The glossy shine of the elite’s banquet tables faded quickly in Lin Feng’s rearview mirror—literally and taphorically. One mont, he was clinking glasses with Crimson Circle mbers under chandeliers; the next, he was standing on cracked pavent, staring at a forgotten corner of the old city.
No golden lighting. No polished cutlery. Just dust, rust, and tension.
A man in a cheap leather jacket approached, cigarette tucked behind one ear and a wary glint in his eyes. "You’re Lin Feng?"
"I am," he replied simply.
The man gave a nod that wasn’t quite respectful—but not dismissive either. "Boss Qi said you’d co down. Didn’t expect soone like you to show up without backup."
Lin Feng looked around. Hollowed-out buildings. Faded signs. A neighborhood that had been sold off by the city years ago but never fully redeveloped. Too valuable to ignore. Too volatile to touch.
"Backup?" Lin Feng said dryly. "I’m not the one who needs it."
The man let out a short chuckle. "You’ve got guts."
"I’ve got purpose." Lin Feng took a step forward. "Let’s talk business."
Inside an old tea shop that doubled as a safehouse, the atmosphere shifted.
Maps of the area covered one wall, and red stickers marked properties that had suddenly changed hands—quietly, and in patterns that suggested a deeper hand was playing chess with real estate.
"This," the man said, pointing at the largest cluster of red dots, "used to be scattered. Now it’s all owned by shell companies. Legal, sure. But too fast. Too smooth. Soone’s laundering their way into total control."
"And the city’s pretending not to see it?" Lin Feng asked, already knowing the answer.
"They’re not pretending," the man said grimly. "They’re being paid to blink."
Lin Feng’s eyes narrowed.
He pulled out his phone and opened a portfolio—hidden assets, obscure LLCs, and quiet purchases he’d made through the system over the past week. So were adjacent to the Crimson Circle’s flagged zones. Others bordered this exact neighborhood.
He hadn’t known exactly what they would lead to until now. But now, it clicked.
A quiet war for control. Not in boardrooms—but on broken sidewalks, in hidden contracts, and through people who couldn’t afford to say no.
And soone—possibly from within the Crimson Circle—was pulling strings.
Outside the shop, dusk painted the streets in faded amber. Lin Feng stepped out with a promise echoing in his mind: If they were going to play dirty, he’d beat them at their own ga. Cleaner. Smarter. With fewer casualties.
As he walked past a group of kids kicking a half-deflated ball, one of them stopped and asked, "Are you the guy who gave Miss Guo’s mom a new heater?"
Lin Feng paused.
"Maybe," he said with a faint smile. "Why?"
The kid grinned. "She said soone helped without asking for anything. Said the city doesn’t do that."
"Well," Lin Feng replied, "maybe the city needs a new way to play."
The system chid in quietly:
[System: Host, I think we just made our first move in a street-level war. Also, the heater cost five tis market price—because apparently kindness is expensive.]
Lin Feng didn’t respond. His mind was already racing ahead. Not to the elites—but to the cracks in their foundation. To the places they didn’t look.
That’s where he’d build power.
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