Lin Yufeng left the headquarters of Zhengtian Group and drove alone towards the ancient city.
On the highway from Beijing to the ancient city, Lin Yufeng maintained a speed of over 100 kilometers per hour, arriving at the city by 8 PM. He had already turned off his phone, cutting off all communication with the outside world. After passing the ancient city's toll station, he stopped by the roadside, opened the trunk, and, in the dark, lifted a leather mat from the bottom of a cluttered toolbox to retrieve a Smith & Wesson CS45 handgun. He returned to the car, cleaned the gun with a towel, and placed it in a black briefcase.
Entering the city, he inquired all the way to the Jiahe Garden residential area. After registering at the gate, he followed the security guard's directions to Ding Yuan's building, locked his car, and headed straight to the third floor with the black briefcase.
When he rang the doorbell, the door opened to reveal a scholarly-looking man with a pallid, sickly complexion. Despite his fatigue, there was a rare sharpness and composure in his eyes. Lin Yufeng couldn't have known that Ding Yuan was deeply immersed in the unbearable pain of losing Rui Xiaodan at that moment.
Ding Yuan scrutinized the stranger and asked, "May I ask who you are?"
"Lin Yufeng from Lusheng Company," he replied.
"Ah, Mr. Lin, hello, hello, please come in..." Ding Yuan's invitation was cut short by the sight of the black, icy muzzle of a gun aimed at his forehead.
Lin Yufeng closed the door, pressing the gun against Ding Yuan, his eyes scanning the room. The cool breeze from the air conditioner dispersed the steam rising from a boiling kettle, indicating that Ding Yuan had been making tea alone.
With a menacing gaze, Lin Yufeng taunted, "Afraid of death?"
Ding Yuan calmly responded, "More than just death—I'm afraid of aging, illness, and death."
Lin Yufeng, forcing him at gunpoint, said, "Sit down and have your last cup of tea. Consider it your execution drink."
Ding Yuan sat back on the sofa, turned off the kettle, and continued making tea. His hands, unshaken, deftly handled the tea set, as if he were in a serene setting rather than under the threat of a gun.
He poured a cup of tea and took a sip.
Lin Yufeng stood beside him, the gun's muzzle pressed against Ding Yuan's head.
After finishing the tea, Ding Yuan poured another cup.
The gun remained silent as Lin Yufeng coldly remarked, "You don't seem afraid of death."
Ding Yuan replied indifferently, "No one escapes aging, illness, and death just because they're afraid."
Lin Yufeng sat down, placing the gun on the coffee table. "You're worse than a bandit. I have the heart to kill you, but I'm not as despicable as you. I'll give you a chance. Answer my question. Did you assume I wouldn't kill you? Answer correctly, and I'll spare your life. Answer wrongly, and you'll die knowing why."
Ding Yuan responded, "You don't lack the intent to kill me; you lack a reason that won't tarnish your self-image. If I say I assumed you wouldn't kill me, you'll shoot to prove me wrong. If I say I didn't assume, you'll shoot to prove me a liar."
Lin Yufeng fell silent, lighting a cigarette. He stared into Ding Yuan's eyes, blowing out smoke that filled the room, subtly changing the atmosphere—both calming it and bringing it closer to bloodshed.
At that moment, facing this weary man, Lin Yufeng marveled at the intricate design of robbing the rich to aid the poor—a coordination of resources, time, and space, disguised as simplicity yet deeply intelligent. He had to admit he was outmatched, a pain only someone with profound masculine cultural heritage could understand.
Lin Yufeng sneered, "Can robbing the rich to aid the poor really save the poor?"
"No, it can't," Ding Yuan replied.
"Explain how it can't," Lin Yufeng demanded.
"Robbing the rich doesn't make them poor, and aiding the poor doesn't lift them out of poverty. Only the culture of enlightenment can save. Salvation isn't indulgence; it's awakening. Ge Lv Shi's aid is an ineffectual treatment. Talking about aid is an illusion, a modern Cinderella story, connecting with Lusheng only by chance," Ding Yuan explained calmly.
Lin Yufeng retorted with disdain, "That's where you're most despicable. You know everything and still do everything. You insult the law, enslave farmers, and ruin market ethics. You destroyed a prominent national audio brand. Where is the social responsibility and ethics of an educated person in you? What kind of hero are you?"
Ding Yuan had no answer, only silence.
Lin Yufeng picked up the gun, unloaded two bullets, and placed them on the table. "I came to the ancient city to see what kind of person you are. These two bullets were meant for you. Keep them. Your life or death doesn't matter to me. What matters is that I can't let you remain so self-righteous. I need you to know I despise you. Reflect on that. Don't expect me to sign your surrender agreement. I feel ashamed to yield to someone like you."
With that, Lin Yufeng packed the gun back into the black briefcase and left. He had achieved his goal—not only seeing what kind of person Ding Yuan was but also belittling his spirit, gaining psychological satisfaction. As he left, he turned to the standing Ding Yuan and threw out a final remark:
"Remember, even buried, I'll breathe one more breath than you."