The morning air still clung to the tension of last night's confrontation. Lin Feng sat at the rooftop café of the Jin'an District Business Club, sipping coffee that had long gone cold. Across from him, Qian Juxiao flipped through a dossier with a quiet intensity, the leather gloves in his lap signaling he was ready for more than business.
"You realize," Qian said without looking up, "what you did last night has ripple effects. Luo Zixuan's proxies are retracting like bruised snakes. But bruised snakes bite hardest."
Lin Feng smiled faintly. "Then we'll wear thicker boots."
Qian raised an eyebrow. "Or start stepping softer."
Before Lin Feng could answer, a soft knock interrupted. A server placed down a letter—old-fashioned, thick-stock paper sealed with a red wax emblem: a stylized crimson orchid. His gaze sharpened.
"Another invitation?" Qian asked, wary.
"No," Lin Feng said, running his thumb over the wax. "A challenge. From inside."
He opened the letter. A simple line of calligraphy, neat and cold: 'The art of power lies not in ownership, but in consent. Noon. East Pavilion. No aides.'
Qian frowned. "The Crimson Circle again?"
"Someone deeper. Someone testing whether I understand what kind of game I'm really in."
East Pavilion – Noon
The East Pavilion was serene, a contrast to the venom hiding in the words Lin Feng now carried. Sunlight filtered through bamboo slats, casting long lines across the tatami floor. A tea set was arranged with clinical precision, untouched.
The woman seated before it wore white gloves and a qipao the color of moonlight. Her face was unfamiliar, but her presence—controlled, elegant, dangerous—screamed authority.
"You're not Xu Shanyue," Lin Feng said as he stepped in, closing the screen behind him.
"I'm not anyone you've met," she said. "But you've stepped on too many toes to stay anonymous."
She gestured to the tea. He didn't move.
"I heard about last night," she continued. "Guo Yuwei returned to the Crimson enclave with a limp and bruised pride. Xu Shanyue hasn't said a word. That's rare."
"And you are?"
She poured the tea.
"I go by Lin Ke. I'm not part of the Crimson Circle. I... watch it. Guide it when necessary. You could call me a fixer. Or a glove. Every dagger in this city wears one."
The implication was clear.
"You're here to warn me?" Lin Feng asked.
"I'm here to measure you. The elites are testing you with numbers. The Crimson Circle with symbols. I deal in outcomes." She slid a folder across the table. "There's a property near Longhai Docks. Derelict, but not forgotten. A perfect place to build something quiet. Or blow something up."
Lin Feng opened it. Schematics, permits, coded annotations—layers of influence.
"You're giving this to me?"
"I'm offering you a chance. Prove you can take something worthless, and make everyone fight over it. Like you did with Old Jing'an."
Lin Feng met her eyes. "And if I refuse?"
She smiled. "Then I'll know you're not ready. And someone else will wear your glove."
Evening – Crimson Enclave
Xu Shanyue sat alone in the Crimson reading hall, flipping through old case files. Her usual guards weren't present. Guo Yuwei stood quietly at the edge of the room, his crutch tapping faintly.
"He accepted the folder," Guo said at last.
She nodded, not surprised.
"And Lin Ke?" he added.
"Stepping in means they see him as a contender," Xu said softly. "Which means we've underestimated him."
Guo clenched his jaw. "Should I prepare a response?"
"No," she said, standing. "I will."
She reached into a drawer and pulled out her family seal. A crimson orchid etched in jade.
"Tell Lin Feng: if he wants to play with fire, he should know where the coals come from."