The private dining room wasn't loud, yet the quiet buzz of voices, clinking silverware, and the occasional ripple of polite laughter formed a strange sort of symphony—one that didn't play music, but power.
Lin Feng sat at a long rosewood table under the muted glow of antique chandeliers. Around him, members of the Crimson Circle conversed in half-sentences and practiced smiles. It wasn't a dinner—it was a chessboard disguised with wine glasses and velvet napkins.
Xu Shanyue, dressed in a red cheongsam embroidered with golden cranes, raised her glass and looked across at him. "They say silk hides blades," she said softly, just loud enough for those near them to hear. "But I suppose that depends on who's doing the sewing."
Lin Feng's gaze didn't flinch. "And whether the blade is meant to be seen at all."
A few guests exchanged glances. Even the servant refilling glasses moved more carefully.
Across the table, a young man in a charcoal suit—Ye Zihan, heir to a private equity firm known for hostile takeovers—leaned forward. "Lin Feng, everyone knows you've shaken up the inner circle. What we're curious about is… what you want."
A question, cloaked in camaraderie. Everyone here had come dressed for war, just in silk and cologne.
"I want what you all claim to already have," Lin Feng said evenly. "Influence that actually means something."
Someone gave a low chuckle. Xu Shanyue didn't. She tilted her head, curious. "And how do you plan to get that? With charities and pianos?"
"No," he replied. "With leverage. Tonight's about understanding who's offering it—and who's afraid of me having it."
A short silence followed. Then came a subtle nod from the far end of the table—Madam Jin, one of the shadow financiers behind the Crimson Circle. Her presence wasn't frequent, but when it occurred, it always meant decisions were being made.
"You'll receive a portfolio tomorrow morning," she said, voice as smooth as the tablecloth. "Three struggling urban blocks under our watch. Revive one. Flip another. The third... do with as you please. Call it your interview."
Lin Feng accepted the terms without a blink. "Fine. But I don't work on leashes."
"No leash," Madam Jin said. "Just the start of a very expensive conversation."
The rest of dinner passed like a performance: sips of wine, calculated questions, and plenty of smiles that never reached the eyes. Beneath every compliment lay a test. Beneath every toast, a warning.
As the plates were cleared and guests began rising, Xu Shanyue lingered by Lin Feng's side.
"You handled that well," she said. "Most people flinch the first time they sit across from Jin."
"I've seen worse," Lin Feng murmured.
She studied him for a second longer, then added, "The Crimson Circle doesn't play fair. If you're joining this dance, be ready to bleed."
"I don't mind bleeding," he said quietly, "as long as it's worth the scar."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Then maybe... I'll enjoy watching you."
She turned, the slit of her cheongsam fluttering behind her as she walked away—graceful, dangerous, unreadable.
Outside, under the indigo sky, Lin Feng stepped into the night air. The wind was crisp, clean, but he didn't breathe it in fully.
[System: Host, reminder: You've officially stepped into the big kids' playground. Please keep all limbs—and emotions—inside the ride at all times.]
He didn't respond. His thoughts were already on the three properties.
If they thought this was just a test, they were underestimating him.
It wasn't a test.
It was a takeover.