The Billionaire's Multiplier System-Chapter 84 - 85 – Concrete and Conspiracies

The city didn’t wait long.

By morning, Lin Feng’s name was in five media outlets—none of them flattering.

"Golden Boy or Paper Tycoon?"

"Celica Analytics’ Ownership Under Review Amid Regulatory Scrutiny"

"Anonymous Board Members Question Lin Feng’s Sudden Rise"

The articles weren’t damning on their own, but they didn’t need to be. They were planting seeds. Enough ambiguity to start the rot.

Guo Yuwei sent him the links by 7:30 a.m., all marked up with her digital annotations.

—Who leaked this data?

—Article #2 links to a private licensing committee.

—Zhang Renshu’s team most likely fed this.

Lin Feng leaned back in his chair, jaw tight. He wasn’t surprised. He’d seen it coming. But seeing the smoke didn’t make the fire any cooler.

By 9:00 a.m., calls started flooding in.

Investors wanted "reassurance." Board members of Celica requested "a closed-door update." One of the startup founders he had invested in messaged:

"Should we be worried about our association with you?"

Lin didn’t reply. Not yet.

Instead, he messaged Bingqing.

"Need a public moment. Not a denial. Something disruptive."

Her response came two minutes later.

"Let’s burn their script. Meet me in 30."

They met outside the glass lobby of the City Forum Media Hub, a place known for startup showcases and thought-leader panels.

Lin stepped out of the car dressed not in a suit, but a sharp navy turtleneck, tailored overcoat, and matte leather shoes. Minimalist. Controlled. Intentionally not corporate.

Bingqing was already waiting, wearing a press badge and a streetwear camera rig—fashion-forward, casual, and very visible.

"What’s the play?" Lin asked.

"I pitched a short docu-segment on ’Authentic Founders in a Synthetic Market.’ You’re the closing voice."

"That’s dangerous."

"Exactly."

They entered through the back with Bingqing’s small team, who all knew better than to ask questions. Within an hour, Lin was seated before a matte-black camera, soft lighting, and a single mic pinned to his coat.

Bingqing adjusted the angle herself.

"I want real," she said. "None of the polish. None of the caution."

He nodded. ƒreewebɳovel.com

The red light blinked on.

"Your name’s been everywhere," she said from behind the lens. "People say you came from nowhere. Bought your way into circles others spent lifetimes in. What do you say to that?"

Lin looked at the lens.

"I say no one buys their way into trust. You might buy a chair at the table. But staying there—that’s earned."

Click. She zoomed in slightly.

"Why do you think you’re being targeted?"

"Because I didn’t ask permission."

"From who?"

He tilted his head. "From the people who think legacy is a license. Who think if you weren’t born into the room, you’re trespassing."

"And you?"

"I walk in anyway."

Pause. Camera silent.

"I’m not perfect," he continued. "I’ve moved fast. I’ve broken traditions. But I haven’t lied about who I am. I’ve put skin in the game. Real people. Real capital. Real risk."

Click. Another angle.

"If that’s threatening, then maybe the problem isn’t me."

The segment went live within hours.

Short. Crisp. No filters. No corporate logos. Just words and weight.

It wasn’t viral—but it didn’t need to be.

By afternoon, the coverage had shifted.

Now the headlines read:

"Lin Feng Fires Back With Poise"

"Authenticity Over Inheritance: A New Voice Rises"

The damage control wasn’t just damage control—it was repositioning. Instead of reacting, Lin had redirected.

But the other side wasn’t idle.

That evening, Yuwei sent another alert.

Zhang Renshu’s holding company just filed an injunction request to stall your next acquisition.

The listed claim? "Anticompetitive intent."

Paper-thin, but sticky enough to hold up transactions for 21 days minimum.

Lin stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in his suite, watching traffic pulse beneath. Night hadn’t even truly fallen, and already his empire was being tested at the hinges.

He turned to Yuyan, who sat across from him. She hadn’t spoken much all day, watching, sketching, interpreting.

"You think they’ll stop here?" he asked.

"No," she said. "This is the first domino. They’re not looking to bury you in one move—they want a hundred paper cuts. Enough to make others back away."

Lin folded his arms. "And what would you do?"

Yuyan paused. "I’d find their leash. Then cut the hand holding it."

Silence.

Then, a second later, a message pinged on Lin’s private encrypted phone.

UNKNOWN CONTACT:

If you want the leash, you’ll need to come to the floor below the city.

Attached was a location pin. An underground wine bar—one of those private social crypts where real influence whispered through handshakes and half-threats.

Lin showed it to Yuyan.

She gave a small smile. "I hope you wore your sharpest mask."

The bar was dim, not for ambiance, but secrecy. A pianist played slow, minor key jazz. There were only six patrons, but Lin could feel each of them watching.

At the far table sat a woman he didn’t recognize—elegant, olive-toned, wearing a pearl pin with an insignia: a phoenix folding its wings.

"Lin Feng," she said, without introducing herself. "You made better time than expected."

"You called."

"I offered clarity. Whether you listen is up to you."

He sat.

"You’re being used," she continued, voice like a gentle blade. "Renshu isn’t threatened by your empire. He’s threatened by your girls."

That made Lin’s eyes narrow slightly.

"You mean their loyalty?"

"No. Their presence. You’ve built something dangerous. Not just an economic shift—but an emotional one. Female executives standing beside a male founder? In this city, that’s symbolic insurgency."

"Are you saying this is gender politics?"

"I’m saying it’s tradition, panicking."

She slid a folder across the table.

Inside: communications logs, partial leaks, transaction timelines—all linking Renshu’s attacks to media liaisons and a shell company known for narrative manipulation.

"He’s targeting them," the woman said. "Not because they’re weak—but because together, you make an idea stronger than his legacy."

Lin looked up.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"Because I’m tired of old names buying new thrones," she said. "And because I want to see if you can fight clean... in a place built on dirt."

She stood. "You’ve got three days before the full discredit campaign begins. Use your time wisely."

And just like that, she vanished into the shadows of velvet booths and closing curtains.

Back in his suite, Lin Feng spread the folder contents across his desk.

Bingqing called in. "You get anything good?"

"Enough," he said. "They’re not just trying to break me. They want to scare everyone beside me."

"Then you better make them louder," she said. "Before fear does."

He stared at the screen after the call ended.

Fear was efficient. But so was belief.

And Lin Feng didn’t build empires on silence.

He built them on people.

On trust.

And now—it was time to fight like it.

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