The old quarter of the city looked different after dark.
Streetlights buzzed faintly overhead, casting long shadows across cracked sidewalks and faded shopfronts. This wasn't the polished world of luxury clubs and elite dinners—it was real, raw, and humming with quiet tension. Lin Feng's footsteps echoed as he walked past shuttered stalls, the distant beat of music leaking from a second-story window nearby.
Here, deals didn't come with silver forks and red invitations. They came with side glances, hushed meetings, and unspoken rules.
He paused at the corner of Xianghe Alley, glancing once at the barely lit teahouse wedged between two brick buildings. This was the place. According to the intel he'd pieced together—some through the system, some through quiet observation—this block was being quietly bought up. Not by any major corporation, but through ghost proxies. Layered shell buyers, misleading paperwork, and a slow trickle of property changes no one noticed—unless they were looking.
And Lin Feng had started looking.
Inside the teahouse, the scent of old wood and steeped jasmine lingered. The hostess barely acknowledged him, but a man in a leather jacket—early 30s, with a tired expression and a chipped tooth—nodded toward the back.
"You're the one poking around the deeds," he said. "Didn't think a rich kid would come down here in person."
Lin Feng smiled faintly. "Neither did they."
The man gestured to a low table where faded papers lay spread out. "Three blocks. Six properties. Two are already sold—quietly. The rest? Being pressured."
Lin Feng scanned the files, eyes narrowing. Every signature, every name felt like part of a jigsaw puzzle—and now, a few edge pieces were snapping into place.
"They're clearing this area out," Lin Feng murmured. "But not for a mall. Not for commercial property either."
The man nodded. "Whispers say it's tied to a backchannel from the Crimson Circle."
That caught Lin Feng's attention. So it wasn't just a business move—it was political. Strategic. Someone in the Crimson Circle was laying foundations not just with influence—but with territory.
"Who's behind the purchase front?" Lin Feng asked.
The man hesitated, then slid over a photo—blurry, taken from a distance. A familiar face, carefully dressed, sitting in the back of a tinted car.
Luo Zixuan.
Lin Feng's gaze hardened slightly. "Of course."
Later that night, as he stood alone on the rooftop of a half-finished building overlooking the block, the system's voice cut through the quiet.
[System: Host, I sense a conspiracy cocktail brewing. Shall I add crushed egos and a twist of vengeance?]
Lin Feng didn't smile.
Zixuan wasn't just flexing power anymore. He was staking a claim—on the streets, in the systems, and maybe even on Jiang Yue'er, who had been noticeably quieter lately.
This wasn't just a test of resources. It was a war of presence. Visibility. Intent.
Lin Feng took out his phone and began drafting a message. Not to his usual contacts—but to three local property owners who still hadn't sold.
"I'll match the offer. Plus 10%. But this time, keep the name on the deed."
He wasn't going to stop the Crimson Circle's play by confronting it head-on.
He'd bleed it out with smarter moves.
The city lights flickered below him as a wind passed through the skeletal structure. Somewhere far off, music played and tires screeched on wet pavement. It was messy, chaotic, and uncertain.
Just the way Lin Feng liked it.