Arrogance at the Dinner Table

The next evening, Seattle, The Metropolitan Grill.

This top-tier steakhouse in the city center is one of Seattle's most prestigious power venues. Dim lighting, dark walnut wainscoting, and century-old photographs on the walls exude Old Qian air of restraint and sophistication.

People who come here to eat rarely make a lot of noise. Even when they talk and laugh, they do so with a certain deliberate restraint, as if they are afraid of disturbing the atmosphere of "class" that flows in the air.

When Lin Feng arrived at the restaurant entrance on time, he was wearing a well-tailored dark gray suit without a tie, and the top button of his shirt was casually undone, which looked both polite and relaxed.

He was greeted by a waiter wearing white gloves, who had obviously been informed in advance. Without asking any questions, the waiter led him through the hall to a semi-open booth in the corner.

The booths are in a great location, offering both a good view of the entire restaurant and relative privacy, with a full wall of stained glass behind them blocking most of the view.

There was already someone sitting in the seat.

He was a Caucasian man in his early forties, with neatly combed light blond hair, regular features, and well-maintained skin that showed almost no wrinkles. He wore a navy blue double-breasted suit, with an exquisite pearl tie clip on his tie, and the edge of a Patek Philippe watch face was visible on his left wrist.

Seeing Lin Feng approach, he didn't get up, but simply raised his chin slightly, revealing a polite but clearly distant smile.

"Mr. Lin?" His voice was gentle and pleasant, with a standard announcer's tone. "Please sit down."

Lin Feng sat down opposite him, and the waiter immediately came forward to lay out a napkin for him and pour him sparkling water. Lin Feng did not rush to look at the menu, but leaned back in his chair, calmly observing the person opposite him.

"I don't know how to address you?" Lin Feng asked.

"You can call me Philip." The white man picked up his glass of red wine, swirled it gently, and watched the wine cling beautifully to the glass. "Philip Winslow."

"Mr. Winslow," Lin Feng nodded, "I've heard so much about you."

That was, of course, just a polite remark. In fact, he had never heard of this name before the invitation email was sent to his inbox.

Philip seemed to know this too, but he didn't seem to care. He just smiled, put down his glass, and picked up the menu. "The dry-aged ribeye here is quite good; I recommend you try it. Of course, if you prefer seafood, their Atlantic scallops are also a signature dish."

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do," Lin Feng said.

Philip then summoned a waiter and skillfully ordered two ribeyes, a Caesar salad, and a bottle of 2010 Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon. The whole process was seamless, as if he were the host tonight, and Lin Feng was just an invited guest.

After the waiter left, Philip turned his gaze back to Lin Feng, still wearing that gentle and polite smile, but a subtle scrutinizing look had begun to emerge in his eyes.

"Mr. Lin hasn't been in Seattle for very long, has he?" he asked, his tone casual.

"It's indeed not long," Lin Feng answered truthfully.

"So, Mr. Lin, what do you think of the business environment here?" Philip continued, picking up a napkin from the table and slowly unfolding it on his lap. "I mean, Great East, aren't the rules here a bit different?"

His words sounded polite, but there was a subtle sense of superiority in his tone, like an experienced player explaining the rules of the game to a novice—seemingly enthusiastic, but actually drawing boundaries.

Lin Feng smiled but didn't answer directly, "Every place has its own way of doing things; just adapt."

"Well said." Philip nodded approvingly, as if Lin Feng's answer pleased him. "You'll adapt well. What I admire most are intelligent people like Mr. Lin who know how to be flexible. To be honest, when I first heard that a young entrepreneur from Great East had taken over some of Mike Anderson's businesses, I was a little worried. After all, you know, Mike isn't exactly a model of integrity, leaving behind some... well, how should I put it, a mess."

He paused for a moment, then looked at Lin Feng meaningfully.

"However, it seems Mr. Lin handled it very cleanly. So cleanly that some of my friends were quite surprised."

At this moment, a waiter pushed a wine cart over and showed them the Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon. After receiving confirmation, the waiter skillfully opened the bottle, decanted the wine, and poured it into glasses. Philip picked up the glass, smelled it first, then took a small sip and nodded in satisfaction.

After the waiter left again, he continued, "Since Mr. Lin is so straightforward, I won't beat around the bush."

He placed his wine glass on the table, leaned forward slightly, and crossed his hands on the table, his posture resembling a friendly business negotiation. However, his blue eyes were beginning to reveal an undeniable sense of pressure.

"Mr. Lin, we all know about Mike Anderson. He was heavily in debt, offended many people, and ended up like that; nobody sympathizes with him." Philip's voice remained gentle, but his pace slowed considerably, each word carefully chosen before being spoken. "However, those resources, those projects, those channels... strictly speaking, they weren't all his alone."

Lin Feng listened quietly without interrupting.

"These things involve the interests of many people." Philip tapped the table lightly with a finger. "Many people. For a long time, these people maintained a delicate balance through Mike Anderson as an intermediary. Now that Mike is gone, the balance has been broken, and Mr. Lin, you... have taken all of these things into your own hands."

He paused here, looking directly into Lin Feng's eyes, as if waiting for Lin Feng's reaction.

Lin Feng's expression remained unchanged. He simply picked up the water glass in front of him, took a sip of the water, and then put it down, his movements calm and unhurried.

