A Banquet Interlude and News of Feng Ya
As night falls, the newly built, avant-garde modern art museum in Seattle's Bellevue district is brightly lit and filled with elegantly dressed people.
This is a private charity dinner hosted by a local tech upstart, ostensibly to raise funds for a children's foundation, but in reality, it's a social event for the emerging wealthy to showcase their wealth and expand their networks.
The attendees were mostly entrepreneurs, venture capitalists, and tech company executives with Silicon Valley backgrounds, as well as a small number of invited celebrities from the arts and sports world and "sophisticated" traditional industries.
Lin Feng wore a perfectly tailored midnight blue velvet tuxedo with a white wing-collar shirt underneath, without a bow tie, exuding a casual yet dignified air. Holding a glass of champagne, he stood alone in a quiet corner near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his gaze calmly sweeping over the crowd of people clinking glasses in the hall. K, as always, stood a few steps behind him, like a silent shadow.
Unlike previous times when people would approach Lin Feng to chat, exchange business cards, and explore cooperation opportunities, very few people did so tonight.
Those tech elites in custom-tailored suits, discussing the next big thing and unicorns, would often pause slightly when their gaze swept over Lin Feng, their eyes filled with curiosity and scrutiny, but more so with a mixture of awe and a subtle, almost imperceptible, distance. They would exchange a few words with their companions, glance at Lin Feng again, and then casually look away, moving on to other targets that were easier to "communicate" with.
Even those who had met Lin Feng briefly before and exchanged business cards only raised their glasses to him from across the crowd, offering polite but restrained smiles, without making any move to exchange pleasantries. It was as if an invisible barrier surrounded Lin Feng Lin Feng, keeping them at a distance.
Soft jazz music filled the air, waiters moved silently with silver platters, and guests chatted and laughed in hushed tones; everything seemed harmonious and elegant. But Lin Feng could clearly sense the subtle shifts in the magnetic field surrounding him.
He is no longer the mysterious, wealthy, and benevolent "new Eastern tycoon."
Rather, he is the most talked-about and unsettling figure connected to the "accidental" deaths of Daniel Crawford and Richard Cohen. He is the "barbarian" who publicly humiliated Daniel at the "Night of Enlightenment" dinner, poured wine over his head, and demanded his core business. He is also the "dangerous man" who is said to be ruthless, has a mysterious background, and has brought a series of "misfortunes" to senior IRS officials and business tycoons.
In the small circle of Seattle, there are no real secrets. The deaths of Daniel and Cohen were officially described as "accidents," but for these astute and well-informed top figures, the suspicious circumstances and Undercurrent behind them were perfectly clear. Lin Feng had public and unpleasant interactions with both of them, and the timing was so close that any "respectable person" who valued their life and reputation would avoid him like the plague.
They don't care about the truth, they only care about the risks. And Lin Feng is now synonymous with "risk".
Getting close to him could mean unforeseen trouble, or even... danger.
Lin Feng didn't care at all; in fact, he seemed to enjoy the "peace and quiet." He sipped his champagne, his gaze sweeping over those who deliberately avoided his eyes, a barely perceptible, slightly mocking smile playing on his lips. He didn't need these insincere pleasantries and superficial connections. His stage had never been in this seemingly glamorous but actually fragile social bubble.
He walked to the long dining table and, with silver tongs, leisurely selected several exquisite-looking pastries—smoked salmon tarts, caviar biscuits, and mini foie gras. He ate with great focus, as if he were truly there to enjoy the food. The surrounding noise and the subtle, pervasive glances seemed to have no effect on him.
K approached silently, leaned down slightly, and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"Boss, Feng Ya is in a bit of trouble."
Lin Feng put a small piece of foie gras into his mouth, savoring its rich and delicate texture. Upon hearing this, he didn't pause at all, only nodding almost imperceptibly to indicate that he had heard.
He didn't even ask what the specific trouble was. He remembered the name Feng Ya. She was Old Feng's daughter. Old Feng was one of the early "suicide agents" he had "exchanged"—taciturn, hardworking, and easy to use. Unfortunately, he was unlucky; he had stomach cancer and didn't live long. Before he died, his biggest worry was his only daughter. Lin Feng remembered that before Old Feng breathed his last, his cloudy eyes looked at him, without any pleading, only a kind of resigned calm. He gave Old Feng a generous "compensation" and promised to take care of his daughter. Later, he heard that Feng Ya had married in China and immigrated to the United States with her husband. He instructed his subordinates to check on her regularly, but not to interfere too much. He wouldn't easily use his resources unless it involved matters of life and death.
Now that K specifically brought it up at the banquet, it means that this "trouble" might be quite serious, or... it's time for him to be aware of it or even intervene.
"Understood." Lin Feng swallowed his food, picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth, and said calmly, "We'll talk about it later when we get back."
K understood, said no more, and returned to his original position to continue fulfilling his duty as a guard.
Lin Feng continued enjoying his dinner, seemingly unaffected by the minor incident. He even had the leisure to comment on the fig jam that accompanied the foie gras, finding it a bit too sweet and masking the natural flavor of the foie gras.
The banquet continued. Someone went on stage to give a speech, thanking the guests and appealing for donations. Polite applause rang out. Lin Feng also clapped his hands, but his gaze drifted away, as if he could see through this magnificent hall and into the lives of ordinary people in the distance, so different from the glitz and glamour before him, perhaps struggling with hardship.
Feng Ya... Old Feng's daughter.
trouble?
Is it economic? Legal? Or... personal safety?
Whatever it is, since K brought it up, and it happens to be right around the time he's preparing to leave Seattle and shift his strategic focus, perhaps it's worth a visit. Just consider it... a final dealing with some "old matters" before leaving, and incidentally, a look at the living conditions of ordinary "our own people" in this land we're about to leave.
This can be considered as giving Old Feng an explanation.
He finished the last of his champagne and placed the empty glass on the tray as the waiter passed by. Then, he winked at K.
It's time to go.
There's no need to stay any longer at this banquet filled with awe, alienation, and false enthusiasm.
He turned and walked toward the exit. K immediately followed. As they passed, the crowd parted naturally, like Moses parting the sea, and no one approached to speak. Only countless eyes followed their Back View until they disappeared behind the magnificent revolving doors of the art gallery.
A cool night breeze swept through, dispelling the warm, sweet air in the banquet hall.
Once inside the car, cut off from the outside world, Lin Feng loosened his collar and said to K:
"Tell me, Feng Ya, what exactly happened?"
His voice rang out in the closed carriage, calm, but with an unquestionable focus that came with the decision to intervene.
The city lights outside the car window rushed past, their reflections flickering in his deep eyes.
My last night in Seattle seemed to have brought one more thing to deal with.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, the lights of Los Angeles, California, are silently beckoning in the darkness.