing no reaction to Chen Feng's approach.

Only when Chen Feng's figure completely blocked the pitiful light at the entrance of the shed did the old ghost, like a startled hibernating animal, slowly and reluctantly lift his eyelids.

The eyes, so cloudy that the pupils and whites were almost indistinguishable, fell on Chen Feng without any emotional fluctuation, as if looking at a moving stone.

Chen Feng didn't speak, but simply bowed slightly to make himself look more respectful, looking directly at the old ghost.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds.

Outside the shed was the ceaseless clamor of the dock, while inside was a suffocating silence.

Finally, Chen Feng spoke, his voice low, deliberately hoarse and urgent, getting straight to the point:

"Uncle Old Ghost? I need to ask you something."

Old Ghost's eyelids drooped slightly, but he didn't say anything.

Chen Feng leaned forward again, lowering his voice even further, almost squeezing it out from his throat: "Is there a boat? Ideally... we'd leave tonight!"

This question was extremely rash and direct, completely contrary to the roundabout, code-passing, and probing rules of black market rendezvous.

But Chen Feng knew he didn't have time for those tricks anymore.

Fatty San's connection has been severed, and the police are conducting a city-wide search. He must leave as soon as possible; every minute he stays increases the risk of being caught.

A faint, elusive glint seemed to flash in the old ghost's murky eyes, like surprise, or perhaps... understanding.

He slowly sat up straighter, his withered lips moved slightly, and his voice was as dry as sandpaper:

"The checks are strict now; haven't you seen they've increased staff at the port?"

He raised his withered finger and casually pointed to the more uniformed figures he could vaguely see outside than usual. "With such a tense atmosphere, what ship would dare to move?"

This is both an excuse and a test.

I wanted to see just how much this "guest," who was clearly in a hurry to run away and even seemed to be in a panic, really meant, and how much he was willing to pay.

Chen Feng's heart sank, but his anxious expression grew even stronger. He took another half step forward and could almost smell the sour, rotten odor emanating from the old man, a mixture of cheap tobacco and years of sweat.

His voice was lower and harsher, carrying a desperate, all-or-nothing resolve:

"The greater the risk, the greater the profit! Uncle Gui, just one word: how much?"

He emphasized the word "profit".

Sure enough, a glint of light flashed in the old ghost's eyes, which seemed perpetually sleepy!

Like a venomous snake lurking in the darkness, it finally caught the scent of its prey's blood.

Those who work in this line of work live on the edge, risking their lives. What are they after?

It's just money, isn't it?

They only care about money, not people. As long as the money is right, they'll risk their lives!

The deep wrinkles on Old Gui's face seemed to have smoothed out a bit. He slowly reached out, picked up the chipped enamel mug at his feet, brought it to his lips, and pretended to take a sip, not caring whether there was water inside.

Then, he put down the jar, his cloudy eyes refocusing on Chen Feng's face, looking him up and down as if assessing a commodity waiting to be sold.

"tonight……"

Old Ghost pondered, his fingers unconsciously tapping on his knee. "There is a ship... the 'Shunfeng,' a cargo ship that runs the Hong Kong Island route. It was originally scheduled to leave tomorrow night, but the captain... is a bit short on cash lately."

He paused, observing Chen Feng's reaction: "Cargo ships are in poor condition. You'll be crammed into the cargo hold, stuffy, hot, and smelly, possibly with rats. You can't show your face the whole way; you'll eat, drink, and relieve yourself inside. Once you reach the outskirts of Hong Kong Island, small boats will pick you up and take you ashore. From there, it's up to you how you proceed."

Hong Kong Island!

Chen Feng's heart skipped a beat. Although it wasn't his ideal destination (after all, it was still under British jurisdiction and closely connected with the mainland), at least it meant leaving the mainland and having room to maneuver.

Moreover, smuggling by cargo ship is riskier than smuggling by passenger ship, but it is also more covert.