CHAPTER 88: CHAPTER 89 – CRACKS IN THE MIRROR

By morning, the city was awake—but not just physically.

The financial forums buzzed with a different tone. The usual controlled flow of polite corporate announcements had been punctured, replaced by something raw, uncertain.

The anonymous exposé, published late the night before, was already circulating through private WeChat groups and professional Slack channels. Its allegations weren’t direct, but damning by implication.

Three shell firms, previously unknown, linked by metadata to a digital smear campaign. Each firm subtly connected to a media conglomerate with known investments from Nantai Holdings.

And Nantai Holdings? Zixuan’s favored quiet hand.

The story didn’t say Zixuan’s name.

But everyone read it.

At Celica HQ, Lin Feng walked into the top-floor war room just after 7:00 a.m., coffee in one hand, his phone buzzing with silent notifications.

Guo Yuwei was already there, seated near the center screen, tapping through streams of reaction metrics. Her tailored blazer hung off the back of the chair. No pretense this morning. Just pressure.

"You should see this," she said, rotating a tablet toward him.

Lin took it.

The screen showed three simultaneous emails from high-profile journalists at different publications—all requesting comment on the bot farms and possible ties to urban policy manipulation.

"They’re not asking if it’s real," Yuwei said. "They’re asking how deep it goes."

"Good," Lin replied. "Let them dig."

By 9:00 a.m., a second-tier business magazine known for light commentary on trends published a bold headline:

"Narratives for Sale? Inside the Emerging Web of Influence-Shaping Firms Tied to Civic Smear Tactics"

The piece was light on hard proof but rich in speculation.

It asked questions Zixuan wouldn’t want answered.

Why were these shell firms created weeks before the Urban Renewal Initiative?

Why did their language patterns mimic known bot networks?

Why were their target narratives centered around female leadership and financial legitimacy?

Still no names. No accusations.

But the readers were connecting dots.

Meanwhile, Lin Feng’s team had been preparing for more than just a leak.

They had leverage.

Ruoxi arrived just before noon carrying a silver folder marked "Tangent": an off-book dossier created by a PR intelligence firm Lin quietly acquired weeks ago.

Inside were photos, archived web traffic logs, and bank routing maps showing how funds from Zixuan’s media shell firms were used to hire offshore IT contractors specializing in "attention-swaying."

In short: bot handlers.

"Still not courtroom-proof," Ruoxi said. "But more than enough for public perception."

Lin flipped through the folder, his expression unreadable.

"Then let’s stop pretending this is a cold war," he said. "And show them we know how to bleed."

The next step wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t even directly from Lin.

Instead, it came through Luo Bingqing.

She posted a short, blunt statement on her verified social media account—no hashtags, no filters, no brand tie-ins.

"If a woman builds alongside a man, they say she’s just a shadow.

If she leads alone, they call her difficult.

If she speaks out, she’s being used.

We’ve seen this before. But this time, we won’t stay quiet."

The post went viral in under an hour.

By afternoon, two more prominent female executives reposted it with comments.

The conversation was shifting—from "Lin Feng’s inner circle" to a larger cultural moment about female discrediting in high-stakes environments.

And Lin?

He stayed quiet.

Because in a war of mirrors, silence lets the enemy punch themselves.

Meanwhile, at the Eastern Prominence, Yuyan hosted a closed gallery showing for the Urban Renewal Initiative—a last-minute event, modestly promoted, but quietly important.

She displayed mixed-media panels inspired by city districts the initiative targeted—real stories, archived images, community contributions.

Midway through, an influential lifestyle journalist arrived unannounced. She browsed the exhibit in silence before approaching Yuyan directly.

"You’re part of the team accused of staging this for clout, right?" the woman asked.

Yuyan didn’t flinch.

"I’m the one who painted the walls you’re standing in front of."

Silence.

Then the journalist took her photo.

Not for scandal.

For the cover of next week’s issue.

Back in his office, Lin Feng finally made one calculated move of his own.

He opened his contacts list and scrolled to a man named Qiu Haoran—a mid-level editor at a formerly neutral media outlet.

Lin had helped his daughter secure a grant three months ago. Quietly. Without fanfare.

He sent one line:

"If the city wants the full truth, I’m willing to give it. Privately."

The reply came ten minutes later.

"Interview. 24 hours. No camera. Just facts."

Lin smiled faintly.

Zixuan Xuanzhi, across the city, wasn’t smiling.

Inside a soundproofed chamber at his East District office, he reviewed the data with his media liaison and personal legal adviser.

The shell firms were compromised.

The bot pattern was exposed.

No evidence pointed directly to him, but the tension was growing.

He tapped the side of his chair, deep in thought.

His adviser spoke cautiously, "If this continues, we’ll have to suspend the East Vector media campaign entirely. Public heat is rising. And the tech firms we partnered with are already asking for reassurances."

Zixuan stood.

"Fine," he said quietly. "Then it’s time we made this personal again."

The following day, the interview between Lin Feng and Qiu Haoran was published in plain-text transcript format on a high-traffic civic blog.

It wasn’t confrontational.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It was surgical.

In it, Lin laid out the timeline:

The Urban Renewal Initiative’s intent

The sudden wave of skepticism targeting its legitimacy

The discovery of organized bot activity tied to three obscure shell firms

The financial trails from those firms to offshore attention farms

And the subtle targeting of female leadership as a narrative weapon

Still, no direct accusation

.

But the final line of the interview said everything:

"In a free market, you win through ideas. Not shadows."

It was shared 18,000 times in three hours.

Zixuan’s team now faced a dilemma:

To respond would be to acknowledge guilt.

To stay silent would be to let the narrative harden.

Behind closed doors, he made a call.

"Pull out the contingency plan," he told his inner circle. "Target the anchor."

They hesitated.

"You mean—?"

"Yes," Zixuan said coldly. "Her."

That evening, Yuwei was returning home after reviewing new compliance contracts when she received a notification.

Her name had been attached to a new article, anonymously posted, questioning her legal credibility and suggesting she had conflicts of interest related to Lin Feng’s previous acquisitions.

There was no hard evidence.

Just doubt.

But Lin saw it immediately.

He called her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I’m fine," she replied, voice controlled. "But this wasn’t about me. It was a test balloon. They’re watching who flinches."

"Then we don’t flinch," Lin said. "We escalate."

He sent one message.

Not to a media outlet.

To a civic litigation alliance that specialized in digital harassment and reputation damage.

Within hours, they issued a public statement:

"We are opening a preliminary review into coordinated digital attacks against verified civic professionals. This will include tracing offshore attention manipulations, payment channels, and related shell firm affiliations."

It was over.

The story wasn’t just news anymore.

It was an investigation.

And in the middle of the night, when the city dimmed and only glass towers glowed with residual ambition, Lin stood alone by the window of the Prominence.

He didn’t feel triumphant.

Just awake.

More than ever.

The shadows were fighting back now.

But he’d already broken their first mirror.