The Billionaire's Multiplier System-Chapter 83 - 84 – The Morning After Masks

Morning came without fanfare.

No trumpet of sunlight. No dreamlike haze. Just the cold light of day pressing against the city’s skyline as if daring it to pretend nothing had changed.

Lin Feng woke early, not from habit but instinct. His body felt charged, not rested. The kind of tension that didn’t fade with hours—it had to be worked out through motion, thought, or fire.

He sat up in the apartment suite atop the Eastern Prominence. High above the quiet hum of the city, his view stretched over rooftops and towers—most of which belonged to people who’d shaken his hand the night before.

Now they’d be re-evaluating him.

That dinner hadn’t ended with dessert. It had ended with calculation. The ones who smiled most were likely the ones already drawing new lines in the sand.

He moved to the kitchenette, poured water, and turned on the encrypted tablet the system had synced weeks ago. No blue light, no chirps. Just cold information.

[System Notice: Favorability shifts detected among linked targets.]

He paused, eyes scanning.

Qin Yuyan: +3%

(Current: 78%)

Emotional Anchor Strengthening: Respects long-term vision.

Bonus unlocked: Real-world negotiation skill +6%.

Guo Yuwei: +4%

(Current: 71%)

Reason: Trusted resilience during Heliantheas Dinner.

Bonus: Partial immunity to social sabotage within legal circles.

Luo Bingqing: +5%

(Current: 63%)

Emotional Shift: Unexpected loyalty surfaced.

Bonus: Temporary boost to public narrative shielding.

Li Ruoxi: +2%

(Current: 89%)

Reason: Saw conviction, not arrogance.

Bonus: Unlock pending—requires trigger event.

He took it in without blinking.

These numbers weren’t trophies. They were signals. Indicators of where trust was forming—and where it might break if he faltered.

His phone buzzed.

A name blinked on screen: Wen Kai.

Lin accepted the call.

"You awake?" came the voice—dry, clipped, focused.

"I don’t sleep well after rooms full of knives."

"Good. Because one’s headed toward you now."

Lin didn’t flinch. "Who’s holding it?"

"Zhang Renshu."

A pause.

That name carried weight. CEO of Konghua Consolidated, a legacy enterprise deeply tied to industrial logistics, and more quietly, to media filters that decided who rose and who fell.

"He wasn’t at the dinner," Lin said.

"No. But three of his people were. Including Jiang Lanyue."

Lin exhaled. "Of course."

"He’s planning to put pressure on your latest acquisition—Celica Analytics. The licensing board that fast-tracked your merger got a call this morning."

Lin leaned against the kitchen counter. "How much time?"

"Three days max before the freeze starts. You need to show more than numbers. You need legitimacy."

The call ended without goodbye. Wen never wasted time on ceremony.

Lin looked out the window again.

Time to move.

By 9:30 a.m., Lin Feng stepped into the private meeting lounge inside Celica’s new downtown office space. Clean glass walls. Minimalist design. Barely lived-in.

Guo Yuwei was already waiting.

She wore a business suit so sharp it looked like it could cut tape, and her fingers flew across her tablet as if typing gave her oxygen.

"You heard?" she asked without looking up.

"Just did."

She handed him a printed folder. "I’ve preemptively drafted three response statements in case the board receives media pressure. But you need more than reaction."

Lin skimmed them. "You want an anchor."

"More than that. A shield. The people who attacked you last night didn’t aim at your heart—they aimed at your infrastructure. If they freeze Celica, they’ll rattle the others."

"Suggestions?"

Yuwei smiled, almost smug. "I already booked a private breakfast with the Deputy Chair of City Tech Development. You’ll meet him in one hour. If he likes you, the entire city council’s forward-facing grant fund becomes a passive defense."

Lin stared at her. "You’re not just loyal. You’re dangerous."

"I’m both because you let me be," she said. "Don’t waste it."

The meeting took place in an old tea house rebuilt for modern elites. No reporters. No headlines. Just iron pots, white steam, and guarded conversation.

The Deputy Chair wasn’t warm, but he listened. And when Lin outlined his model—not just the tech investments, but how favorability data could be anonymously used for urban feedback systems—his eyes narrowed with interest.

By the end, they shook hands. No contract. But interest. And Lin knew better than to underestimate interest.

By noon, Yuwei texted him one word:

"Stabilized."

At 1:00 p.m., he stepped out of the car into the side courtyard of an old museum garden, called there by a brief but pointed voice message.

Bingqing.

She was leaning against the statue of a forgotten poet, arms crossed, sunglasses on despite the shade.

"You’re late."

"I’m early."

She gestured to the bench. "Sit. Or pace. I don’t care."

Lin sat.

"You good?" he asked.

"No," she said flatly. "I found out this morning that someone’s been spreading rumors I got paid to stand beside you last night."

Lin’s jaw tensed. "Zixuan?"

"Probably not directly. But yeah—his circle. And it’s working. I lost two sponsorships this morning. Not big ones. But it starts there."

He looked at her. "I can fix it."

"No," she said sharply. "You can’t. Not directly. If you defend me, I’ll look bought."

"Then what do you want?"

She took off her glasses. Her eyes were tired, but steady.

"I want you to remember that I chose to stand beside you. Not because I needed protection. Because I believed in where you’re going."

He nodded.

"Good," she said, standing. "Now do something scarier than buying headlines. Earn a real one."

Then she walked off, phone already ringing in her hand.

By late afternoon, Lin sat with Ruoxi in a rooftop garden bar—one of her few hidden sanctuaries. The city below moved like water, loud but distant.

She poured herself tea, not alcohol.

"No fallout from your side?" he asked.

"Oh, I have enemies," she said. "But most of them prefer paperwork over poison." freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Lin leaned forward. "You’re quiet."

Ruoxi studied him. "Because I’m weighing something."

"What?"

"Whether the version of you who came to that dinner... was real. Or a mask you wear to keep this going."

He didn’t answer right away.

"I’ve worn masks before," he finally said. "But not with you."

She nodded slowly. "Good. Because if you do lie to me, it won’t be the market that collapses first."

Then she smiled—not cruelly. But clearly.

"You survived night one," she said. "Now let’s see if you survive the week."

As the sun dropped behind the skyline, Lin Feng returned to the high-rise.

No music played. No system announcement came. Just the quiet hum of city momentum and the echo of choices.

The Heliantheas Dinner hadn’t ended—it had just opened a door.

Now he had to walk through it.

Not with arrogance.

Not with noise.

But with strategy, loyalty...

...and fire.

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