Chapter 2 The Reluctant Visionary Protocol

The high school reunion was held at a “fusion” restaurant in the Jinjiang District that tried very hard to look like it was in Milan but smelled faintly of fermented chili bean paste. It was the kind of place where the lighting was dimmed specifically to hide the fact that the “Italian marble” was actually high-density plastic.

Lin Feng stood by the entrance, adjusting his tie with the grimace of a man being slowly strangled by social expectations. He was wearing a charcoal suit that was three years out of fashion, but he wore it with such profound boredom that it looked like a deliberate stylistic choice—the “I’m too successful to care about trends” look.

Next to him, Xiao Zhang was vibrating. His designer suit was already beginning to show fresh sweat patches under the armpits.

“Zhang, breathe,” Lin Feng commanded, his voice a flat, deadpan monotone. “If you vibrate any harder, people will think you’re a malfunctioning kitchen appliance rather than a tech mogul.”

“I can’t help it! I saw Chen Wei’s Tesla parked outside,” Zhang hissed, clutching his luxury leather clutch bag like a shield. “It’s a Model S Plaid. He even got the custom ‘CEO-1’ license plate.”

“A custom plate? How tragic,” Lin Feng sighed, checking his tablet. “That’s ‘Client Type B’ behavior—trying too hard. You, however, are a ‘Type S.’ You are so successful that you find license plates, cars, and indeed, the concept of movement, to be a mild inconvenience. Remember the script: you are ‘The Reluctant Visionary’.”

“Right. Vague. Arrogant. Impossible to disprove,” Zhang whispered, straightening his spine.

“And most importantly,” Lin Feng added, slipping a pair of wireless earbuds in, “I am going to be incredibly unpleasant to you. Don’t apologize. If you apologize to me, the ‘Face’ collapses. Just look at me with weary disappointment, like I’m a brilliant golden retriever that just tracked mud onto your original Picasso.”

They entered the banquet hall. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the underlying desperation of thirty-year-olds trying to prove their lives hadn’t peaked at eighteen.

Immediately, a man in a blindingly white shirt and hair so gelled it could withstand a Category 5 hurricane intercepted them. This was clearly Chen Wei.

“Xiao Zhang! You actually showed up!” Chen Wei laughed, the sound as genuine as a three-dollar Rolex. He glanced at Lin Feng. “And who is… this?”

Before Zhang could speak, Lin Feng stepped forward, his face a mask of exhausted intellect. He didn’t look at Chen Wei; he looked at his tablet with a deep, pained frown.

“Mr. Zhang, I’ve told you three times,” Lin Feng snapped, ignoring the rival entirely. “The Singapore Board is refusing to sign the non-disclosure agreement until you personally guarantee the lithium supply chain. I’ve already put the Prime Minister’s office on hold, but I can’t keep them there forever while you’re… what is this? A buffet?”

Xiao Zhang froze, then remembered the script. He looked at Lin Feng with a sigh of profound, weary responsibility. “Lin, I’m at a reunion. Tell the Board that if they want my guarantee, they can wait until after the dessert course.”

Chen Wei’s eyes widened. “The Prime Minister? Lithium? Zhang, I thought you were in… insurance?”

“Insurance was a hobby,” Lin Feng interrupted, finally looking at Chen Wei as if he were a particularly uninteresting species of lichen. “Mr. Zhang moved into ‘Global Problem Solving’ two years ago. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to find a corner with 5G reception. The merger in Dubai is experiencing ‘frictional interference’.”

“Frictional… what?” Chen Wei blinked.

“It’s a technical term,” Lin Feng said, already pulling Zhang away. “You wouldn’t understand unless you’ve managed assets in three different time zones simultaneously.”

As they retreated to a corner table, Zhang was beaming. “Did you see his face? He looked like he’d just eaten a whole Sichuan peppercorn! Lin Feng, you’re a genius!”

