A private settlement

The private rooms in the private club were very quiet.

It was so quiet that you could hear the even hissing of the central air conditioning vents, the faint sound of traffic in the distance outside the window, and the slight clinking of the lid against the rim of Director Liu's teacup.

The private room wasn't large, and it was decorated in a low-key Chinese style, with dark walnut wood tables and chairs, an impressionistic landscape painting hanging on the wall, and a potted plant with glossy leaves in the corner. There were only three chairs next to the round table.

Lin Feng sat near the door, his back to it. He was dressed casually in a simple gray T-shirt and black trousers, as if he had just come downstairs for a quick meal. A cup of tea sat untouched in front of him.

Across from him, Zheng Dong sat in a wheelchair.

The wheelchair was electric and very new, with gleaming armrests. Zheng Dong wore a dark blue jacket over a light-colored shirt, buttoned all the way up to the top. His hair was carefully combed, but the gray hairs at his temples couldn't be hidden. His complexion was better than in the video, but the dark circles under his eyes and the bloodshot eyes still revealed a weariness and illness that seeped from his very bones. A thin blanket covered his legs, and his hands were folded on the blanket, his fingers thin, with protruding knuckles visible.

Director Liu sat between the two, in what was considered the head seat. He was a man in his fifties, slightly overweight, wearing a polo shirt, and trying to maintain a calm expression, but there was still a hint of tension between his brows. He was the middleman, the matchmaker for this reconciliation dinner, and also the guarantor.

The dishes were all served. It was a simple four-dish meal with soup: steamed sea bass, blanched bok choy, stir-fried yam and wood ear mushrooms, a chicken soup, and a plate of dessert. The presentation was exquisite, but no one touched their chopsticks.

The silence had lasted for almost three minutes.

Director Liu cleared his throat, a smile spreading across his face. He first looked at Lin Feng: "Mr. Lin, thank you for coming. This is Zheng Dong, General Manager Zheng. Old Zheng, this is Lin Feng, Mr. Lin."

Zheng Dong's hand, resting on the blanket, twitched almost imperceptibly. He manipulated the wheelchair's control lever, and the wheelchair moved forward a small half meter with a slight electric drive hum. Then, he braced himself firmly on the armrests, straightened his upper body, and then, removing his hands from the armrests and gripping the side supports of the wheelchair, he slowly, bit by bit, stood up with a posture that was clearly still labored but exceptionally resolute.

After standing up, he did not immediately leave the support of the wheelchair. Instead, he steadied himself, took a deep breath, and then released his grip on the support frame.

He faced Lin Feng, leaned forward slightly, and then bent down deeply.

Ninety degrees.

This bow was larger and more stable than the ten-second bow in the video. He bent over, his head lowered, his gray hair facing Lin Feng, and the skin on his neck appeared loose and pale under the light.

He just stood there, bent over, without moving.

The only sound in the private room was the air conditioning.

Director Liu's smile froze. He looked at Zheng Dong, then at Lin Feng, hesitating to speak.

Lin Feng didn't move. He didn't even look up to see Zheng Dong bowing properly; he just kept his eyes down, watching the slight ripples on the surface of the teacup in front of him—probably from the vibrations when Director Liu held the teacup earlier.

Zheng Dong maintained the bowed posture for about seven or eight seconds. Then, he slowly straightened up. The movement was slow, and the stiffness and strain in his back were visible. When he sat back in his wheelchair, a thin layer of sweat had formed on his forehead.

"Mr. Lin," he said, his voice slightly better than in the video, but still hoarse, carrying the weakness of a long-term illness, and a calm that came after all emotions had been drained, "I'm sorry."

Three words. Same as in the video.

But the three words "face to face" seem to carry a different weight.

Lin Feng finally raised his eyes, his gaze calmly landing on Zheng Dong's face. After looking at him for two seconds, he nodded, very softly, "Mm."

Just one word. There was no "It's okay," no "I accept the apology," and no emotion whatsoever.

