I started by watching videos, and I chose 10,000 combat power.

Luo Fei walked to the microphone and adjusted its height.

"You may all know me. If you don't, that's okay too. My name is Luo Fei, and I'm one of the shareholders of Qing Si Tang Company. Ms. Luo is my aunt. I provided the formula for this hair growth cream."

The audience erupted in a commotion, as if a hornet's nest had been stirred up.

Someone is confirming: Does he mean that he developed this formula?

People were whispering: "Isn't he a general? Why would he do this?"

People were shoving each other: Did you write it down?

Reporters' hands flew across their notebooks as they took notes, and new media editors were already writing articles on the spot, with headlines already in mind—"General Luo Fei personally endorses the hair growth cream formula, which originated from his own hand."

The colors of the lights on set seemed to have changed, from cool white to warm yellow. It was unclear whether the lighting technician was adjusting them or if Luo Fei's presence naturally softened the surrounding light.

Luo Fei picked up a sample bottle from the table and shook it under the light; the amber-colored gel appeared translucent under the light.

He continued, "We've had this formula tested. People start to see a reaction on the scalp after three days, new hair grows after a week, hair volume increases significantly after half a month, and it fully recovers to normal levels after three months. And there are absolutely no side effects."

The audience fell silent again.

No one would doubt Luo Fei.

You can doubt experts, you can doubt doctors, you can doubt anyone.

But Luo Fei, a general who withstood a mushroom bomb without flinching during a live broadcast, a man who brought Dongdu Island back to China, a man who had over five billion people on the planet watching him fly through the sky—he had no reason to lie to you.

A bottle of hair growth cream is nothing to him. He's standing here not to make money, but to tell everyone that this stuff really works.

A middle-aged man sitting in the front row had a bald patch on top, resembling a "Mediterranean" head, with sparse hair around his head, like a poplar forest on the edge of a desert, standing stubbornly.

He stood up, holding his phone, not to take a picture of Luo Fei, but to make a phone call.

He is the owner of a biotechnology company in the provincial capital. He has been sitting here since the press conference started in the morning, hoping to find out what this "Qingsitang" is all about and whether there is any possibility of cooperation.

Now he's certain: it's not a question of whether they can cooperate, but that they must cooperate.

He tapped the screen rapidly, dialed the vice president's number, and said in a low voice, barely concealing his excitement: "Calculate all the funds the company can mobilize; I want to invest in a project."

The person on the other end of the phone asked something, but he didn't answer and hung up immediately.

A gray-haired official sat in the second row. He touched his increasingly receding hairline, and a glint of light flashed in his eyes.

That light wasn't the light of "I want to make money," but the light of hope that "I can still be saved."

He took out his phone, not to make a call, but to take a picture of the sample bottle in Luo Fei's hand, and then sent it to his wife with the caption: "Buy this for me."

His wife replied with three question marks instantly.

He didn't explain, but sent another message: "Don't ask, just buy it."

Inside the private room, Sun Yaoyang was looking at his phone screen when some cigarette ash fell onto his pants, burning a small hole. He glanced down at it, not caring at all, and continued watching the live stream.

On the screen, the young man in the ordinary shirt stood on the stage, his expression calm, speaking slowly and deliberately, but every word was like a nail, firmly embedded in everyone's minds.

Sun Yaoyang's back began to sweat, not from heat, but from cold sweat.

The air conditioner was set to 20 degrees Celsius, but a patch of his shirt was still wet on the back.

He was feeling fortunate—the kind of fortunate feeling that comes from being pulled back from the edge of a cliff, his legs still trembling, but his life saved.

He recalled his old ways: if he saw a project he liked, he'd go directly to its door and buy shares at a low price. You won't sell? Fine, then you can forget about doing business in Longhai. Threats, intimidation, cutting off water and electricity, contacting the industry and commerce bureau, tax bureau, fire department—creating every possible obstacle.

No one dared to resist, because few could afford to offend the Sun family's power in Longhai.

But today, he saw Luo Fei.

He imagined that if he didn't know this news, according to his usual practice, his subordinates would put the "Qing Si Tang" information on his desk and say, "Young Master Sun, this company's products are good, we can acquire them."

