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{Chapter: 332 Feng Dahai's pleading! Yan Ruyue's surprise!}
He didn't hang up. He couldn't.
Yan Ruyue, standing nearby, watched Lin Yuan with wide eyes, utterly shocked. The way he calmly cornered Feng Dahai—step by step, word by word—left her at a loss for words. She hadn't expected this at all.
But what truly caught her off guard was what Lin Yuan had said about the Shengli Factory. Three people killed? What on earth was going on?
She didn't understand. Where did Lin Yuan get all this information? How could he know such deeply buried secrets?
But Lin Yuan looked completely unfazed, as if all of this was already known to him. His confidence wasn't baseless—he clearly had his reasons.
In fact, Lin Yuan did know everything about this incident… because it had happened in the original novel.
In the story's original timeline, Ye Feng wasn't as pathetic or downtrodden as he was now. He and Yan Ruyue were not enemies. Quite the opposite—they had developed a partnership over a shared facial mask brand.
At that time, Yan Ruyue had accepted a modest price increase from Feng Dahai, and he remained one of their suppliers. But as the business grew and profits soared, Feng Dahai became greedy. He started increasing the price again and again, without cause or warning.
Ye Feng, sensing that something was wrong, launched an investigation. He eventually uncovered Feng Dahai's dark secret—the truth behind the Shengli Factory accident. That discovery became a powerful weapon, and Ye Feng used it to keep the supplier compliant, forcing him to provide facial mask sheets at the lowest possible price.
That outcome had been the result of painstaking investigation and significant effort on Ye Feng's part.
But Lin Yuan didn't need to spend time or resources to find that same information. He already knew the truth—he remembered it all from the novel. The evidence still existed. The bodies were still buried. Feng Dahai had simply hidden everything well… but not well enough.
Because of Lin Yuan's interference, everything had changed. The butterfly effect had altered relationships.
In the original story, Ye Feng and Yan Ruyue had become business partners and possibly even confidants. But now, due to Lin Yuan's appearance, they have grown distant—even very hostile. On the other hand, Feng Dahai, who once cooperated with Ye Feng, had now become Yan Ruyue's enemy.
The roles had shifted, but one thing remained the same—Feng Dahai's crimes had never changed.
Lin Yuan stopped speaking after mentioning three key terms: "Hexi Shengli Factory," "three corpses," and "Hou Shengli."
That was enough.
The silence on the other end of the phone was more telling than any confession.
Lin Yuan was certain of one thing—Feng Dahai would not hang up the phone. Not now.
What Lin Yuan had said moments ago was no vague bluff. The sheer accuracy of the details, the names, the timing, the buried corpses—it was all too precise. And only someone who was directly involved in the incident could possibly feel the full weight of those words.
Feng Dahai, on the other end of the line, had fallen into complete silence. But this silence wasn't the kind born of arrogance or indifference. No, it was the silence of a man whose darkest sins had just been dragged into the light.
Lin Yuan remained still and calm, giving the man on the other end time to absorb the shock.
Roughly half a minute passed—thirty long, suffocating seconds of dead air.
Finally, Feng Dahai's voice returned, though it was unsteady and shaken. "I—I, Feng Dahai, have never taken a life. I'm simply a businessman who goes about his duties. I have no idea where you picked up such nonsense—these are just lies, malicious rumors! If you dare to accuse me like this again, I will sue you for slander!"
His tone tried to carry outrage, but Lin Yuan could hear it—the trembling in his voice, the way he clung to each word like a drowning man to driftwood.
Yes, the panic was starting to set in.
Lin Yuan's lips curled slightly into a faint smile. Feng Dahai was clearly in denial. He had likely convinced himself that no one would ever find out the truth—that his secret would stay buried with the bodies.
And perhaps, for the past thirteen years, he had succeeded. But now, Lin Yuan's words had cracked open that sealed box of nightmares.
Feng Dahai's conscience had already been eroding over the years. His soul, worn down by guilt and fear, had been holding on by a thread. And now, all Lin Yuan needed to do was apply just a bit more pressure.
