The Arrogant Visitor and the Blunt Counterattack

After Emma Russell's interlude and Mike Anderson's "friendly mediation," Lin Feng's side enjoyed a brief period of peace.

Those who had initially approached out of curiosity or a sense of luck seemed to realize that this young Great East was not as gentle and approachable as he appeared. In particular, the icy aura he exuded when facing the celebrity earlier made many people uneasy, and they chose to wait and see for the time being.

Lin Feng was happy to have some peace and quiet. Holding his wine glass, he stood with K and Lü Yi in a relatively open corner near the huge floor-to-ceiling window, silently observing the various people in the room.

The ongoing social probing hasn't completely stopped, but the pace has noticeably slowed, and the quality has become inconsistent.

Several young women, impeccably made up, dressed in evening gowns, and who were either barely third or fourth-tier models in Hollywood or had some local fame in the modeling world, passed by with wine glasses in hand and charming smiles. Their gazes lingered on Lin Feng for an unusually long time.

Their words were more direct, tinged with carefully crafted naiveté or adoration, and the topic quickly veered from "the mystery of the East" to "admiration for successful men" and "finding an investor who can understand their artistic soul."

A blonde, blue-eyed, and curvaceous young model even "accidentally" spilled a little champagne on Lin Feng's sleeve. She then "frantically" wiped it off with a scented handkerchief while looking up at him with pitiful eyes, implying that he should "find a quiet place to apologize properly."

Lin Feng subtly withdrew his hand, wiped it with a clean towel promptly handed to him by the waiter, and politely but distantly said, "It's alright." He then quickly steered the conversation toward the other person's recent "work." When the other person began to describe in detail a role in a web series that no one knew, he timely said, "Excuse me, I'll be there for a moment," turned around and whispered to K, leaving the model standing there with a slightly stiff smile.

Others who approached him had a clearer purpose. One small construction company owner, who claimed to have "exclusive inside information on the government" and the ability to secure "guaranteed profits" in municipal engineering projects, described his plans with great enthusiasm and asked for "a small stake in the joint development."

A middleman, bearing numerous impressive-sounding but ultimately hollow "association" titles, mysteriously claimed he could "introduce key figures," but required a substantial "activity fee" and "earnest money."

There was also a financial advisor whose face practically screamed "I'm very shrewd," peddling a complex offshore structure scheme that claimed to "legally avoid 90% of taxes," and implying "close ties" with certain IRS officials.

Lin Feng's response to these situations became increasingly concise. He would usually just listen quietly, nod occasionally, and then, when the other party was most excited and thought a deal was about to be made, he would gently deflect the offer with a sentence like, "That sounds interesting. I'll have my team (if I have one) evaluate it," or "Thank you, we don't have that need at the moment." His attitude was gentle, but his refusal left no room for negotiation.

After several rounds, even the most obtuse person realized that this young man was not a greenhorn eager to find a backer or a project. His caution and unpredictability made him even more daunting.

Lin Feng was indeed feeling somewhat bored. Beneath the glamorous facade of this event lay mostly naked desire, meticulous calculations, and monotonous performances. Just as he was considering whether he should go to the terrace for some fresh air or simply leave early, a new development occurred.

A figure emerged from the other side of the banquet hall, weaving through the slightly crowded throng, and walked straight toward them.

His movements carried a clear and determined purpose. People he encountered along the way, whether they were businessmen in conversation or minor celebrities trying to strike up a conversation, would subconsciously step aside or nod in greeting, making way for him. It wasn't out of politeness, but rather a subconscious avoidance of some kind of invisible authority.

The man was tall and, even though he was over fifty, his shoulders and back remained straight. His meticulously styled silver hair shone brightly under the lights, perfectly complementing his impeccably tailored, expensive navy blue double-breasted suit.

His face was angular, with deep nasolabial folds, and his lips were habitually pursed down, giving him an air of authority that commanded respect and left no room for doubt.

His eyes were sharp, and he seemed to be measuring people's worth with a ruler. Half a step behind him were two assistants, equally dressed in suits but with respectful postures and carrying briefcases, walking in sync with him, like loyal escorts.

It is Daniel Crawford, Chairman and CEO of All-American Express, one of the true giants in the North America logistics industry, with a business network covering the entire United States and assets several times larger than NLG at its peak. It also has deep cooperation with the military and the federal government.

