Fang Logic

Lakeside villas deep within Eagle Creek Ranch in Seattle's East Side. Night, like a piece of velvet soaked in ink, descends heavily, enveloping the distant mountains, forests, and most of the lake in tranquil darkness.

Only on the waterfront side of the villa, several huge floor-to-ceiling windows let in a warm and steady yellow glow, casting fragmented and swaying golden reflections on the smooth, mirror-like, dark lake surface. The evening breeze swept across the lake, bringing the scents of pine needles, damp earth, and the chill of distant snow-capped mountains, seeping through the slightly open terrace door and into the warm study.

The study was bright yet softly lit. There was no fire in the fireplace, but the temperature control system kept the room at a comfortable temperature. The air was filled with the rich aroma of fine cigars, and the mellow scent of top-quality leather and old books.

Lin Feng stood in front of the built-in liquor cabinet against the wall, his fingers brushing over the labels on a row of dark glass bottles, finally stopping at a seemingly ordinary single malt whisky—no fancy packaging, but those in the know would recognize it as a rare gem from a family distillery in Scotland that almost never sells to the public.

He took out two thick-bottomed Cairngorm crystal glasses, precisely measured out two portions using a silver glassware, and the amber liquid flowed under the light, shimmering with a honey-like luster. He didn't add ice, but simply handed one glass to K, who was standing quietly by the desk.

K accepted it, nodded slightly in thanks, but did not drink it immediately.

"We've received confirmation from South Korea." K's voice was as calm and even as ever, like he was reporting a routine financial statement. "Old Walton has been 'dealt with,' sinking to the deep sea at the designated coordinates. Lee Byung-hun did a clean job, sweeping away all the loose ends, leaving no trace of us at the scene. He received the 'final payment,' expressed his 'gratitude,' and looks forward to more 'cooperation' in the future."

Lin Feng Chief General his glass to his lips when he heard this, and without pausing, he took a sip, letting the spicy liquid, with its complex floral, fruity, and peaty aromas, slowly spread across his tongue, feeling the warm current slide down his throat. Then, he nodded.

Then, he shook his head, a sneer on his face that was undisguised and tinged with absurdity and mockery.

"Heh." He placed his wine glass on the small walnut table next to him, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked part of the lake, turned his back to K, and gazed at the impenetrable darkness outside the window.

"To be honest, K," Lin Feng's voice came through, carrying a hint of indifference, "I never really intended to kill this old guy."

He turned around, leaned against the cold glass window frame, crossed his arms, and looked at K.

"An old dog with all its teeth pulled out, legs broken, and its den destroyed—no matter how much hatred it harbors, how much trouble can it cause? If we really mobilize the core resources of Golden Sun to hunt it down all over the world, monitor everyone it might contact, and predict every hiding place it might be..."

Lin Feng curled his lip, his tone full of disdain. "The cost-effectiveness is too low. The manpower, resources, and time invested are completely disproportionate to the potential benefits—or rather, the elimination of potential risks. Hunting down a stray dog? That's not what predators do; it's the job of a scavenger."

He walked back to the small table, picked up his wine glass, and took another sip, as if savoring the logic behind his earlier words.

"But who would have thought," Lin Feng's mockery deepened, shaking his head as if he'd heard an utterly foolish joke, "That old guy chose a dead end for himself. After all that careful consideration, he went to South Korea?"

He looked at K with a playful look in his eyes, as if to say, "Look at your luck."

"He probably thinks that Lee Byung-hun is a local bigwig over there, with connections in both the legal and illegal worlds, and can protect him, even... help him regroup and make a comeback in United States?" Lin Feng scoffed. "Typical gambler mentality, blinded by losses, always thinking he can turn things around in the next round, but failing to see that the table has already changed hands."

He swirled his wine glass, the amber liquid forming thick "tears" on the glass.

"He doesn't know, or rather, he simply can't imagine, that besides cultivating the domestic market, the places where Golden Sun's overseas expansion is most deep and extensive, apart from Russia in the north and a few islands in the east, are South Korea. Beneath the glamorous facade of politics, conglomerates, and the entertainment industry, in those shady corners, those figures operating in the gray areas, and even the leaders of certain violent organizations... many have our 'friends,' or at least 'collaborators' who are paid to do things. Lee Byung-hun?" Lin Feng's tone was contemptuous, "He's just one of those 'local dogs' that we're relatively comfortable with, know how to read the room, and have a suitable appetite."

"So," he concluded, his tone as casual as if he were talking about what he had for dinner, "It was just a transoceanic phone call and a substantial 'gift' (referring to the promised benefits and future cooperation to Lee Byung-hun -hun), and it was all taken care of."

