Morning mist clung to the mountain roads as Lin Feng drove his second-hand pickup truck toward a nearby county. The modest vehicle was dented at the edges and coated in dust, blending perfectly into the rural backdrop.
He wasn't here for a business meeting. Today's goal was subtler—network building.
Chen Valley's online success had drawn some attention, and while his layers of secrecy still held firm, Lin Feng knew one truth: isolation is vulnerability. Power in China's countryside didn't always come from visibility—it came from relationships.
And so, today's target was a low-key gathering of agricultural cooperatives. Not a major summit, just a quiet meeting of local farm operators and mid-tier distributors. The perfect place to observe, listen, and build untraceable connections.
---
The venue was a modest tea house built in traditional style—courtyard framed with bamboo, clay tiles weathered by time. Inside, ten men and three women sat in loose robes or faded work jackets, sipping oolong and talking over bowls of sunflower seeds.
Lin Feng entered silently, nodded to the organizer, and took a seat at the back.
No banners. No cameras. Just hushed voices, scattered laughter, and trade talk.
The topics ranged from organic fertilizer blends to crop rotation methods and fluctuating RuralChain commission rates. One farmer grumbled about a new logistics partner overcharging. Another praised a small-town official who had quietly expedited land paperwork.
Lin Feng sat through it all with calm eyes and open ears.
At a break, a burly man with thick calluses on his hands approached.
"Haven't seen you here before. Which cooperative are you from?"
Lin Feng smiled. "I manage a small operation near Chen Valley. We're more focused on quality than scale right now."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Chen Valley? I've tasted your cucumbers. Sharp crunch, clean skin. You use spring water or something?"
"Just good soil," Lin Feng said simply.
The man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done. I'm Wang Dapeng. Run a few farms west of here. If you're ever short on hands during harvest, let me know."
Lin Feng nodded. "I appreciate it."
And just like that, a new informal ally was made.
---
By the end of the gathering, Lin Feng had quietly noted:
Two reputable logistics operators with no central chain ties.
One aging greenhouse supplier offering discounts to long-term clients.
A local policy officer who was known to "forget" inspections if gifted rare vegetables.
He didn't commit to anything, but he made sure his name—Lin Feng—was heard by the right people, under the right tone.
No flags. No attention.
Just quiet strength.
---
Back in the inner realm, the sun was in a perpetual golden hour glow as Lin Feng inspected the pond.
Fish stocks were booming. The grass carp, tilapia, and crucian carp had grown fat and active. He threw a handful of crushed soy feed into the water and watched ripples spread like silk patterns.
In the fishhouse nearby, he'd stored over a hundred vacuum-sealed packs of cleaned, descaled fish—ready for market whenever demand arose. Some were smoked, others flash-frozen in his makeshift deep freeze.
On a wooden table sat a new product he had been experimenting with: fermented fish sauce, crafted slowly in glazed earthen jars and aged over time.
He opened a jar and sniffed carefully.
Salty, deep umami, and free from chemical aftertaste.
If done right, it could become another pillar product.
But Lin Feng wasn't in a rush. Markets weren't built on whimsy. They were shaped, brick by brick.
---
Later that week, Zhao Yun returned from her second product event—this time a regional eco-brand seminar hosted by a startup accelerator group.
"Three inquiries," she reported. "Two grocers want steady bulk orders. One university student group asked if we'd run a workshop."
Lin Feng nodded.
"No to the workshop for now. Maintain limited supply on grocers. We're growing slow by design."
Zhao Yun blinked, then smiled. "You're different, you know. Everyone else wants explosive growth. You're deliberately walking uphill."
He looked at her and replied, "Steady feet don't slip."
She didn't press further.
---
Liu Ying had also prepared something new.
She handed Lin Feng a folder containing a rebranded product line.
"Chen Valley Reserve."
High-end packaging, minimalist design, biodegradable cartons, QR code tracking to verified field records. All fabricated to match real-world planted farms that Lin Feng had quietly acquired.
It was luxury—but low-profile. The kind of brand that upper-class buyers sought when they wanted quality without flashy marketing.
"We're submitting this line for certification under three clean-agriculture organizations," Liu Ying said.
"Approved," Lin Feng replied. "Make sure logistics is discreet."
She smiled. "Always."
---
That evening, Lin Feng finally called Grandpa Lin, his only remaining elder in the village.
The old man had been a farmer his whole life. Tough, lean, and hard to impress.
"Little Feng," the voice rasped over the phone, "still busy pretending to be a fruit merchant?"
Lin Feng chuckled. "Still pretending."
"Good. I'd rather you lie with a full stomach than speak truth with an empty bowl."
They chatted about the upcoming planting season, a neighbor's grandson getting married, and whether the plum tree in front of the old house was flowering early.
Then Grandpa Lin said something that gave Lin Feng pause:
"I had a visitor the other day. Man in a city suit. Asking if I had land for rent."
"What did you tell him?"
"That the land's been claimed. By my grandson's company. He didn't look pleased."
Lin Feng's eyes narrowed.
The circle was tightening.
---
In response, Lin Feng took several actions:
1. He transferred management of Grandpa Lin's fields to a new shell company with full legal leases.
2. Installed two security cameras at the old house—disguised as water meters.
3. Told Liu Ying to stop all online deliveries in that region for a month.
4. And finally, he sent a box of rare red beans, freshly harvested, to Grandpa Lin—with a note:
"Everything is safe. I'll visit soon. – Xiao Feng"
---
Meanwhile, Xu Yuhan sent a message:
"Heading to your side of the province for a rural video campaign. Want to meet again?"
Lin Feng replied:
"Sure. Dinner this time?"
Her answer came quickly:
"Looking forward to it."
---
When they met in a quiet farmhouse-style restaurant, Yuhan wore a soft green jacket and ponytail, blending effortlessly with the locals. She brought documents—nothing formal, just ideas.
"We're looking to pilot a youth training module. Three days. Light farming, team games, eco lessons. Could we borrow one of your 'brand' farms?"
Lin Feng thought for a moment.
If he said yes, it would expose one of his cover properties to a stream of photos and potential curious eyes.
But... it could also create trust, and more importantly, diversion.
"I'll lend one site. But I need a signed waiver about no media exposure without pre-clearance."
She grinned. "You really are a man of mystery."
"I just like peace and quiet."
They talked late into the evening. At one point, their conversation drifted from business to childhood memories—her summers in the countryside, his tricks stealing peaches from old trees.
For a moment, Lin Feng almost forgot how many masks he wore.
---
Back in the inner realm the next morning, he prepared a new plot for strawberries—imported red-fruited variety with higher sugar content.
He lined them in neat rows, installed bamboo stakes for netting, and sprinkled goat-manure compost.
As he wiped his brow, he looked up and whispered:
"Someday, I'll show you this place, Yuhan."
But not yet.
Not until the roots were deep enough.
---
End of Chapter 16