He's the kind of person who appears on the cover of financial magazines, speaks at congressional hearings, and whose name is often associated with "industry leader" and "policy influencer." He's not on the same level as most of the busybodies here tonight.

His appearance immediately attracted the attention of more people nearby. Curiosity, awe, speculation. Was he here to see that young man from Great East? Many people pricked up their ears.

Crawford stopped about two steps away from Lin Feng. He didn't speak immediately, but instead used his hawk-like gray-blue eyes to sized Lin Feng up and down. His gaze lingered briefly on Lin Feng's young face and relatively casual suit (although equally expensive, it wasn't as dignified as the old-fashioned bespoke style he was wearing). Then, the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, forming a polite smile that seemed more like muscle memory than genuine.

"Mr. Lin Feng?" Crawford's voice rang out, loud and full of energy, with a slightly drawn-out tone that carried a habit of giving orders, as if he were confirming the label of a not-so-important item. He extended his right hand, his palm broad and his fingers short and strong, the gesture less like a handshake and more like waiting for the other party to come forward, like a king waiting for his subjects to kiss his hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Daniel Crawford, ' All-American Express '." He introduced himself casually, but he deliberately emphasized the words "All-American Express," as if it were a generous gift that would make anyone he met for the first time feel "honored."

Lin Feng's gaze met Crawford's scrutiny, calm and unwavering. He saw in the other's eyes a well-hidden, yet undeniably present, condescending assessment and a faint, perhaps even Crawford, contempt. It was the complex mentality often felt by established imperial nobles when looking at newly risen nouveau riche, especially those of different skin color.

Lin Feng didn't immediately reach out to shake the hand that was hovering in the air, waiting. He simply nodded slightly, a gesture so small it was almost perfunctory, his voice equally calm and emotionless. "Mr. Crawford, it's an honor to meet you."

Crawford's outstretched hand paused in mid-air for half a second. This subtle, unconventional hesitation caused the formulaic smile on his face to freeze slightly, and a fleeting hint of displeasure and surprise flashed in his gray-blue eyes.

He had probably not encountered a "junior" in a long time who didn't immediately shake his hands and shower him with compliments, especially since the other person was Asian. But he was, after all, very shrewd, and that hint of displeasure was quickly concealed. He casually, even with a touch of "tolerance," withdrew his hand, as if he had just casually moved his wrist.

"I heard you took over NLG?" Crawford continued, seemingly oblivious to the slight embarrassment that had just occurred. His tone was relaxed, with a hint of a senior commenting on a junior's achievement, but his wording was rather intriguing. "Well done, although... your methods were quite 'dynamic'."

He deliberately paused on the word "vitality," a subtle, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. His gaze seemed to casually sweep over K and Lü Yi behind Lin Feng, a knowing look in his eyes. "NLG has been operating in the Northwest region for many years. Old Walton... alas, just unlucky. But it still has some foundation. If you take over and manage it well, the future is promising."

These words, seemingly encouraging, are actually barbed. While acknowledging the "good work," the emphasis on the "dynamic methods" subtly implies that the acquisition process was unethical (short selling in the stock market + physical coercion); mentioning Walton's "bad luck" downplays Lin Feng's proactive attack, attributing the victory to luck and the opponent's mistakes; finally, "manage well, the future is promising," positions Lin Feng as a newcomer who needs to "learn" and "prove himself," revealing an unmistakable condescending and didactic attitude.

Lin Feng didn't respond, but simply looked at him quietly, his face still expressionless, neither refuting nor agreeing, as if listening to idle chatter unrelated to himself. This silent gaze made Crawford, who was used to controlling the pace of conversation, feel a little uncomfortable.

Crawford was a head taller than Lin Feng, and coupled with his habitually upright posture, he tilted his head slightly when speaking, giving him a natural sense of looking down on him. This physical and psychological height difference was clearly a habitual and deliberately maintained posture for him during conversations.

Lin Feng suddenly spoke, interrupting Crawford's potentially more "in-depth" "guidance." His voice was not loud, even gentle, but exceptionally clear, each word distinct in the small space between them:

"Mr. Crawford, I have a habit..."

