Longhai Grand Hall – Press Conference Room
The chandeliers hadn't been lit in years. Not since the flood that ruined the marble floor. But today, they glowed like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Luo Zixuan stood at the podium, dressed in muted tones—his power disguised as humility.
"I extend a formal invitation to Mr. Lin Feng," he said smoothly. "To meet, to speak, and to bring stability back to our fractured city."
Click. Click. Flash. Reporters leaned in.
"He has earned the right to be heard," Luo added, eyes never once betraying the venom behind the smile.
Behind him, Greycoat murmured, "He'll never accept."
"He will," Luo said quietly, "because the people watching can't afford him to look afraid."
Crimson Circle HQ – Observation Room
Xu Shanyue and Lin Feng stood side by side, watching the livestream.
Su Qingyue paced behind them. "You can't go. This is a setup."
"Of course it's a setup," Lin Feng said calmly. "But it's also a mirror."
Xu nodded slowly. "He's daring you to walk into the fire."
"He wants the city to believe I'm just another ambitious upstart," Lin said. "If I refuse, I'm a coward. If I go and die, he wins. But…"
He turned to them.
"If I walk in and don't die—if I make him flinch on camera—then it's over."
Qingyue looked at him like he'd gone mad.
"Or it starts over," Xu corrected softly. "On a bigger board."
Unknown Location – Digital Safehouse
Mouse hacked into Ravel's datachip with quiet reverence. It wasn't encrypted for protection—it was encrypted for secrecy. Layers like silk over steel.
And inside?
Not just a contract.
A ledger.
A kill list.
Ten names.
Three already dead.
Two still alive.
And one name, at the top, listed in gray:
LIN FENG – Class-GHOST
Access Cleared by: WR-1
Directive Signed: 19 Years Ago
Co-Signed: 'Orchid Root'**
Mouse blinked. "He wasn't just marked for death now… He was born into this."
Street Market – Later That Night
Lin Feng walked quietly between vendors, flanked by no one. Just the crowd. Just whispers.
A child offered him a flower.
He knelt, took it, nodded. No speeches. No guards.
But his face was enough.
And that night, across rooftops and underground chatrooms, one message repeated:
"He's going. And he's not afraid."