"It saved us a lot of trouble, and it also prevented him from haunting us in some corner and making us feel uncomfortable whenever we think about him." He particularly emphasized the word "easy," downplaying a transnational murder targeting the former head of a business empire as if it were just a speck of dust being brushed off his shoulder.

K listened quietly, his expression unchanged. Only after Lin Feng finished speaking did he take something out of his suit pocket and hand it over with both hands.

An exquisitely crafted invitation. A matte, deep blue background with champagne gold embossed edges, the theme outlined in elegant cursive at the center, and below it the gold-embossed logos of the co-organizers— the Seattle Business Leaders Forum, the Washington State Emerging Entrepreneurs Foundation, and the Pacific Ocean Charity Association. The invitation itself exudes a subtle, luxurious cedarwood scent.

"This weekend, at the revolving restaurant on the top floor of the Space Needle, there will be a charity fundraising dinner called ' Night of Enlightenment '," K announced calmly. "The organizers have sent an invitation and hope you can grace us with your presence. The scale... based on intelligence assessment, is above average."

Attendees included prominent local political and business figures, rising tech elites, successful business representatives from minority groups, and several second- or third-tier Hollywood stars who were in Seattle for filming or promotional purposes. It wasn't the most exclusive inner circle, but it was considered one of the "stepping stones" to entering that circle.

Lin Feng took the invitation, held it between two fingers, and casually glanced at it under the light. His eyes showed no interest whatsoever, only an almost bored scrutiny.

"A charity gala?" He repeated, his tone flat. "It sounds pointless. It's just a bunch of people wearing suits worth tens of thousands of yuan, drinking donated wine, posing as if they care about society in front of the cameras, exchanging gilded business cards, but what they're really thinking about is how to squeeze money out of each other's pockets, or seeing if there are any new easy targets to prey on." He casually tossed the invitation onto the desk next to him, like throwing away a useless advertising flyer.

"Given our current situation," Lin Feng said, walking to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself another drink, his back to K, "We've just swallowed NLG, barely managing to establish ourselves in Seattle, and haven't truly shown the strength that commands respect. Going to this kind of event would just be pointless; we'd be mere extras, listening to a bunch of self-important guys spouting off, or being treated like some kind of exotic animal. No point."

He had clearly already decided to refuse.

"However," K's voice rang out again, still steady, but with an added detail, "When the invitations were delivered, Lü Yi happened to be nearby. He saw part of the list of special guests and was very interested in one name... He asked about it several times and even looked up that lady's recent movies. He asked me... if I could go with her, just to broaden my horizons."

Lin Feng paused slightly as he poured the wine. He turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Lü Yi? He's interested in celebrities?" In his memory, Lü Yi was either sweating profusely on the training field, or ruthless and decisive when carrying out missions, or fiddling with his gun while smoking a cigar. He really hadn't associated this kid with "idol worship."

K's lips twitched almost imperceptibly, as if he wanted to laugh, but ultimately didn't. He seemed to really like the lady's recent... sci-fi action movie. He repeatedly mentioned how 'exciting' the explosions and gunfights were.

Lin Feng paused for two seconds, then chuckled and shook his head. This reason was very "Lü Yi." He could almost see the excited expression on Lü Yi's roguish face, the kind that comes with seeing a spectacular explosion.

"Alright." Lin Feng put down the bottle, made his decision, and his tone became more casual. "Anyway, I've been feeling really bored lately. It'll be good to go and take a look, just to relax a bit, and see what kind of people are in this so-called Seattle 'high society,' and how it operates. Arrange the security; you don't need many people, but they need to be top-notch. Keep an eye on Lü Yi's behavior, make sure he doesn't make a fool of himself... or cause too much of a commotion."

"Understood." K nodded in agreement.

The topic seemed to have come to an end. K then gave a brief report on NLG's recent situation: After the "physical mediation" of the Great East, the company's internal atmosphere was greatly improved. Regarding the financial holes and suspicious fund flows listed in the previous audit report, the relevant shareholders and executives showed unprecedented "efficiency" and "sincerity," not only quickly making up the deficit but also voluntarily "donating" an additional "compliance deposit" to the company's account.

Operational data for several key departments rebounded rapidly, and the logistics network returned to normal, even becoming more efficient than at the end of the Walton era.

"Oh?" Lin Feng clicked his tongue, a peculiar expression on his face, a mixture of satisfaction and a little... regret. "All fixed? So quickly? I thought there would always be one or two stubborn ones, or those hoping for the best, who would jump out again, giving me another chance to establish my authority and reinforce the rules even more."

He walked back to the window, looked at his blurry reflection in the glass, and then at the all-encompassing darkness outside.

"I didn't expect them to be so pragmatic." He sighed softly, a sigh that betrayed little joy, but rather a faint sense of disillusionment, as if the show had ended before it was even over. "It seems they really took what I said that day to heart."