Zheng Dong didn't seem surprised by this reaction. He curled his hands on his lap again, then took out a brown kraft paper document bag from the storage pocket on the side of his wheelchair. The document bag was thick and bulging. He placed the document bag on the table with both hands and gently pushed it in front of Lin Feng.

"It's just a small token of my appreciation," he said, avoiding eye contact with Lin Feng and focusing instead on the file folder. "Consider it... compensation, and also an apology."

Lin Feng didn't look at the file folder.

"Inside is a check for five million, cashable anytime," Zheng Dong continued, speaking slowly but clearly, as if he had memorized it many times. "And... I also own three properties in S Province. A small apartment in the city center and two street-front shops, both in decent locations. The titles are clear, and there are no mortgages. The transfer procedures... I've already entrusted a lawyer to handle them; you just need to sign."

Director Liu interjected at the opportune moment, his smile returning and his tone softening, "Mr. Lin, Old Zheng is genuinely admitting his mistake this time. This... is what he can offer as a token of his sincerity. You see, since things have come to this, can we... look forward? After all, it's better to resolve conflicts than to let them fester."

Lin Feng's gaze shifted from Zheng Dong's face to the file folder, lingered for a moment, and then looked away. He picked up his teacup and took a small sip. The tea was Longjing, fragrant and slightly bitter.

"Money and a house," he put down his teacup, his voice still flat, "I don't want them."

Zheng Dong's body visibly stiffened. He abruptly looked up at Lin Feng, his eyes showing clear astonishment for the first time, even a hint of panic. All the arguments and responses he had prepared seemed to have lost their effectiveness in the face of this calm rejection.

"Mr. Lin..." Director Liu was also taken aback, and quickly tried to smooth things over, "Please don't misunderstand, Old Zheng didn't mean anything by it, it's just..."

"I know he didn't mean anything by it," Lin Feng interrupted him, his gaze returning to Zheng Dong's face. "But I said, I don't want to."

"Then..." Zheng Dong's voice was a little tense, "What do you want? As long as it's within my power..."

"I need three things," Lin Feng said, his tone as calm as if he were ordering food.

Zheng Dong and Director Liu both held their breath.

"First," Lin Feng held up one finger, "Dongbei, completely withdraw from S Province. Not just suspend operations, but withdraw entirely. You can sell, rent, or demolish your existing stores, I don't care. But the signboard must be removed, the goods cleared out, and the people gone. From now on, I never want to see the name ' Dongbei ' again in S Province."

Zheng Dong nodded almost without hesitation. "Okay. The announcement has been issued, and the exit process will begin this week. I guarantee that within a month, there will be no more Dongbei stores in S Province."

"Second," Lin Feng held up his second finger, "The accounts must be made public, the taxes owed must be paid, and the penalties must be accepted. Don't try to pull any more tricks, and don't try to find someone to cover it up. You must take full responsibility for what you are responsible for."

Zheng Dong's face paled slightly. The back taxes and fines could amount to an astronomical sum. But he gritted his teeth and nodded again. "... Okay. We'll fully cooperate with the tax authorities. We'll accept whatever amount is owed and whatever fines are imposed. We absolutely won't cause you or S Province any more trouble."

"Third," Lin Feng held up his third finger, his gaze calm yet carrying an invisible pressure, "That blogger you threatened, Yang Xiaoming. And everyone else who was harassed and pressured by you for telling the truth—issue a public apology, and pay the maximum compensation allowed by law. Don't try to fool us."

Zheng Dong fell silent. This time, he was silent for a few seconds. A public apology meant tearing away the last shred of pretense. Compensation would mean another sum of money. But looking into Lin Feng's eyes, which left no room for negotiation, he finally nodded heavily.

"... Understood. I'll have the company's legal department... no, I'll handle it personally. The public apology letter will be issued tonight, and the compensation... will be the highest possible amount."

After finishing his three points, Lin Feng withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair.

"That's all," he said.

