Chapter 137: I

The "Search Operation" unfolded like an invisible net, continuously covering global corners potentially linked to mysterious or ancient powers, thanks to Qin Feng's unwavering investment. Under massive resource support, specialized research teams began sifting through countless ambiguous artifacts to extract valuable fragments of information—though substantive breakthroughs remained distant, at least this path proved not entirely futile.

Yet, just as Qin Feng focused on leveraging secular power to bridge the system's "gap," a more covert and revolting scheme targeting him personally was quietly closing in, disguised as an ordinary commercial and cultural exchange event.

The event was initiated by a locally influential cultural arts foundation in Luocheng, aiming to promote East-West artistic exchange. As a newly risen business leader in Luocheng whose "Qin Feng System" had begun entering the cultural industry, Qin Feng was naturally invited.

The venue was a premier private art gallery, elegant in atmosphere, filled with Luocheng's elite, artists, and collectors. Qin Feng had no desire to attend such overly social events, but considering the chance to connect with people from different circles and expand channels for the "Search Operation," he accepted the invitation.

He arrived with only Lei Zhan as his attendant, appearing discreetly at the venue. Even so, his presence drew considerable attention. Many eyes, overt or hidden, fixed on him—with curiosity, scrutiny, and… other, more complex intentions.

Qin Feng held his wine glass, exchanged brief pleasantries with several familiar entrepreneurs and gallery directors, then found a relatively quiet corner to observe the scene. His gaze swept over the priceless artworks and the elegantly dressed guests, while his mind calculated how to more effectively acquire resources hidden beneath the mundane.

At that moment, a rich yet refined perfume drifted toward him, and a figure glided gracefully to his side.

"Mr. Qin, are you alone?" Her voice was soft and melodic, carrying just the right hint of shyness.

Qin Feng looked up. Before him stood a young woman in a modified lotus-pink qipao, her makeup exquisite, her demeanor gentle, her features radiating classical Eastern grace that complemented her attire. In her hand she held a small round fan, lightly concealing half her cheek, her eyes like a startled fawn—delicately vulnerable and pitiable.

Qin Feng had an excellent memory and immediately recognized her: Su Da, a young painter gaining fame in the North American Chinese circle, renowned for her ethereal style and otherworldly aura, hailed as the "Lotus of the Painting World," with a devoted fanbase.

"Miss Su," Qin Feng nodded slightly, his tone flat. He had little fondness for such deliberately constructed personas.

Su Da seemed oblivious to his coldness, stepping forward slightly, her eyes gleaming behind the fan with admiration: "I've long admired your courage and talent. To finally meet you in person is truly a blessing of three lifetimes. Your presence has elevated this cultural exchange beyond measure."

Her flattery carried the affectation of an artsy youth, perfectly matching her persona.

"Miss Su, you flatter me," Qin Feng stepped back half a pace, creating distance without expression.

Seeing this, Su Da's eyes flickered with barely perceptible urgency, yet her smile grew even more tender and captivating. She gently waved her fan, releasing a waft of fragrance, her tone laced with just the right hint of sorrow and implication:

"Mr. Qin, perhaps you don't know—though the path of art appears glorious, it is in truth lonely and cold. Especially for a woman like me, wandering far from home, yearning for a strong shoulder to lean on, seeking a sanctuary for the soul…"

Her words overflowed with the pretentiousness of an artsy youth, yet the core message was unmistakable—she was playing the victim, seeking "reliance," and her target was Qin Feng.

Qin Feng watched her perform this false elegance laced with hidden ambition, and felt a surge of revulsion. He'd seen this act too many times—using a bit of beauty and talent to cut corners and cling to power.

He had no patience for her pretense. He cut her off directly, his voice laced with unmasked mockery:

"Miss Su."

His gaze, like a cold blade, scraped across her meticulously crafted face.

"That Chanel limited-edition qipao you're wearing? Worth well over six figures." "That Patek Philippe Starry Sky on your wrist? Market value exceeds three million." "Those Salvatore Ferragamo custom heels you stepped in with just now? No ordinary painter could afford them."

With each sentence, Su Da's complexion paled further. Her carefully maintained "aloof solitude" persona crumbled into absurdity and emptiness under Qin Feng's merciless exposure.

"A painter wearing a six-figure qipao, sporting a three-million watch, and stepping in top-tier custom heels," Qin Feng's voice was low, yet struck like a hammer on Su Da's heart, "are you here talking to me about the loneliness and coldness of the artistic path? About needing someone to lean on?"

He scanned her from head to toe, then fixed his gaze on her hands—trembling slightly from tension, yet still striving for elegance—and a bitterly sarcastic smile curled on his lips as he slowly uttered the words that would shatter her completely:

"I'm a peony! What are you pretending to be pure for?"

"…"

In an instant, all color drained from Su Da's face, as if stripped naked under a spotlight—every mask and pretense torn to shreds! She gripped her fan so tightly her knuckles turned white, her body trembling, the eyes that had once shimmered now filled with boundless shame and humiliation!

Others nearby who'd caught the exchange now cast her strange and mocking glances.

Su Da could no longer stay. She spun around abruptly, nearly stumbling, and fled in panicked disgrace from the place that had stripped her of dignity.

Qin Feng watched her hasty retreat, his eyes cold, showing no mercy.

Women who tried to approach him with false personas and pretentious tricks disgusted him more than Liu Qianqian's blunt ambition.

Trying to play innocent, construct a persona in front of him?

Do you even know your own worth?

What storms has Qin Feng weathered? Can such childish tricks shake him?

After this minor incident, Qin Feng lost all interest in this so-called art exchange. He set down his glass, signaled Lei Zhan, and prepared to leave.

Yet, as he turned, his peripheral vision caught—across the gallery, in an unremarkable corner—a slender figure in a simple black dress, her aura cool and quiet, watching him with an expression that seemed… curiously observant?

That woman…

Qin Feng's steps paused slightly.

He remembered her. Liu Shiyin. The woman from Chuangsheng Technology.

She was here too?

And had she witnessed the entire farce just now?

Qin Feng and she exchanged a distant glance—their eyes met briefly in midair, neither offering any sign, then both looked away.

But a faint unease stirred in Qin Feng's mind.

Liu Shiyin…

Was her presence here a coincidence?

He no longer lingered. With Lei Zhan, he walked straight out of the art gallery.

Inside the car, Qin Feng stared at the glittering night scenery outside, his gaze deep.

The waters of Luocheng run deep indeed.

The visible, the hidden, the real, the false… all sorts of monsters and demons are rising to the surface.

But that's fine.

It gives him the chance to clean away these annoying impurities, one by one.

And that Liu Shiyin…

Qin Feng narrowed his eyes slightly.

He had a feeling their paths would not end here.