The next morning, the campus felt oddly split—like two separate worlds woven into the same ground. In one, students rushed to class, backpacks slung, eyes on deadlines. In the other, whispers passed like shadows between those in the know.
And all of them were whispering about one thing.
"Did you hear? Lin Feng was seen at the Skybridge Lounge."
"Is that even real? I thought that place was for the old money crowd."
"He walked in with Zhao Rouran and Luo Zixuan. That's practically a declaration of war."
From behind his cup of cheap vending machine coffee, Lin Feng simply listened. His hoodie still looked like it had been through three winters. He hadn't changed—but clearly, the narrative around him had.
The system piped up smugly.
[System: Host, your stealth mode is so good, even the cockroaches are doubting their social rank.]
Lin Feng sipped the bitter brew and didn't respond. He had bigger things to focus on.
Later that afternoon, as the sun dipped low over the student plaza, Jiang Yue'er found him sitting on the bleachers behind the music hall, half-hidden from view.
"You've been quiet since yesterday," she said, sitting beside him.
"Just thinking," Lin Feng replied. "About what comes next."
She tilted her head. "You already walked into the elites' den. That's not 'quiet.' That's a declaration."
He glanced at her. "You worried?"
"I'm used to attention, not politics." She paused. "But you're different. People either want to befriend you or destroy you."
Before Lin Feng could answer, his phone buzzed. A message from an anonymous sender:
"Private invitation. Location: Golden Chamber Hall, 7 PM. Dress formally. RSVP not required. Bring no one."
No name. No context.
Jiang Yue'er peeked at the screen. "You're going?"
"I'd be stupid not to," Lin Feng muttered. "They're either trying to recruit me—or test me."
[System: Or poison you. But hey, maybe they serve cake.]
By evening, Lin Feng had swapped his hoodie for a sleek, matte-black suit—tailored but not flashy. Clean lines. No brand logos. The kind of look that whispered power instead of screaming it.
When he arrived at Golden Chamber Hall, a doorman—clearly briefed—ushered him past security with a bow. Inside, the lighting was soft gold, the air faintly scented with imported incense, and the walls were lined with portraits of alumni who'd gone on to run corporations and foundations.
A dozen chairs circled a glass table. Only half were filled.
Among them sat Zhao Rouran—smiling, unreadable—as well as two unfamiliar faces: a silver-haired boy with crescent-shaped glasses and a girl dressed in pure white with violet eyes that didn't blink nearly enough.
"Welcome, Lin Feng," Rouran said, rising. "You're here because you disrupted the status quo. And now, the status quo wants to know what you're made of."
The silver-haired boy adjusted his glasses. "We've been watching. You're not one of us, but your actions—your… expenditures—have drawn attention."
"You're not just rich," the violet-eyed girl said, her voice strangely melodic. "You're intentional. Calculated. That makes you interesting."
Lin Feng remained silent for a long beat, then stepped forward and sat down.
"Alright," he said, voice calm. "What's the test?"
The silver-haired boy smiled. "There isn't one. Not yet. This is the prelude. A single question decides what happens next."
Rouran leaned in. "Lin Feng… do you want to play the game?"
The room fell quiet. Power hummed in the silence like electricity waiting to arc.
And then Lin Feng smiled—cool, calm, unreadable.
"I've always been good at rewriting the rules."
[System: Ohoho… Did you just hit them with a main character moment? My circuits are blushing.]