For two days, Lin Feng didn't appear in any public spaces—not on interviews, not in panels, not even in his own company's social pulse.
To most of the city, it looked like silence. To those paying attention, it looked like vulnerability.
But to those closest to him—it meant something far more dangerous.
He was preparing.
In the heart of the industrial district, far from the polished skyline of downtown, sat a weathered-looking logistics office that didn't even show up properly on city property maps. Inside, through a set of secure biometric doors, Lin Feng had repurposed the lower two floors into what Yuyan once described as "a strategist's lair disguised as dust."
Here, within dark walls and a minimalist steel desk, Lin Feng sat flanked by six monitors. The screens didn't just track numbers or headlines—they monitored silence. Activity drop-offs. Employee behavioral shifts. Sudden legal interest in unrelated shell companies. Subtle narratives emerging from anonymous handles.