He would glance at it and say, "Okay, go do it."

Perhaps he would also bring a few burly security guards, drive that black Maybach, park downstairs at Qing Sitang Company, push open the door, sit on the sofa, cross his legs, and say, "President Luo, let's talk about cooperation."

His back was completely soaked.

He dared not think about the possible outcome of that "what if".

The door was pushed open, but the other person did not knock.

The person who came in was Sun Yaoyang's subordinate, a tall, thin man in his early thirties, wearing a dark suit, with his hair gelled, and walking in excitedly, holding a tablet computer in his hand.

His name is Ma Dong. He worked under Sun Yaoyang for five or six years, specializing in finding investment projects. He had a good eye for investment, but he was a bit impatient and eager to make a name for himself.

"Young Master Sun! Young Master Sun! Have you seen this?"

He held up the tablet in front of Sun Yaoyang. The screen showed the business registration information page of "Qing Si Tang" company, with "Luo Yumei" listed as the legal representative.

He completely ignored Sun Yaoyang's expression and continued, "This company is the hair growth cream company I told you about. My cousin used it and it worked wonders. If we can acquire this company, we'll be rich! Our market value will increase at least tenfold! No, a hundredfold!"

Ma Dong's mouth kept moving, saying things like "acquiring at a low price," "if negotiating cooperation doesn't work, then put pressure on them," and "we just need to get Luo Yumei on board." He spoke faster and faster, becoming more and more excited, and his spittle was almost spraying onto Sun Yaoyang's face.

He was speaking with great enthusiasm when he didn't notice that Sun Yaoyang's face had changed from white to green, and then from green to black.

Sun Yaoyang took the tablet from his hand and placed it on the coffee table.

His movements were very light and slow, unlike his usual self.

He usually smashes things directly—phones, wine glasses, ashtrays, anything.

But today, he moved very gently.

He was afraid that if he used too much force, he would accidentally kill Ma Dong with the tablet.

He stood up and walked up to Ma Dong, the two standing very close. His eyes were fixed on Ma Dong's face, his gaze filled with the lingering fear of "you almost killed my whole family."

He spoke, each word like a knife: "Do you know who the shareholders of this company are? Do you know who Luo Yumei's nephew is? Do you know who Luo Fei is? Do you know what he did yesterday? Do you know he single-handedly carried four nuclear bombs? Do you know he's now a general in the Dragon Kingdom? Do you know that yesterday over five billion people on the entire planet were watching him? You want me to take over his company? Do you think I'm too old? Or do you think my family is living too comfortably? Hmm?"

Ma Dong shut his mouth.

His face went from excitement to confusion, then to fear, and finally to deathly pale.

He finally realized the enormity of his mistake. His lips trembled as he tried to say, "Young Master Sun, that's not what I meant," but his throat felt blocked by something, and he couldn't utter a single word; only his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

Sun Yaoyang took a step back and shouted, "Someone come here!"

The door opened, and two security guards in black suits walked in. They were burly, with necks as thick as buckets.

Sun Yaoyang pointed at Ma Dong and said, "He dared to come in without knocking first. Drag him out and break his legs."

Ma Dong's legs went weak, and he collapsed to the ground, clinging to Sun Yaoyang's legs, his voice trembling with tears: "Young Master Sun! Young Master Sun! I was wrong! I'll never do it again! Please forgive me this time!"

Sun Yaoyang looked down at him, expressionless, as if he were looking at a pile of garbage.

He kicked his leg, shoving Ma Dong aside, and sat back down on the sofa. He picked up the glass of Lafite and downed it in one gulp. Wiping his mouth, he looked at Ma Dong, who was still struggling and shouting as he was dragged to the door, and said, "After you interrupt him, transfer 500,000 yuan to his family. Tell him I'm saving his life."

The door closed.

The sounds of Ma Dong's cries and the footsteps of security guards dragging people away could be heard in the corridor. The sounds grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared completely.

The private room quieted down. The TV was still showing a football match. "Goal!" the commentator shouted excitedly. Sun Yaoyang reached out and turned off the TV.

He picked up his phone again, looked at the young man on the screen, and took a deep breath.