“I’m not a genius, Zhang. I’m just a man who understands that in modern China, ‘Face’ isn’t about what you have; it’s about how much you’re bothered by having it.” Lin Feng sat down, immediately looking for the nearest tea service. “Success is a burden. If you look happy, you look like a lottery winner. If you look like you’re about to have a stress-induced aneurysm, you look like a CEO.”

For the next two hours, Lin Feng performed a masterclass in social sabotage. Every time Chen Wei tried to brag about his Tesla or his recent promotion to Senior Manager, Lin Feng would “interrupt” with an urgent, nonsense update.

“Sir, the satellite in the Gobi Desert is drifting three degrees off course. Shall I authorize the corrective burn?”

“Mr. Zhang, the AI we developed to predict the price of green tea has just gained sentience. It’s asking for a weekend off. What are your orders?”

Zhang played his part perfectly, looking increasingly burdened by his own imaginary empire. The other classmates drifted toward them, drawn by the gravitational pull of perceived power. Even the girl Zhang had a crush on in eleventh grade, a sharp-eyed woman who worked in finance, looked impressed.

“So, Zhang,” she said, leaning in. “What exactly is ‘Global Problem Solving’?”

Zhang looked at Lin Feng. Lin Feng shook his head slightly—the “too-confidential-to-share” signal.

“It’s… complicated,” Zhang said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s just say that if I told you, we’d both have to fill out a lot of paperwork for the Ministry of State Security.”

Lin Feng suppressed a yawn. This was the easy part of the job. The “Freelance Fiasco” phase of his business was mostly comprised of these small-scale ego boosts. It was predictable, profitable, and allowed him to spend most of his time sitting down.

However, his peace was interrupted by his phone vibrating. It wasn’t a fake “Board” call this time. It was a real WeChat message from a contact labeled **”The Hotpot Disaster.”**

**Wang “Little” Bao:** Lin Ge! Emergency! Su Meili just sent me a calendar invite for a ‘Strategic Relationship Review’ at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Does this mean she wants to break up? Or is she suing me? I’ve already ordered 5,000 rose petals and a violin quartet just in case it’s a proposal!

Lin Feng stared at the screen, his soul feeling the weight of a thousand years of human stupidity.

“The ‘Chaos Couple’ strikes again,” he muttered.

Su Meili was a woman who probably organized her spice rack by the chemical volatility of the peppers. Wang Bao was a man who thought “subtlety” was a type of soup base. Together, they were a perpetual motion machine of social embarrassment.

“Is everything okay, Lin?” Zhang asked, noticing the genuine look of pain on his “assistant’s” face.

“The universe is trying to balance itself, Zhang,” Lin Feng said, tucking his phone away. “I’ve spent the night making you look like a god. Now, I have to spend tomorrow morning preventing a hotpot heir from being served a restraining order via a drone delivery.”

He stood up, his “assistant” persona snapping back into place as Chen Wei approached for one last attempt at relevance.

“Mr. Zhang!” Lin Feng barked, causing the rival to jump. “The helicopter is on the roof! Well, it’s a Didi Premier waiting at the curb, but the driver has a very professional-looking hat. We must leave! The Swiss are getting impatient!”

As they made their grand, stressed-out exit, Lin Feng caught a glimpse of himself in the restaurant’s gold-trimmed mirror. He looked like a man who carried the world on his shoulders. In reality, he was just a slacker who was very good at narrating other people’s delusions.

“Another successful mission for the Face-Saving Agency,” he thought, stepping out into the cool Chengdu night. “Now, I just need to find a way to bill Wang Bao for the therapy I’m going to need after his ‘Strategic Relationship Review’ tomorrow.”

Behind him, the clatter of the reunion faded, replaced by the distant, rhythmic *clack-clack* of Mahjong tiles from a nearby alleyway. Chengdu always returned to its true self eventually—a city that knew no matter how much “face” you saved, the tea was still going to be hot, and the spicy tofu was still going to make you sweat.

Phase 1 was off to a roaring start. Lin Feng just hoped he could find a nap somewhere between the global mergers and the hotpot-themed marriage proposals.