The fallout from Luo Zixuan's humiliation hadn't faded. If anything, it had spread like wildfire.
Forum threads were flooded with theories. Students debated whether Lin Feng was a reclusive heir, a fake, or something even crazier. One popular post read:
"The Calm Wolf: Who Really Is Lin Feng?"
— "He shows up like a side character, but suddenly everyone's obsessed with him."
— "That guy made Zixuan eat his words in public. He's dangerous."
— "Anyone else notice he's been hanging out with Jiang Yue'er a lot lately? Studio dates?"
Lin Feng didn't reply to any of it.
Why would he?
He just casually scrolled through the threads, half-listening to the system's smug commentary.
[System: You're like a walking plot twist, Host. I should start selling tickets.]
The next morning, the campus mood was shifting. Students didn't just watch Lin Feng walk by anymore—they whispered, speculated, some even stepped aside slightly like he had a shadow they didn't want to get caught under.
But the biggest surprise came with a private message.
Zhao Rouran:
"You've stirred up the elite circle. We're hosting a small private event tonight. Dress code: lowkey rich. You in?"
It wasn't an invite. It was a test.
Later that night, in a hidden rooftop lounge above a boutique hotel, the elite circle gathered. Only those from the Heavenly Group—and those with real power—got in.
Wine glasses clinked, laughter floated in the air, and designer cologne lingered like competition.
When Lin Feng arrived—simple black shirt, clean jacket, no logos—people turned.
Zhao Rouran waved him over instantly, a mix of amusement and curiosity in her smile. "Finally showed up. I was worried you were too mysterious to mingle."
"Just didn't feel like proving anything," Lin Feng said casually, accepting the drink she handed him.
From across the room, a few students watched him closely.
Ye Shuang whispered to Zhou Xiang, "He doesn't even try. That's what makes it worse."
Zhou Xiang sipped his drink with a narrowed gaze. "Anyone can throw money. Let's see if he can play the long game."
Luo Zixuan, surprisingly in attendance, didn't approach Lin Feng. But he didn't ignore him either. His sharp eyes followed every move like a wolf pacing behind glass.
Zhao Rouran leaned closer, voice teasing. "And here I thought you were dating Jiang Yue'er. All those studio visits look pretty cozy…"
Lin Feng didn't answer. He let the silence speak. Some smirks turned to raised brows.
"Careful," Zhao Rouran said playfully. "Too much mystery, and people start filling in their own stories."
"They already are," Lin Feng replied, eyes flicking toward Luo. "But I don't write for them."
A heavy pause. Then, Luo Zixuan finally approached.
"Nice to see you socializing," he said, lips tight. "Didn't peg you for the type."
"I'm full of surprises," Lin Feng answered evenly.
Luo chuckled darkly. "Don't get too comfortable. This circle doesn't tolerate dead weight."
Lin Feng didn't flinch. He stepped closer, his voice low enough only Luo could hear.
"I'm not here to fight," he said quietly, "but if someone tries to burn my bridge, I won't rebuild it. I'll flood the river."
Luo froze for just a beat—barely noticeable, but enough.
[System: Host unlocked passive ability: Verbal Slap. Cooldown: indefinite.]
Lin Feng turned away before Luo could reply. He moved to the balcony, where the city lights shimmered like embers on water.
He didn't need to prove himself. But he would remind them—every step, every move—he wasn't someone they could measure with shallow games.
The elite could whisper. The rivals could bite.
But Lin Feng?
He'd already started writing his own legacy.