Chapter 35: Farce

The visit of that great figure and the invitation to the Guardian Project unfolded before Qin Feng an epic panorama, vast and turbulent, yet brimming with peril. He needed time to digest this astonishing information and weigh the pros and cons.

Yet, when the tree wishes for stillness, the wind refuses to cease.

Just as Qin Feng was locked in contemplation, remotely directing the final sprint of the Stardust Project and the key personnel setup for the Galaxy Plan, a farce—so trivial in his eyes—unfolded quietly within a certain circle in the Imperial Capital, and ultimately reached his doorstep.

That morning, Sun Zhe walked in with a strange expression, holding a Tablet Computer.

"Boss, take a look at this," Sun Zhe handed the Tablet Computer to Qin Feng; the screen displayed a limited-circulation video circulating within a high-end club in the Imperial Capital.

The video showed a conversation at a private salon. A young man dressed in an expensive custom suit, his hair slicked back with grease, raised his wine glass and loudly declaimed to several similarly well-dressed men and women, his words brimming with contempt and disdain for Qin Feng.

"... That guy named Qin? Just a nouveau riche! Who knows what lucky break got him a few dirty bucks—he dares to act up in the Imperial Capital? And he bought Yunshan Manor? Does he even deserve it?" The young man's tone was flippant, his face radiating unmasked superiority. "I checked—he's just a backwater bumpkin from the interior, no family background. Thinks a few bucks let him stand in the Imperial Capital? What a joke!"

Someone nearby chimed in: "Young Master Zhao's right—I heard he offended Miss Shangguan too? Utterly clueless about his place!"

The young man called "Young Master Zhao" sneered: "Miss Shangguan just doesn't deign to bother with him! I've seen plenty of these nouveau riche! If you ask me, we ought to teach him a lesson—make him understand the Imperial Capital isn't a place for backwater trash! I heard he's been working on some kind of chip lately? What a joke—does he really think chips are that easy to make? In my opinion, he's just putting on a show to grab attention and swindle investors out of their money!"

He grew more animated, fabricating entirely fictional "dark histories" about Qin Feng, drawing laughter from those around him.

The video ended there.

Sun Zhe, furious, said: "Boss, that guy's Zhao Ming—a scion of the second-rate Zhao family in the Imperial Capital. He leans on his family's connections, idles all day, and stirs up trouble everywhere. He must've heard some rumors and started blabbing at a gathering like this! Should we...?"

Qin Feng watched Zhao Ming, the jester leaping about on screen, and showed no anger—only amusement. He didn't even care who filmed the video or how it reached him. This level of provocation, after his encounters with the hidden currents of Shangguan Qianhua and secret talks with national-level figures, seemed pitifully pale and childish.

Like an ant waving its antennae at a giant—the giant doesn't even sense its existence.

"Just a jester. Ignore him," Qin Feng returned the Tablet Computer to Sun Zhe, his tone calm. "Our time and energy shouldn't be wasted on such trivial nonsense."

He was about to resume reviewing Galaxy Plan documents when the study door knocked. His household manager reported nervously: "Sir, outside... several people have arrived. The leader is Zhao Ming from the video—they... they drove a sports car and blocked our mansion's gate, saying... saying they want to see you, and for you to... come out and give them an explanation?"

Sun Zhe exploded: "He dares show up here?! How arrogant! Boss, I'll call Security Personnel to throw them out right now!"

Qin Feng, hearing this, grew slightly interested. He walked to the window and peered through the one-way glass toward the mansion's gate.

Indeed, a garish Lamborghini was parked crookedly before the grand gate, two slovenly youths lounging on the hood. Zhao Ming leaned against the front bumper, cigarette dangling, looking utterly carefree and fearless, gesturing wildly at the gate and shouting obscenities. Passersby and vehicles slowed to stare.

This scene clashed violently with the solemn, dignified atmosphere of Yunshan Manor—a blatant farce of a spoiled brat coming to provoke.

Qin Feng watched this, then smiled. He had no intention of responding—but since they'd offered their faces for him to strike, he wouldn't mind stretching his limbs.

"Sun Zhe," Qin Feng turned, voice laced with amusement, "go open the gate."

"Huh? Boss, this..." Sun Zhe froze.

"Open it," Qin Feng repeated, tone absolute. "Also, notify everyone: activate all internal and external surveillance cameras in the mansion—especially the high-definition ones at the gate. Ensure every angle is clearly recorded."

Though baffled, Sun Zhe obeyed immediately.

