In that moment, time didn't slow down. Instead, it felt like it had been compressed into a heavy, suffocating singularity.
The scar-faced man's fist magnified rapidly in Ling Feng's vision. The force of the punch carried the sour stench of cheap alcohol, a phantom spike stabbing at his senses. Fear was no longer a thought; it was an icy liquid spreading from the base of his spine, freezing every muscle in his body.
His mind went blank.
The survival rules he had learned over sixteen years in the Rust Belt—keep your head down, endure, and avoid all potential danger like a rat in a sewer—crumbled in an instant. He realized with stark clarity that no matter how careful he was, when faced with absolute malice, he was still just an ant that could be crushed at will.
The humiliation, sharper than the fear of pain, seared his heart like a branding iron.
Is this how it ends? Thrown to the ground like a piece of discarded trash, everything taken from me?
No.
Just as he was about to be consumed by despair, the jade pendant pressed against his chest released a sudden, piercing chill.
This coolness was a stark contrast to the external heat and his own internal fire. It began as a mere thread but in an instant became a raging, glacial river that brutally washed over his chaotic consciousness.
Fear, anger, humiliation, defiance... all his roiling emotions were instantly pacified, suppressed, and even erased by this domineering chill.
Ling Feng experienced a state of being that was unprecedented, almost terrifying.
He felt as though his spirit had left his body. He was looking down at the scene from a high, detached perspective. He could see his own body, trembling slightly with fear. He could see the greed and bluster flickering in Zhao San's eyes. He could see the simple-minded impulsiveness behind the scar-faced man's brute strength.
Everything around him was reduced to analyzable data, to variables that could be exploited.
His body no longer felt like his own; it had become a precision instrument controlled by some higher will. A thought—one that was completely alien to his usual way of thinking—formed clearly in his mind:
"Zhao San needs 'due process' as a smokescreen. His greed is constrained by the rules."
"The scar-faced man is pure violence, a tool for Zhao San to break the stalemate, but also his most uncontrollable piece."
"The breakthrough lies in the conflict of interest between them."
This entire analysis and decision-making process happened in a flash.
And so, just as the scar-faced man's fist was about to connect, he spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried a calmness that was foreign even to himself.
"Manager Zhao, according to Article Three, Section Seven of the Border Market Management Regulations, the confiscation of unlicensed goods requires the presence of at least two official security officers and the issuance of a confiscation certificate. Do you have them?"
The words were like a precisely aimed steel nail, driven directly into Zhao San's weak spot.
The expression on Zhao San's face froze. And the scar-faced man, a thug who thought only in straight lines, was so taken aback by this sudden turn of events and the complete change in Ling Feng's demeanor that his fist instinctively stopped mid-air.
"Stop! Ah Li, what do you think you're doing?!" Zhao San's voice, a mix of shock and anger, perfectly confirmed Ling Feng's assessment.
An opening.
Driven by that detached will, Ling Feng's fingers, with a speed and steadiness he never thought he possessed, pressed a hidden switch on the lamp in front of him.
An explosion of intense light and noise erupted.
The world turned pure white.
When the blinding light and shrill sound faded, Ling Feng had vanished like the wind into the chaotic crowd. He didn't even look back at the enemies writhing on the ground, or at his own meticulously crafted works, now scattered and abandoned.
That detached will had told him: Survival is paramount.
It wasn't until he had slipped back into the familiar, labyrinthine alleyways of the Rust Belt that the chill from the jade pendant finally receded.
Like a dam bursting, the suppressed emotions flooded back in an instant. A racing heart, aching muscles, a churning stomach... and the overwhelming, post-traumatic fear. It all washed over him at once. He leaned against a cold wall, bent over, and retched uncontrollably.
Who was that person, so terrifyingly calm?