Golf
Mike's smile froze completely, his lips twitching uncontrollably. He stared at the fresh, ugly dent on the tee, at the pitiful little white ball in the bunker in the distance, then at the club in Lin Feng's hand, covered in dirt and grass clippings, and at Lin Feng's indifferent expression that seemed to say, "It's over, so what?"
A powerful surge of superiority, a mixture of contempt, mockery, and a sense of "I knew it," rushed to Mike's head like boiling water. He could even hear a voice screaming inside him, "Country bumpkin! Barbarian! You don't even have the most basic manners or attempts!"
But he was, after all, a seasoned conman, and managing his facial expressions was a basic skill for him. That moment of embarrassment lasted less than half a second before he quickly regained his composure, putting on a smile again. However, that smile had become somewhat forced, carrying a condescending sense of "tolerance" and "instruction."
"Ha... haha," Mike chuckled dryly, stepping forward to try and ease the awkwardness. "The first time, the first time is always like this! Lin, you... you're really strong! But golf isn't about brute force; it's about technique, spin, and control. Come on, look, this is how you should grip the club, this is how you should stand, this is where your weight should be, the backswing should be smooth, the downswing should use the rotation of your waist, and your wrist should release at the moment of impact..."
As he spoke, he picked up his driver again and demonstrated a beautiful standard swing. The white golf ball whistled crisply, tracing a high and far arc, and landed precisely in the target area more than 200 yards away.
"See? You have to do it like this, relax, feel the rhythm of your body, like dancing." After demonstrating, Mike looked at Lin Feng with a reserved smugness, hoping to see an expression of "sudden realization" or "admiration" from the other.
Lin Feng looked at the hole he had dug in the grass, then at Mike's elegant movements and the ball flying far away, and nodded. But what he said almost made Mike choke:
"Oh, that's too much trouble. Half a day to walk, then half a day to play, then half a day to find the ball. With that time, you might as well go for a run or find a place to sit."
His tone showed no embarrassment or shame about his "terrible" performance; instead, it conveyed a heartfelt assessment of the sport as "boring" and "inefficient." He was completely unconcerned about his "inelegance" and "lack of expertise," and didn't even bother to cover it up or learn.
Mike was momentarily speechless, all his prepared remarks about "golf philosophy," "course etiquette," and "the essence of aristocratic sports" bounced back by Lin Feng's "whatever" wall. He suddenly felt that this carefully chosen occasion to showcase his "social circle" and "taste" was like punching cotton in front of this uncouth Great East riche from Dongda University—no, it was like punching a rock. The other person didn't feel anything, but his hand hurt.
"Heh... Lin, you really are... straightforward." Mike forced a smile, deciding not to waste any more time on "teaching," since the real purpose wasn't to teach him how to play. "Then... shall we just go down to the court? We can play and chat, and enjoy the scenery."
"Okay." Lin Feng agreed indifferently, casually shoving the muddy golf club back into his bag as if it were just a stick he had just used, not a piece of sports equipment that needed to be cherished.
The next few holes were a slow, agonizing ordeal for Mike.
Lin Feng continued to play terribly. His tee shots either dug into the ground or sent the ball flying everywhere, often requiring him to spend a lot of time searching for it in the rough, woods, and even ponds. His swing was completely haphazard, relying entirely on feel and power, and his posture was so ugly in Mike's eyes that it was unbearable to watch. But Lin Feng himself seemed to enjoy it? He wasn't frustrated by his poor performance; sometimes, when he hit a slightly decent shot (like one that rolled onto the fairway), he would nonchalantly purse his lips; other times, when he hit the ball into the deep rough, he would pick up his club and, like a child on a picnic, part the grass to find it, completely indifferent to the picturesque scenery and the atmosphere of this "aristocratic sport."
Mike tried his best to maintain his composure, striving for perfection in every shot, occasionally commenting on the fairway design and green speed, or "casually" mentioning an interesting anecdote about a well-known member, attempting to steer the conversation towards "high-level" topics. But Lin Feng's responses were either "um" or "oh," or he would be completely distracted, looking at the eagles on the distant mountain, or simply asking about the time, appearing somewhat impatient.
Mike's anger and contempt simmered like water, bubbling slowly. He became increasingly convinced that Lin Feng was a complete nouveau riche, obsessed with money and devoid of any sense of refinement. Such people, both yearning for and ignorant of the allure of "high society," were easily swayed by empty promises of "insider connections" and "privileged channels." In Mike's eyes, Lin Feng's attitude towards golf, his crude and direct style, was not a flaw, but rather a "strength"—indicating that this person was "simple-minded," "direct," focused on "practical gains," and easy to control. He was already mentally calculating how to further lure this juicy "fish" with material possessions and vanity during their visit to the "company" and mansion.
As for Lin Feng, walking on the perfectly manicured lawn, breathing in the fresh scent of grass and pine, he felt... it was nothing special. It wasn't as comfortable as the untouched lakeside woods behind his villa. Mike's grandiloquent talk about "taste," "social circles," and "elegance" sounded like mosquito buzzing to him, utterly meaningless. He wasn't here to learn how to play ball, nor to integrate into any circle. He was simply observing, evaluating, watching how this conman performed, and... whether this so-called "top-tier" territory held any value he could "borrow" or "control" in the future.
The sun was still shining brightly, and the grass was lush and green, but the two people walking side by side on the field had thoughts that were like two parallel lines that would never intersect, extending in completely different directions.