Seeing this, a barely perceptible hint of displeasure flashed across Philip's eyes, but he concealed it well and continued:

"I invited Mr. Lin out today for no other reason than to relay a message from our friends—they acknowledge Mr. Lin. Mr. Lin's abilities and efficiency. However, keeping everything to oneself is never a good habit, anywhere."

His tone remained gentle, but his wording had become increasingly direct.

"Those things never belonged to Mike in the first place, so there's no question of anyone taking them from him. They belong to a larger group, a circle. If Mr. Lin wants to stay in this circle long-term, he should learn to share with everyone."

As Philip finished speaking, he leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands in front of his abdomen, and his signature smile reappeared on his face, but this time, there was an undisguised sense of superiority in that smile.

"After all, Great East, 'Having more friends means having more options.'"

He deliberately emphasized the words "your Great East" as if to remind Lin Feng that he was an outsider, an uninvited guest who had intruded into someone else's territory.

"Mr. Lin is a smart man; he should understand what I mean."

The background music in the restaurant changed to a different tune, with a melodious jazz saxophone playing softly in the air. The diners around them continued their lively conversations, the clinking of cutlery echoing throughout the room, and no one noticed the conversation taking place at the table in the corner.

Lin Feng was silent for a few seconds, then smiled softly.

His smile was casual, with the corners of his mouth slightly upturned and a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as if what he had just heard was not a threatening warning, but a funny joke.

"Mr. Winslow," he said, his voice soft but clear, "I'd like to ask you a question."

Philip raised an eyebrow. "Please speak."

"Who exactly are you referring to as 'friends'?" Lin Feng looked at him, his gaze calm as still water. "Or rather, whose interests are you representing?"

This question caused Philip's smile to falter slightly.

He hadn't expected Lin Feng to ask so directly. In his view, such unspoken matters were best left unsaid, so as to save face for everyone. Lin Feng's question made him seem somewhat ignorant of etiquette.

But he was a worldly man after all, and he quickly composed himself, saying casually, "Mr. Lin, sometimes knowing too much about things isn't a good thing. You just need to know that these people are influential, and their goodwill deserves your utmost sincerity."

"Goodwill?" Lin Feng repeated the word, his tone playful.

"Of course," Philip spread his hands. "If it weren't for goodwill, I wouldn't be sitting here today; I would have communicated with Mr. Lin in another way. You should be grateful that your friends were willing to give you this opportunity."

His tone remained mild, but the threat in his words was now unmistakable.

Lin Feng picked up the wine glass in front of him, but didn't drink it. He just stared at the dark red liquid clinging to the glass, as if admiring a work of art.

After a long while, he put down his wine glass, looked up at Philip, and his smile remained unchanged.

"Mr. Winslow, thank you for your kind offer," he said. "However, I have a problem—I'm not used to letting others make decisions for me."

Philip's smile finally froze completely on his face.

His gaze sharpened, like a dagger hidden beneath silk, slowly revealing its edge.

"Mr. Lin, are you sure you want to refuse this kindness?" His voice lowered, the previous gentleness replaced by a cold calm. "You need to understand that in this city, in this country, many things are not as simple as you imagine. Having money doesn't guarantee you a stable foothold."

He paused, then said, word by word:

"Without the tacit approval of those friends, do you think you could have swallowed those things peacefully?"

The air seemed to freeze at that moment.

The candles on the table burned quietly, casting interplay of light and shadow between the two people's faces.

Lin Feng looked at Philip, his eyes showing no anger, no tension, not even the slightest fluctuation.

He just sat there quietly, like a spectator watching a play.

"Mr. Winslow," he finally spoke, his voice as flat as if he were talking about the weather, "What if I told you that I never wanted a 'stable life'?"

Philip's eye twitched slightly.

He stared at Lin Feng, trying to find a flaw in his bravado in that young, Eastern face. But all he saw was an unfathomable calm.

Beneath that calm, he even vaguely sensed something that made him extremely uncomfortable—a kind of indifference that was completely contrary to his expectations and came from the depths of his being.

It was as if Philip Winslow, and those "very influential friends" he mentioned, were no threat at all in Lin Feng's eyes.

This feeling stirred an uncontrollable anger within Philip.

He was used to being respected, used to the other person immediately adopting a submissive expression after he revealed his identity. But this young man not only showed no fear, but responded to his warning with an almost indifferent attitude.

This made him feel offended.

He took a deep breath, suppressed his anger, and forced a smile, but the smile was devoid of any warmth.

"Mr. Lin, you are still young, and it's good that you have drive. But—" he drawled, "You should understand the principle that too much rigidity leads to breakage. I've come here today with sincerity, and I hope Mr. Lin can show the same sincerity. Otherwise, the next person sitting here talking to you probably won't be as easy to talk to as I am."

After saying this, he didn't wait for Lin Feng's reply. Instead, he picked up a napkin from the table, wiped his mouth, stood up, and straightened the hem of his suit jacket.

"I've already ordered the steak for you, I'll pay the bill." He looked down at Lin Feng, his tone carrying a final, condescending arrogance. "Mr. Lin, think carefully about what I've said. I expect to hear from you within three days."

He turned and walked towards the restaurant entrance without looking back, his leather shoes making a steady, powerful sound on the floor.

Lin Feng sat there, watching the Back View disappear around the corner of the restaurant.

He glanced down at the bottle of red wine on the table, which had just been opened, picked up the glass, smelled it, and then took a small sip.

The wine is good.

He put down his wine glass, a faint smile curving his lips.

Three days?

It won't take that long.