The "Salted Fish" lunch took place at L'Eclat, a restaurant perched on the 102nd floor of a skyscraper where the menus didn't have prices and the waiters spoke in hushed tones as if reciting funeral rites.
Chen Feng sat slumped in a velvet chair, his orange Lamborghini sunglasses still on, looking like a billionaire who had accidentally joined a cult of extreme relaxation.
"Meiling, this 'fine dining' is a trial of patience," Chen Feng sighed, prodding a microscopic dollop of foam with a silver fork. "In the Myriad Heavens, we ate Roasted Phoenix Thighs the size of your car. Here, they serve me 'the essence of a forest' on a rock. I am a Sovereign, not a mountain goat."
"It's a Michelin-starred tasting menu!" Meiling hissed, checking her phone for security updates. "And try to look alert. My father's rivals often frequent this place."
"I am alert," Chen Feng countered, his eyes closing. "I am currently monitoring the vibrations of every atom in this room. Also, the guy at table four is cheating on his diet. He just hid a piece of bread in his napkin."
The temperature in the room suddenly dropped. It wasn't the air conditioning; it was a shift in intent.
The glass doors swirled open, and a woman walked in. If Meiling was a vibrant summer fire, this woman was a glacier under a moonless sky. She wore a high-collared white suit that seemed to repel the very light of the room. Her hair was a waterfall of ink, and her eyes were two chips of frozen sapphire.
She didn't walk; she glided, her presence pushing back the "noise" of the restaurant.
"Lin Xuerui," Meiling whispered, her posture stiffening. "The 'Ice Queen' of the Lin Corporation. They say she fired her own uncle on his birthday because his productivity dropped by 2%."
Chen Feng finally pushed his sunglasses up. He didn't look at her face first. He looked at her Foundation.
Unlike the fraud Master Zhao, this woman had a genuine, albeit tiny, core of Yin energy swirling in her chest. It was cold, pure, and completely unstable. In this modern world of smog and heat, her "Frost Heart" physique was slowly suffocating her.
As she passed their table, her gaze swept over them. It lingered on Chen Feng for a fraction of a second. She paused, a slight frown marring her perfect features. To her, everyone in the room felt like a blurry smudge of heat. But Chen Feng?
Chen Feng felt like a bottomless, silent ocean.
"Su Meiling," Lin Xuerui said, her voice like the cracking of thin ice. "I didn't know the Su Group was hiring models to play bodyguard now."
"He's not a model," Meiling snapped. "He's... a specialist."
Lin Xuerui turned her frigid gaze to Chen Feng. "A specialist in what? Napping in public?"
Chen Feng picked up a glass of ice water. He didn't look at her. "You have a blockage in your Governing Vessel," he said casually. "Every night at 3:00 AM, your lungs feel like they're being pierced by silver needles. You try to cultivate the 'Ice Breath,' but you're actually just giving yourself stage-one hypothermia."
The "Ice Queen" froze—literally. The air around her boots began to frost over the expensive carpet.
"Who told you that?" she demanded, her voice dropping an octave. "My medical records are encrypted."
"I don't need records to see a broken engine," Chen Feng said, finally looking her in the eye. He reached out and grabbed a stray ice cube from his glass, flicking it toward her.
Her hand shot up to catch it, but the ice cube didn't hit her palm. It dissolved into a mist an inch from her face, and a surge of warm, stabilizing Qi rushed into her forehead. For the first time in ten years, the perpetual chill in her bones vanished.
Lin Xuerui gasped, her hand trembling. The "Ice Queen" mask cracked, revealing a flash of genuine shock. She looked at Chen Feng, who was already back to poking at his foam.
"You..." she started, but she couldn't find the words. In the world of business, everything had a price. But what she had just felt—a moment of true internal peace—was priceless.
"The next one will cost you," Chen Feng said, checking his Richard Mille. "I don't do 'Miracle Healing' on an empty stomach. And this foam is not a meal."
Meiling looked between the two, her protective instincts flaring. She realized that while she was worried about assassins, she had accidentally introduced the world's most powerful man to the world's most beautiful (and dangerous) woman.
"We're leaving," Meiling said, grabbing Chen Feng's arm.
"Wait," Lin Xuerui called out, her voice no longer cold, but urgent. She pulled out a card—not a business card, but a solid platinum slab with a single phone number. She placed it on the table. "If you can truly fix... what is broken... I will give you anything you want. Buildings. Fleets. Anything."
Chen Feng glanced at the card, then at Meiling's annoyed face, then at the orange Lamborghini keys on the table.
"Does your company own any high-end car dealerships?" Chen Feng asked. "I've decided I need a purple one. For Tuesdays."
Lin Xuerui blinked, her icy composure completely shattered by his absurdity. "Yes. We own three."
"Good. Expect a call," Chen Feng said, standing up. "Meiling, let's go. I need to find a burger. My soul is crying."
As they walked out, Chen Feng felt two things: Meiling's burning jealousy and Lin Xuerui's intense, lingering gaze.
"The Dao is truly balanced," Chen Feng mused. "One beauty to pay the bills, and another to provide the cars. My retirement is going perfectly."