CHAPTER 92: CHAPTER 93 – FIRES BEHIND CURTAINS: ZIXUAN MOVES THE BOARD

The fallout from the Spectron exposure was far from quiet.

Within a day of Lin Feng’s public drop implicating the firm in digital manipulation and media coercion, social media went ablaze. Threads on Xibo and forums like RealTruth, MirrorHub, and even old-school WeTalk groups erupted with screenshots, fact checks, and speculation. Spectron’s stock tanked by 8.3% before a circuit breaker halted trading. One of the country’s top investigative reporters, Luo Chao, published a late-night piece simply titled: "Digital Puppets: Who Pulls the Strings?"

And yet, behind this wave of public outrage, Lin Feng was not celebrating. He knew this was just the opening move.

Zixuan wouldn’t stay quiet. No true predator ever did.

Inside the marble-lined office of Qingchen Holdings, Lin Feng stood in front of the long glass window overlooking downtown Shanghai. The city glittered below like a circuit board — alive, wired, deceptive.

Qi Yawen stepped in quietly, holding a tablet. She wore a muted gray suit, hair tied up, presence sharp as ever.

"You need to see this," she said.

She tapped twice. The screen flickered to an internal staff memo leaked from Zhangjing Law Group, a known Spectron legal affiliate.

"We are to aggressively challenge the legitimacy of the documents shared by Mr. Lin Feng. Proceed to identify all media outlets who picked it up and consider C&Ds or strategic counter-disclosures. High clearance targets only."

Lin Feng scanned the message, jaw tightening.

"Classic counterattack," he murmured. "Discredit the messenger. Overwhelm the platform. Redirect public attention."

Yawen nodded. "They’ve also floated a theory in the legal chat channels. That the screenshots were digitally altered, pulled from a honeypot decoy Spectron server."

He scoffed. "So they want to make me look like a hacker playing hero."

Yawen’s eyes darkened. "And if the media picks that angle, it’ll erode public trust in everything else we do."

He turned from the window, pacing slowly. "Then we move up the next piece."

"Which one?"

"The real estate."

Yawen’s eyebrows rose. "The middle-ring asset purchase?"

Lin Feng nodded. "It’s time to show them we’re not a scandal account. We’re a capital player with moves."

Two hours later, at a confidential site on the city’s south-east perimeter, Lin Feng met with Li An, a seasoned developer known for his low profile and sharp instincts. The meeting happened in an unfinished tower — cold concrete walls, wires dangling from the ceiling, and temporary LED lamps casting harsh shadows.

"You picked a creepy location," Lin Feng said, half-smiling.

Li An chuckled. "You wanted quiet. No press, no drones, no boardrooms. Here, there’s just steel and numbers."

Lin Feng nodded. "Good. I’m buying the Huazhou redevelopment plot."

Li An leaned against a half-installed glass pane. "You know Zixuan’s people hold a minority stake in the holding company?"

"That’s why I want it."

Li An whistled. "You really want to bleed him on every corner."

"I want him to bleed from the places he thought I’d never reach."

The deal was struck over the next hour — Lin Feng offering a bundled cash injection via one of his shell investment arms, combined with three key architectural guarantees and a partnership with a foreign green infrastructure firm to give the project legitimacy in the environmental board’s eyes. It was precise, risky, and brilliant.

And Zixuan wouldn’t see it until it was done.

Meanwhile, Zixuan did move.

Two of Lin Feng’s known partners, a boutique PR firm and a minor logistics company used in supply chain routing, suddenly received tax audit notifications. Simultaneously, anonymous tip-offs about "suspicious fund transfers" hit financial journalists’ inboxes. It was a coordinated smear, carefully routed through proxies.

Lin Feng got the call from Yawen at 10:45 PM.

"They’re painting our cashflow as dark money," she said.

"Is it sticking?" he asked.

"Not yet. But we can’t let it snowball."

"Then let’s open the vaults," he replied.

"Public disclosure?" she asked.

He grinned. "Just enough to show we’re clean. And enough to pressure the watchdogs."

The next morning, a video clip of Lin Feng addressing a closed-door Q&A leaked — carefully, deliberately. He spoke plainly, explaining how funding was routed, verified, and matched against shareholder interests. No evasion. No legalese. Just clarity.

The reaction was swift: praise from business pages, cautious approval from regulators, and a rising online meme of Lin Feng titled: "Mr. Transparency."

Zixuan, watching from a villa in the Pudong outskirts, seethed.

He turned to his aide, Jiang Hao, and muttered, "He’s not playing media. He’s playing finance. And he’s winning."

"Shall we escalate?" Jiang asked.

Zixuan’s gaze narrowed. "No. We need to twist his alliances first. Make him wonder who’s real."

That same afternoon, Lin Feng noticed something off.

Guo Yuwei, one of the more vocal allies from the education front, had gone radio silent. She hadn’t responded to his messages, nor made any statement regarding the Spectron backlash. Odd — she was usually fast, vocal, principled.

He called her directly. It rang five times before switching to voicemail.

"Something’s wrong," he told Qi Yawen.

To probe without spooking her, Lin Feng used a soft channel — Ning Xiaorou. While her main public persona was a carefree actress, she maintained strong contacts in the NGO and education space.

"Leave it with me," she said, sensing the tone in Lin Feng’s voice.

By evening, she reported back.

"She’s under pressure," Xiaorou said. "Her brother’s company is being targeted — minor financial infractions being blown up. Someone’s threatening her family if she continues backing you publicly."

Lin Feng was silent for a long time.

Then he said, "Then we give her room. She owes us nothing."

But in private, he turned to Qi Yawen and said coldly, "Trace the pressure back. I want to know who touched her brother. No middlemen. Real names."

She nodded once and left.

Late that night, Lin Feng sat alone in his private office. The city still glittered beyond the glass. But something in the air had changed. The warmth was gone. The game had turned sharp, surgical. It wasn’t about headlines anymore.

It was about shadows.

Suddenly, a message blinked on his private screen. Not from any known contact.

Just a single line.

"You’re playing a game you don’t understand."

He stared at it for a moment.

Then typed back:

"You’re making the mistake of thinking I care."