Handong: Sha Li wants political achievements? I'll shut down the entire province.

The buzzing of the cell phone was like a swarm of bees running amok in the private room of the Diaoyutai State Guesthouse.

Almost everyone's screen lit up at the same second.

The scene was filled with sludge and foul-smelling water that had overflowed from the sewers.

Director Feng, who used to be so arrogant, is now like a tattered sack, pinned to a corner by a high-pressure water gun.

The water jets hit the flesh, making a dull "plop" sound.

"Gulp... Help! Stop rushing! I... I'll never do it again..."

Muddy water poured into his mouth, and the old man's miserable state, with tears streaming down his face, was stared at the retinas of every powerful figure in Beijing in high definition.

Even his comical appearance, with his wig washed off and his bald head exposed, was captured clearly in the photos.

The private room was deathly silent.

This is the most luxurious banquet hall in the state guesthouse, where the air was originally filled with the rich aroma of premium abalone.

Now, however, it was completely covered up by a sour smell mixed with the sweat of middle-aged and elderly men.

No one dared to touch their chopsticks; they even breathed cautiously.

At the head of the mahogany round table, Yan Qingfeng rested his chin on one hand.

He leaned back in the huanghuali armchair with an air of superiority, casually unbuttoning two buttons at his collar.

He held a white porcelain teacup between his fingertips, the lid stirring the floating tea leaves, occasionally producing a soft "ding-dong" sound.

"Finished watching?"

Yan Qingfeng didn't even lift his eyelids, puffing out his cheeks and blowing hot air onto the tea noodles.

An elderly man with white hair sitting on the left swallowed hard.

His Adam's apple rolled up and down twice, making a dry, grinding sound.

"Mr. Yan...Mr. Yan."

The old man had just opened his mouth when he accidentally bit the tip of his tongue, causing his brow to twitch in pain.

"You've gone a bit too far... after all, Lao Feng is a veteran in our circle."

"Too much?"

Yan Qingfeng put down his teacup.

The porcelain piece struck the glass turntable with a heavy thud.

The old man was so startled that he shrank back, and the silk napkin he was holding was crumpled into a ball of pickled vegetables.

With a "snap".

A stack of paper documents, about half an inch thick, was casually tossed onto the table by Yan Qingfeng like trash.

The paper slid off the smooth glass turntable and scattered.

The liquidation statement of Starlight Media's complete bankruptcy.

Those top young male celebrities pressed their red handprints and tearfully confessed their crimes.

There's also the black market debt bill that Director Feng signed, mortgaging his entire fortune to raise money.

The evidence, written in black and white, is bloody proof of cannibalism.

"Who was it that spread the word yesterday, saying that I, Yan Qingfeng, wouldn't even be able to get a hot meal in the capital?"

Yan Qingfeng leaned forward slightly, his leather shoes making no sound as they stepped on the soft carpet.

But that oppressive feeling that emanated from the very core of their being was like an invisible hand, tightly gripping the airways of everyone present.

No, that's not what I meant.

A middle-aged man with a beer belly across from me stammered and quickly wiped the oily sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"The reason we've set up this banquet today is... is to clear up the misunderstandings from before, so that everyone can sit down and have a good chat. Harmony brings wealth, after all."

"Chat?" Yan Qingfeng chuckled, a mocking smile spreading across his face.

"I'm a rough and uncultured man, I don't understand the roundabout and evasive ways you Beijing people play."

He extended his index finger and tapped the pile of scattered documents, his knuckles making a "tap-tap" sound on the table.

"In the past, you thought you could rely on your bloodline, a few official documents, and forming cliques."

A chilling glint appeared in Yan Qingfeng's eyes. "So you can sit comfortably at the top of the pyramid and harvest the people below like crops of leeks."

"They feel that as long as you don't agree, even the breathing of those below is wrong."

He took out the custom-made metal lighter and flicked it with his thumb.

"Click".

A faint blue flame suddenly shot out, casting flickering light on his profile.

"Those power struggles and networks you're so proud of are worth less than toilet paper to me."

Yan Qingfeng closed the lid, and the fire went out.

"I hold the technological barriers in my own hands, and I also control a trillion-dollar financial pool. What, you disagree?"

No one dared to respond; not even one dared to meet his gaze.

The white-haired old man stared intently at the bowl of bird's nest in front of him, which had long since gone cold, his breathing rapid.

He felt as if someone was squeezing his heart, and even his breathing was hissing and leaking air.

"Those who disagree, like that good-for-nothing young master of the Chen family and that guy surnamed Feng, will suffer the same fate."

Yan Qingfeng stood up, reached out and pulled the trench coat draped over the back of the chair, then put it on his shoulders.

His movements were as casual as if he had just finished eating a bowl of wontons at a roadside stall and was about to pay and leave.

"If I wanted to, all the wealth your so-called families have accumulated over decades, whether it's in bank accounts or in real people, could evaporate in a second."