Crawford was halfway through his sentence when he heard this and paused, instinctively asking, "What habit?"

Lin Feng raised his eyes, his gaze calmly meeting Crawford's grey-blue eyes, which held a mixture of doubt and impatience. He spoke clearly and deliberately, word by word:

"I'm not used to talking to people with my head tilted back."

He paused, as if explaining a perfectly simple personal preference, his tone even carrying a sense of matter-of-fact indifference:

"That will make your neck sore."

The words had barely left his mouth.

It was as if the surroundings had been muted.

Several people nearby, who had been listening intently and watching out of the corner of their eye, froze instantly, nearly dropping their wine glasses. Those further away, noticing the abrupt end to the conversation and the awkward atmosphere, also cast astonished glances.

Daniel Crawford's barely maintained expression of tolerance and instruction froze completely. He seemed not to have heard clearly, or as if he had heard something completely beyond his comprehension; his eyes widened slightly, and his pupils contracted for a fleeting moment.

He never expected that this young, unknown Tokyo Great East student who had won NLG through "dishonorable" means would interrupt him so directly, so rudely, and so mercilessly, using such an almost humiliating reason, and openly challenge his habitual dialogue posture that symbolized status and authority!

Looking up? Will your neck get sore?

This is not the kind of conversation that should occur in a business setting! This is nothing short of street thug provocation! It's blatant disrespect and contempt!

Crawford's face darkened visibly. His previously composed facial muscles twitched slightly, and anger surged in his gray-blue eyes like ignited gasoline, almost bursting forth.

His hands, which were at his sides, unconsciously clenched into fists. He stared intently at Lin Feng's calm yet almost hateful face, his chest heaving slightly with anger.

How many years has it been? How many years has it been since anyone dared to speak to him in such a tone and with such an attitude? Especially in such a public setting! And the other person was someone he didn't really take seriously—an "outsider"!

A strong sense of offense and the arrogance of someone accustomed to a position of power almost made him explode immediately. But his remaining rationality and years of experience navigating the business world told him that he couldn't lose his composure here, at this moment, under the watchful eyes of everyone. Especially since the two bodyguards behind the other man (K and Lü Yi) looked at him coldly, their eyes showing no respect for the CEO of "All-American Express," only the vigilance of wild beasts guarding their territory.

Forcibly suppressing his surging rage, Crawford took a deep breath, a heavy, forceful one, as if trying to draw all the surrounding air into his lungs to cool his boiling blood. His stiff expression contorted a few times, finally forcing out an extremely ugly, almost ferocious "smile"—a mixture of anger, humiliation, and disbelief.

He didn't speak, but answered with his actions.

He suddenly turned around, not to leave, but to reach out and pull himself up from an empty chair next to him, then, with a force that seemed to release his pent-up emotions, he sat down heavily!

"Bang." The chair leg made a dull thud as it hit the marble floor, not loud, but particularly clear in the quiet environment.

This action signified that he had voluntarily relinquished his superior physical position and tacitly agreed to Lin Feng's demand for "equal dialogue." Although it was forced and the posture was awkward, objectively speaking, he had sat down. The height difference between the two instantly disappeared, and Lin Feng could even slightly look down at Crawford sitting in the chair.

The posture was reversed in an instant.

Crawford sat in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests tightly, his knuckles white from the force. He looked up at Lin Feng, who was still standing. Lin Feng's sharply defined face remained taut, the muscles tense, the anger in his eyes not completely extinguished, but forcibly suppressed, transforming into a colder, more sinister chill. He practically spat out a few words through clenched teeth:

"Mr. Lin, you really are... a straightforward person."

The statement was full of irony, but the fact that he sat down diminished much of its power, making it seem more like a desperate attempt to cover up his mistake.

Lin Feng watched him sit down, his calm expression unchanged, as if he hadn't uttered those earth-shattering words. He simply nodded slightly, as if to say: That's more like it.

Then, he sat down on another chair nearby, separated from Crawford by a small round table with flower arrangements, creating a relatively equal dialogue. K and Lü Yi, still standing on either side of Lin Feng, stood silently behind him like two gatekeepers.

The dialogue resumed in an extremely bizarre and tense manner. But the initiative had already shifted silently between the two sentences and two actions just exchanged.