After a moment of silence, the only sound in the study was the faint ticking of the expensive mechanical clock's second hand.

Lin Feng suddenly turned around, his gaze sharp as he looked at K, and asked, "K, do you know why I had to use the most drastic, ruthless, even 'barbaric' methods to deal with Walton and those parasites in the company? Why couldn't I be like other newly arrived Great East, showing weakness first, gradually integrating, and slowly building a network of relationships with money and benefits?"

K straightened his back but didn't answer immediately. He knew that his boss's question didn't require a standard answer, but rather was guiding his thinking, or rather, explaining some deeper logic.

Lin Feng didn't wait for his reply. He walked to the wall, where a huge, richly detailed map of the United States hung. His finger started from where Seattle was, slowly tracing the entire West Coast, then extending inland, and finally stopping at New York and Washington, D.C.. on the East Coast.

"Because here, in United States, for us Great East..." Lin Feng's voice became low and clear, each word like a cold-quenched blade, "There is a ceiling. A real, incredibly solid ceiling, built with prejudice, arrogance, fear, and centuries-old unspoken rules. And this ceiling, for us, is lower, harder, and more difficult to break than for any other ethnic group."

He withdrew his finger, turned around, and stared intently at K.

"Look here. How many scientists, businessmen, and politicians from Great East truly stand at the top of the pyramid, wielding the core power and resources of this country—I'm not referring to superficial wealth or positions, but the real core who can influence national policy, define rules, and distribute benefits—how many of them are there?"

They are extremely rare. And those who manage to squeeze in either represent a more complex and brutal power struggle behind the scenes, or... have paid a price we cannot imagine and would never willingly pay.

His tone was icy and analytical:

"White people are the creators and default owners of this system; they are born with an entry ticket and a high starting point. Black people have the shield of political correctness, which is sometimes strong and sometimes weak, and can be used as leverage. People of Indian descent, through their language advantage, their culture of solidarity, and their deep cultivation in specific fields (Silicon Valley, healthcare, finance), can also occupy a place, and even become executives."

"But it's only us Great East," Lin Feng's voice suddenly turned cold, carrying a sharp sarcasm, "Whose images are fragmented and fixed in the deep consciousness of this social system."

"Either they are easy prey—rich, perhaps even wealthy; technically skilled, perhaps highly skilled; but generally perceived as not understanding the true rules of the game, humble, reserved, even somewhat insecure and ingratiating, submissive—ideal targets for exploitation. Or they are tools—intelligent, diligent, disciplined, and useful, capable of creating immense value in labs, engineering positions, or accounting firms, but forever assumed to be executors, not decision-makers; pawns on the chessboard, not players."

He approached K, his gaze menacing:

"Therefore, from the very first day we set foot on this land, we cannot follow their pre-set script, nor can we abide by their seemingly fair but actually trap-filled 'rules'."

"Pave the way with money?" Lin Feng shook his head, his eyes scoffing. "Capital is indeed one of the keys to entry here, but capital is greedy and fluid. No matter how much money you have, without military protection or a fearsome deterrent, in the eyes of those true predators, you're just a fatter, perhaps more delicious, sheep. They'll politely shake your hand and toast you, then, behind your back, sharpen their knives and forks, calculating how to devour you in the most 'legal' and 'civilized' way."

"Use the law to protect yourself?" He scoffed. "They write the laws, they interpret them, and they enforce them. It's a magnificent cage tailor-made for you, seemingly protective, but actually restrictive. When you truly infringe upon their core interests, the law becomes their most flexible weapon."

"The only thing we can do, the only right choice," Lin Feng's voice was resolute, carrying an undeniable determination, "is to, before we've even established a firm foothold, use the bloodiest, most brutal, and most undisguised methods to bare our fangs and display our claws! We must make them understand, from the very first contact, deep in their bones and subconscious, one fact—"

He paused for a moment to make sure K heard every word:

"We are not here to graze, waiting to be sheared or slaughtered like sheep."

"We are predators who have come to plunder, to occupy, and to redefine the hunting grounds."

"Capital may not be able to instill true awe in them, but equal, or even superior, violence, along with the absolute will and ruthless determination to wield it, can," Lin Feng concluded, his tone regaining its calm, but beneath that calm lay a chilling undercurrent. "Remember, K, in this jungle, especially for us 'outsiders,' fear is far more useful, far more real, than respect. This is our ' Fang Logic.' Survival, and then growth—the only logic."

K stood solemnly, meeting Lin Feng's gaze, and nodded heavily. That cold, cruel, yet core-pointing "Fang Logic" was like a brand, deeply engraved into his understanding. He understood that this was not only a summary of past actions, but also the fundamental principle for all future actions.

The study returned to silence. The darkness outside the window remained thick, but the lights inside the villa seemed more stable and more unassailable.