Zheng Dong looked at him, seemingly waiting for him to make other demands—shares? Resources? Something else? But Lin Feng just sat quietly, his gaze shifting to the window, as if this reconciliation that had determined his and Dongbei's fate was already over.

The private room fell silent again, with only Zheng Dong's slightly heavy breathing as the only sound.

Director Liu glanced at Lin Feng, then at Zheng Dong, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to ease the tension. "That... that's wonderful! Mr. Lin is magnanimous, and Old Zheng is sincere. So, let's consider this matter closed? Come, let's have a toast with tea instead of wine, and from now on..."

"Director Liu," Lin Feng suddenly spoke, his gaze shifting from the window to Director Liu's face, "Thank you for making this trip. I won't eat. Please enjoy your meal."

After he finished speaking, he stood up.

Zheng Dong and Director Liu were both stunned.

Lin Feng didn't look at them. He turned around and walked towards the door of the private room. When his hand was on the doorknob, he stopped but didn't turn back.

"President Zheng." He spoke, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching Zheng Dong's ears.

Zheng Dong straightened his back instinctively, his throat dry. "Please speak."

Lin Feng gripped the doorknob and paused for about two seconds.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he uttered that sentence:

"I'll return that sentence to you."

Zheng Dong's heart skipped a beat. He recalled his furious outburst on the phone, "I have plenty of ways to make sure you can't survive in S City!"

"From now on in S Province," Lin Feng's voice was calm and even, yet it fell like a knife chilled to the bone, "Don't let me see you."

Click.

The door opened, then closed gently.

The footsteps faded into the distance, disappearing at the end of the corridor.

The private room was deathly silent.

Zheng Dong sat stiffly in his wheelchair, maintaining the upright posture, motionless. The color drained from his face, and even his lips began to turn pale. His hands, resting on the thin blanket, trembled uncontrollably, the trembling growing more and more violent.

Director Liu opened his mouth as if to say something, but looking at Zheng Dong's pale face, he could only sigh and shake his head. He picked up the file bag on the table, weighed it in his hand, and then put it back in front of Zheng Dong.

"Old Zheng..." He hesitated, then stopped, and finally patted Zheng Dong on the shoulder, "It's... over. It's a conclusion. From now on... take good care of yourself."

Zheng Dong remained motionless. He stared at the closed door, at the empty chair where Lin Feng had just sat. His ears were ringing, the words "Don't let me see you" echoing repeatedly.

He suddenly felt a familiar, dull pain in his chest, and his breathing became difficult. His hand trembled as he reached for the medicine in his pocket.

Seeing this, Director Liu quickly took out the medicine bottle for him, poured out two pills, and handed him water. Zheng Dong swallowed the pills, leaned back in his wheelchair, closed his eyes, and gasped for breath, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

After a while, the cramping pain gradually subsided.

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling. A traditional Chinese chandelier on the ceiling emitted a soft light.

"Director Liu..." he began, his voice weak and feeble, like a wisp of smoke.

"Um?"

"You said..." Zheng Dong murmured, as if asking Director Liu, and also as if asking himself, "What have I been busy with all these years?"

Director Liu didn't answer. He just sighed again, picked up his chopsticks, took a bite of the now-cold bok choy, put it in his mouth, and chewed it slowly. It had almost no taste.

Zheng Dong stopped talking. He maneuvered his wheelchair around to the window and looked downstairs.

Lin Feng's figure appeared just as the clubhouse entrance opened. He wasn't driving; he was simply walking slowly along the sidewalk. In the night, his Back View was thin and ordinary, easily lost in the city's neon lights and crowds, completely inconspicuous.

Zheng Dong watched that Back View until he turned the street corner and disappeared completely.

Then, he looked away and gazed at his reflection in the glass window.

An elderly man in a wheelchair, with gray hair, a sickly face, and vacant eyes.

He stared at it for a very, very long time.

Suddenly, he twitched his lips, wanting to laugh, but didn't. His shoulders merely twitched slightly, as if he'd shivered.

Outside the window, the city night is just beginning.