He walked around the round table and toward the heavy, carved door of the private room.

I stopped halfway there.

He didn't turn around, but just tilted his head slightly.

"From now on, don't mention anything about being high and mighty to me again."

"Those who want to live, buy your own plane tickets tomorrow and go to the Lingxiao Building in Handong, get a number and wait in line."

The door was pushed open by Shen Pojun, who was guarding outside the corridor.

The cold wind outside rushed in through the cracks in the door, causing the crystal chandelier on the ceiling of the private room to sway wildly and make a tinkling sound.

Yan Qingfeng strode out.

Until his figure completely disappeared at the end of the corridor.

The group of burly men in the private room, who could usually shake the domestic stock market with a stomp of their feet, were gasping for breath like fish out of air.

The beer-bellied man's hand trembled, and he accidentally knocked over the wine glass in front of him.

The deep red wine was spilled all over his expensive trousers, which were soaking wet and stuck to his thighs. He didn't even bother to wipe them with a tissue, and slumped in the chair, trembling.

Half an hour later.

The private airport on the outskirts of Beijing had empty runways.

The night wind swept across my face like a steel blade, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of aviation kerosene.

Yan Qingfeng stepped onto the metal gangway and had only gone halfway up.

The specially made secure cell phone in the inside pocket of the suit suddenly emitted an extremely sharp buzzing sound.

The noise was so loud that it made his chest feel slightly numb.

He frowned and stopped.

I took out my phone and held it to my ear; the wind whistled as it poured into the microphone.

"explain."

On the other end of the phone, Zhou Yuan's voice was unusually free of its usual nonchalant tone.

He was breathing heavily, as if he had just sprinted a kilometer and was still out of breath.

"Master Yan... Ouch, damn it, we've really been tricked this time!"

Zhou Yuan was so anxious on the other end of the line that he kept slamming his fist on the table, making the water glass rattle and spill water.

"Those old fogies in Beijing, they pretend to be subservient at Diaoyutai on the surface, but behind your backs they're stabbing you in the back!"

With his phone between his fingers, Yan Qingfeng took out a cigar from his pocket and put it in his mouth.

He didn't rush to light the fire, and his voice lowered.

"What's wrong? Speak clearly."

"Those bastards have allied with the four major international agricultural oligarchs, you know, the ABCD group!"

Zhou Yuan was furious, his voice almost cracking as he shouted, "Damn it! They've cut off all of Handong's grain import channels!"

"It's not just imported grain! Several of the largest domestic grain traders are in cahoots with them, cutting off all trucks carrying grain to our province overnight, even blocking highway entrances!"

Yan Qingfeng's eyes instantly turned extremely cold.

The night wind made the hem of his trench coat flutter like the wings of a bat in the darkness.

"And what about the seed-planting stuff?" he asked, his voice hard as he chewed on the filter of his cigar.

"It's broken too!" Zhou Yuan gulped down his water, making a loud swallowing sound.

"Overnight, all shipments of high-yield fertilizers, pesticides, and genetically modified seeds to Handong stopped."

"These bastards are trying to turn Handong into a dead city, starving our people to death!"

Yan Qingfeng's fingers tightened slightly as he gripped his phone.

The veins on the back of his hand bulged out, and his knuckles turned bluish-white.

That's a really vicious trick.

With the funds locked up, he can use a holographic system to absorb money from ordinary people to bail them out.

Despite being blacklisted by the entertainment industry, he can still achieve a devastating victory through his underlying code.

But food is a necessity that tens of millions of people have to eat every day.

If you don't eat for a day, you'll be starving; if you can't buy rice for three days, the social order of the entire Handong region will completely collapse.

"They're trying to create a famine in Handong to force us to release that 500 billion yuan fund to stabilize prices."

Zhou Yuan's voice trembled slightly, not from fear, but from anger that made his teeth itch.

"Li Dakang has completely gone mad. He just called, and the old man was almost crying on the phone, constantly asking us what to do."

Yan Qingfeng took the cigar out of his mouth.

With a forceful push of his thumb, he pried open the lighter cap with a crisp "click".

The eerie blue firelight illuminated the cold, murderous intent in his eyes.

He looked at the warm yellow light shining from inside the cabin, and a cruel smile slowly spread across his lips.

The cold laughter traveled through the radio waves and struck Zhou Yuan's ears, sending chills down his spine.

"You want to use my food problem to strangle me? You want to see tens of millions of people in Handong eating tree bark?"

Yan Qingfeng took a deep drag on his cigar, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, and the bluish-white smoke was instantly torn to shreds by the night wind.

"Go and inform those crazy guys in the lab who are always acting strangely."

He held a cigar between his fingers, casually flicking away some of the ash that hadn't burned through, speaking as if he were arranging tomorrow's breakfast.

"Bring all that stuff out for me, so these foreign devils and the old guys from Beijing can have a good look at it."

"I'll see who's going hungry when the sun rises tomorrow."