He spoke again, calmly and deliberately: "Feng Dahai. That name has served you well these past thirteen years. But aren't you more familiar with another name? Hou Dahai. Or perhaps you prefer to be reminded of your cousin, Hou Guoyu—better known by his nickname, Hou Shengli?"
"You see, it was thirteen years ago when you and your cousin opened a small processing factory in Hexi. Times were tough, and your ambition was fierce. But your greed got the better of you. In your desperation to cut costs, you bought outdated, substandard machinery—machines that should've been scrapped long ago."
"And because of that recklessness… two workers died. Not just died, Feng Dahai. They were ground into pulp—into mangled flesh—right there on your factory floor. You didn't want to pay compensation. It would have cost too much, and you didn't want trouble with the families and law. So you proposed burying their bodies and keeping it all quiet. If their relatives started asking too many questions... well, they'd 'disappear' too."
"But your cousin Hou Shengli still had a shred of decency. He was scared. He didn't want more blood on his hands. He wanted to shut the factory down, sell off everything, and use the money to compensate the victims' families."
"But you didn't agree, did you? You saw a way out. If the factory was sold, you could pocket the money and vanish. Start over. A fresh life somewhere else. And when Hou Shengli stood in your way—you beat him to death with a steel pipe. Whether it was a spur of the moment or something you had premeditated doesn't matter. He ended up just like the others—dead and buried."
Lin Yuan's voice sharpened, cutting like a knife through the tension in the air. "Three lives, all ended by your hand. And then you disappeared, changed your name, forged documents, and slipped away into Jiangbei like a snake shedding its skin."
"With the funds from the sale of the factory, and your prior experience, you started a new life. A new business. You even named your company after the dead man—Shengli Factory. Perhaps out of guilt. Or mockery. But eventually, the fear of exposure grew too strong. You rebranded again. A new name. A clean slate."
"You thought it was all behind you. But the truth always has a way of resurfacing."
Lin Yuan's voice became colder, more resolute. "Those bodies you buried? They were discovered. Exhumed. Identified. And you—Hou Dahai—are already on the wanted list. The only thing standing between you and a lifetime behind bars is a single phone call. One call to the police, and they'll match your fingerprints, your DNA, your blood. They'll know it's you."
"Everything you've built. All the success you've clung to. All the money you earned won't save you. All of it'll be torn away."
He let the words hang, then added with a final stab: "The choice is yours, Boss Feng. Or should I say… Boss Hou?"
The weight of Lin Yuan's revelation was suffocating. On the other end of the call, Feng Dahai's breathing had become erratic, wheezing, nearly gasping for air. It sounded like he was on the verge of a panic attack.
Yan Ruyue, standing nearby, was visibly stunned. Her eyes widened with every word Lin Yuan uttered. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. How did Lin Yuan know all of this?
He only met Feng Dahai today. How could he possibly possess such deeply buried, incriminating knowledge? Yan Ruyue had never seen this side of Lin Yuan before. It was chilling—and awe-inspiring.
Lin Yuan, however, remained composed. He said nothing more. He waited in silence.
Across the line, Feng Dahai was scrambling. Everything he had locked away in his past was now laid bare. He had spent over a decade living under the shadow of guilt, never telling anyone—not even his wife, not even his child. No one.
He thought the past had stayed dead and buried, but now it had come roaring back to life.
Still, despite the tremor in his voice and the horror that clutched at his throat, Feng Dahai was no fool. He had always prepared for the worst. He had imagined this moment, in nightmares perhaps, and had forced himself to think of how he would react.
And so, after seven or eight seconds of tortured silence, he spoke again—though the fear was still there, laced in every word: "You… No… What do you want? Can we talk about it? Please. I just want to talk..."
His voice cracked, trembling uncontrollably. Gone was the confident, dismissive tone from before. The arrogance had evaporated. Now he was pleading, desperate to survive, to negotiate, to grasp at whatever lifeline Lin Yuan might offer.
From defiance to begging—Feng Dahai had completely lost the upper hand.
And Lin Yuan hadn't even needed to raise his voice.