The Billionaire's Multiplier System-Chapter 79 - 80 – Whispers Before Velvet

The envelope was heavier than it looked. Cream-colored, thick with texture, and sealed in deep gold wax shaped like a helianthus blossom surrounded by laurel leaves. Lin Feng hadn’t opened it yet. It sat quietly on his desk, untouched for two days, demanding his attention without speaking a word.

He knew exactly what it was.

Not just an invitation—an evaluation. A formal gesture from a world that had finally taken notice. The Heliantheas Assembly was one of the city’s most exclusive private events. Not a gala. Not a charity showcase. It was a theater where power drank from crystal and weighed new blood in silence.

If you were invited, it meant someone had noticed your climb. If you were seated, it meant someone was betting you wouldn’t fall.

And if you didn’t show?

They’d write you off before your name ever finished forming in their memory.

Lin stood, walking over to the window. The skyline reflected in the glass was tinged with dusk—amber threads of light cutting across rooftops and neon signs. He tapped the envelope lightly on his palm, weighing more than just the card inside.

In a city like this, silence was never empty. It echoed.

He pulled out his phone and typed a message.

Lin Feng: "Dinner’s in six days. Wear something sharp."

He didn’t wait long.

Li Ruoxi: "I’m always sharp. But I’ll make it velvet."

She was watching, then. Of course she was.

Two hours later, Lin was in the cultural district, standing inside the half-renovated gallery Qin Yuyan had claimed as her sanctuary. The place smelled of wood polish and drying ink, with scaffolding still hugging the high windows and ambient lighting making shadows stretch taller than usual.

She was painting again—no brushes this time, just gloved hands moving color across the canvas like wind.

"You’re not using tools," he observed.

"I am," she replied without turning. "They’re just part of me now."

He stepped closer, watching the red and violet hues swirl into something unformed but emotional. "Looks violent."

"It is," she said. "Everything that changes us is."

He stayed silent as she worked.

"Ruoxi mentioned you’re attending the Assembly," she said after a pause. "That’s not just a dinner, Lin."

"I know."

"She also said you’re not going alone."

He smiled faintly. "Is that a warning or jealousy?"

Yuyan turned then, her expression unreadable. "It’s neither. Just a reminder that those rooms don’t offer second chances. One wrong conversation, one misplaced smile... you lose more than face."

"I’m not afraid of wolves," Lin said softly.

"You should be," she replied. "Because the wolves there have tailored suits and monogrammed rings. And they don’t growl. They toast."

She walked back to her canvas, then stopped. "But I’ll be there too."

He raised an eyebrow. "You got an invite?"

"Ruoxi forwarded one. Said I could be your ’aesthetic ally’ if I didn’t mind the attention."

"And do you?"

"I mind it less when I control it," she said. "I’ll wear black. That way, if I have to watch you bleed, it won’t stain me."

The next day, Lin walked into a soundstage wrapped in wires, speakers, and controlled chaos. The air vibrated with energy. Loud thumps, quick edits, and the unmistakable smell of instant noodles on breakroom counters.

Luo Bingqing was seated on a metal stool, flipping through a marked-up script, her boots resting on a coiled extension cord. She didn’t look up.

"You’re early," she muttered.

"You’re late," he replied.

"To what?"

"To your arrival in the circle that’s finally starting to talk about you."

That made her pause. She looked up. "Let me guess—Assembly invite?"

"For both of us."

She raised a brow. "You want me to go?"

"Not just go. Be seen."

"I make documentaries, Lin. Not statements."

"You already do both. I’m just giving you a microphone."

She stood slowly, stretching as she spoke. "You want me to rub elbows with media heirs, political brats, and luxury heirs?"

"No. I want them to be afraid of what you might say about them."

Bingqing smirked, tapping her script against his chest. "You’re dangerous when you use flattery like gasoline."

"I’m only lighting fires in places that need warmth."

"Well then," she said, grabbing her coat. "I guess I’ll wear something flammable."

By Thursday, the river had turned dark with early winter currents. Lin met Guo Yuwei at her high-rise overlooking the east bank. She answered the door in a silk blouse and loose slacks, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower.

"You look tired," he said.

"I’m not tired," she replied. "Just thinking too fast for my body to keep up."

They sat by the wide windowsill, tea cooling between them.

"Ruoxi told me you’re taking all three of us," she said quietly.

"I didn’t realize this was a courtship game," he responded.

"It isn’t. But you’re treating it like one."

"I’m not collecting trophies."

She studied him. "Then what are you collecting?"

"Truth," Lin said.

Yuwei didn’t smile, but she leaned back slightly. "That’s a heavy currency."

"I plan to spend it wisely."

They sat in silence for a moment before she broke it.

"I’ll come. I’ll play the role. I’ll look the part. But Lin..." she turned her face slightly toward him. "If any of those people come for me, you better already be in front of them."

"I will be."

"Then I’ll wear navy," she said. "Like the sea before a storm."

By Friday, Lin was in the backseat of Ruoxi’s armored car. They weren’t going anywhere—just parked at a discreet overlook, high above the city.

Ruoxi had kicked off her heels and pulled her knees to her chest, cradling a glass of something strong.

"You’re stepping into a hornet’s nest, you know," she said.

"I’ve been stung before."

She took a sip. "Zixuan’s going to be there."

"I hope he brings something more dangerous than his reputation."

"You’re irritatingly calm."

"And you’re unusually kind."

She side-eyed him. "Don’t mistake concern for fondness."

"I don’t. But I appreciate both."

Ruoxi set her glass down. "They’ll test you, Lin. Not directly. They’ll use innuendo. They’ll reference rumors, challenge your legitimacy. They might even flirt just to see who’s watching."

"What should I do?"

"Let them think they’ve mapped you. Then redraw the territory."

He turned toward her. "Why are you helping me?"

"I like wildcards," she said. "And I hate predictable men."

"Then I’ll try not to disappoint you."

"You already do," she replied. But her voice had softened.

That night, Lin stood once again by the vast window in his penthouse, city lights below him and music drifting softly from hidden speakers.

For weeks he had built momentum—quiet, deliberate, human. Not through money alone, but through attention. Through choices. Through presence.

And now, the city was beginning to respond.

He could feel it in the way doors opened faster, the way gazes lingered longer, and the way whispers followed him out of rooms like shadows that refused to leave.

The Assembly would be his crucible.

But he had no intention of burning.

He would step into that room with velvet on his arms and fire in his silence.

And when the world of old power finally looked him in the eyes, Lin Feng would not blink.

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