In that moment, time didn't slow down; instead, it felt as if it had been compressed into a heavy, suffocating singularity.
Scarface's fist magnified rapidly in Ling Feng's pupils. The force of the punch, mixed with the sour stench of cheap alcohol, was like an invisible awl stabbing at his senses.
Fear was no longer a thought in his head, but a cold liquid that spread up from the base of his spine, freezing every inch of his muscles.
His mind went blank.
All the survival rules he had learned over sixteen years in the Rust Belt—keep your head down, endure, and avoid all possible danger like a rat in a sewer—crumbled at that moment. He clearly realized that no matter how careful he was, when absolute malice descended, he was still just an ant that could be crushed at will.
The sense of humiliation was sharper than the fear of pain, searing his heart like a branding iron.
Was it going to end like this? Thrown to the ground like a piece of casually discarded trash, and then have everything taken from him?
No.
Just as he was about to be consumed by this despair, the jade pendant pressed against his chest suddenly emitted a trace of icy coolness.
This coolness was a stark contrast to the external heat and his internal burning pain. It started as a mere thread but in an instant, it transformed into a sweeping ice river, forcefully and indisputably washing over his chaotic consciousness.
Fear, anger, humiliation, unwillingness... all his boiling emotions were instantly soothed, suppressed, and even erased in the face of this overwhelming coolness.
Ling Feng experienced a state that was unprecedented and almost frightening.
He felt as if his soul had left his body, and he was looking down at the scene from a high, indifferent perspective. He could see his own body trembling slightly with fear, see the greed and bluff in Zhao San's eyes, and see the simple-minded impulse behind Scarface's brawn.
Everything around him turned into data that could be analyzed and variables that could be exploited.
It was as if his body no longer belonged to him, but had become a precision instrument controlled by some higher will. A thought, one that was completely foreign to his past way of thinking, formed clearly in his mind:
"Zhao San needs 'procedural justice' as a fig leaf; his greed is bound by rules."
"Scarface is pure violence, a tool used by Zhao San to break a stalemate, but also his most uncontrollable piece."
"The breakthrough lies in the conflict of interest between them."
This entire analysis and decision happened in a flash.
And so, just as Scarface's fist was about to make contact, he spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a calm devoid of any emotion, a calm that was foreign even to himself.
"Administrator Zhao, according to Article 3, Section 7 of the 'Border Market Management Regulations,' the confiscation of unlicensed goods requires the presence of two or more official security officers and the issuance of a confiscation certificate. Do you have them?"
The words were like a precisely fired steel nail, pinning Zhao San to his weak spot.
The expression on Zhao San's face froze. And Scarface, the thug whose mind only worked in straight lines, instinctively stopped his punch midway due to this sudden turn of events and the completely different look in Ling Feng's eyes.
"Stop it! Ah Li, what do you think you're doing?!" Zhao San's voice, a mixture of shock and anger, perfectly confirmed Ling Feng's judgment.
Opportunity.
Driven by that indifferent will, Ling Feng's fingers, with a stability and speed he never knew he possessed, pressed a hidden switch on the lamp in front of him.
A bright light and a loud noise erupted.
The world was plunged into pure whiteness.
When the dazzling light and sharp sound faded, Ling Feng had already vanished into the chaotic crowd like a gust of wind. He didn't even look back to see his enemies howling on the ground or his own painstakingly made creations scattered on the floor.
That indifferent will told him: survival is paramount.
It wasn't until he had slipped back into the familiar, labyrinthine alleys of the Rust Belt that the coolness from the jade pendant quietly receded.
Like a dam bursting, the suppressed emotions broke through in an instant. The frantic beating of his heart, the weakness in his muscles, the churning in his stomach... and the overwhelming fear of having survived a close call, all washed over him at once. He leaned against a cold wall and couldn't stop himself from bending over and dry-heaving violently.
Who was that terrifyingly calm person just now?