The heavy electric gates slowly slid open on either side.

Zhao Ming and his group, seeing this, paused—then grinned smugly, assuming Qin Feng was intimidated by their display and preparing to surrender.

Zhao Ming tossed his cigarette, straightened his collar, and strode forward with his entourage, shouting: "Good, you've got sense! Go get Qin Feng to come out and apologize to me, you..."

His words froze mid-sentence.

For behind the open gate, no one emerged. No vehicle appeared. Only a straight, clean asphalt road stretched toward the distant Chinese-style main house, hidden among trees—unnervingly quiet, even oppressive.

Worse still, they could clearly see multiple high-end surveillance cameras mounted on both sides of the gate and along the walls—all blinking red indicator lights, coldly fixed upon them.

This setup... wasn't surrender. It was... a trap?

Zhao Ming and his entourage's arrogance instantly evaporated under the eerie silence and omnipresent surveillance; their confidence began to waver.

At that moment, a Security Personnel in a black suit, wearing an earpiece, stepped out of the guardhouse, expressionless, and said in a robotic tone: "Gentlemen, this is a private residence. Leave immediately and move your vehicle. Otherwise, we will take necessary measures."

His tone wasn't threatening—but combined with the environment and the cameras, it carried undeniable authority.

Zhao Ming's face flushed with humiliation. "You... what are you?! Call Qin Feng out to see me!"

The Security Personnel remained expressionless: "Mr. Qin does not meet irrelevant persons. You have three minutes to leave."

"You!" Zhao Ming turned beet red, about to shout again—but one of his slightly wiser followers grabbed his arm, whispering urgently: "Young Master Zhao, something's wrong here—this place... these Security Personnel... I think we should leave now?"

Zhao Ming stared into the deep, silent interior of the mansion and the cold cameras, recalling rumors about Qin Feng (which he'd always dismissed), and felt a sudden unease. But he couldn't retreat now—it would be too humiliating!

Just as he was trapped between pride and fear, a deep, powerful engine roar approached from afar.

Three black Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUVs roared in like steel beasts, stopping precisely before Yunshan Manor's gate. Doors opened, and seven or eight men in black tactical gear stepped out—lean, agile, eyes sharp. They moved swiftly and in perfect order, instantly securing the perimeter, subtly surrounding Zhao Ming's group, their gazes cold and assessing.

The aura radiating from these men was utterly unlike Zhao Ming's spoiled brats—they carried the iron-blooded spirit of men who had weathered real storms.

The leader walked to the earlier Security Personnel, showed an ID, and whispered a few words.

The Security Personnel immediately snapped to attention and stepped aside.

The man then turned his gaze to Zhao Ming and his frozen entourage, voice icy, devoid of emotion: "We are from the Internal Guard. You've gathered here to cause trouble, suspected of endangering a critical target. Come with us for investigation."

I... Internal Guard?!

Zhao Ming and his followers heard those two words—their legs went weak. Their faces turned ashen.

They'd only come to provoke a "nouveau riche"—how had they drawn the legendary Internal Guard?! Who the hell was this Qin Feng?!

Before they could react, several Internal Guard members advanced, unceremoniously "escorting" them into the vehicles. The garish Lamborghini was towed away immediately.

The entire process was clean, efficient—under five minutes. The gate area, once noisy and chaotic, fell silent as if nothing had happened.

Sun Zhe, watching from the gate, stood stunned. Only after the Internal Guard's convoy departed did he snap back, rushing into the study to excitedly report: "Boss—it was Mr. Yang's people! They said they received a report of disturbance here and took Zhao Ming's group away on the spot!"

Qin Feng stood by the window, watching the gates close again, his face showing no surprise.

He'd anticipated this—after meeting that great figure, his status and importance at the national level had fundamentally changed. A fool like Zhao Ming, brazen enough to provoke him, didn't need his own hand—he'd be cleared away automatically as mere "noise."

This farce was not just chaos—it was a signal released.

In the Imperial Capital, he was no longer the same.

"The farce is over," Qin Feng turned, sat back at his desk, and picked up the Galaxy Architecture blueprint, his voice as calm as still water. "Back to work."

Sun Zhe stared at his boss's serene, unperturbed profile, filled with awe.

He knew—from today on, in the unfathomable depths of the Imperial Capital, no one would dare see Mr. Qin as merely a "rich nouveau riche."

And that poor Zhao Ming and his family would likely pay an unimaginable price for the farce sparked by their ignorance.