CHAPTER 112: CHAPTER 113 – BENEATH THE SURFACE: ALLIES AND REFORMS

The early light crept through the frosted windows of the Apex Council’s east conference wing, spilling across polished marble and scattering gold hues over Lin Feng’s tablet. He sat quietly, unmoving, surrounded by pages of structural reform drafts and notes from the last three council meetings. His black shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, coffee growing cold beside him. He had slept little—too much had shifted overnight.

Keller had regrouped. Not publicly. Not with fanfare or retaliation—but with silence, subtle reinforcements, and new hands emerging in places where Lin thought the ground was steady. The international news outlets—especially those with rumored backing from Keller’s media shell—had begun to spin ambiguous stories around Lin Feng’s tightening circle of influence. Whispers of "centralized control," "youthful authoritarianism," and "Apex’s rising technocratic dominance" were seeping into global panels and op-eds.

But Lin Feng didn’t panic. He adapted.

He tapped his screen. A digital overlay flickered: security footage from a failed infiltration attempt at one of the Apex-aligned think tanks two nights ago. The perpetrator was masked, their tools military-grade, but they’d made one critical mistake—underestimating how quickly Lin’s system learned from intrusion patterns.

"Third one this week," said Bai Xue, stepping into the room with a folder under her arm and faint rings under her eyes.

Lin nodded. "Same origin?"

"Worse," she replied. "We traced backend comms. They bounced from Tallinn, through Cairo, but the exit node—was in Shenzhen."

Lin exhaled slowly. "He’s getting help from someone inside."

"Or from someone pretending to be inside," she said, placing the folder in front of him. "We confirmed a pattern of shared freelance contractors linked to Cassandra’s original influence net. Most went silent after your last speech. Some are moving again."

Lin thumbed through the folder’s content. It was all too familiar—the reactivated shell companies, the recycled talking heads, and the sudden surge of online narratives pushing vague dissent.

"He’s learning from her," Lin said, voice level. "But Keller’s adapting faster. Charm isn’t his primary weapon. It’s confusion."

Bai Xue sat opposite him, dropping her weight heavily into the chair. "You’re not losing ground. But your allies are getting nervous."

"I know."

He didn’t elaborate. But he’d already felt it—Jiang Rou had postponed two of their joint announcements. Yao Ling’s school investment proposals were delayed without explanation. Even Zhang Wei, loyal as ever, had started asking questions he normally trusted Lin to handle silently.

It wasn’t betrayal. Not yet. But in politics, doubt often bloomed before desertion.

Lin reached for another file—this one was marked "Structural Integrity – Tier Two Founders." He opened it and tapped through a lineup of secondary stakeholders across the Apex Council’s ecosystem. These weren’t the faces in press releases or media reels, but the backbone: tech developers, academic collaborators, financial operators—the real builders.

"We need to empower this layer," Lin said quietly. "If Keller keeps targeting optics and culture, we hit back with structure. Strength from the base upward."

Bai Xue blinked. "You want to decentralize some of your control?"

"Not decentralize. Distribute," he clarified. "Give them more room to shape direction, so when Keller paints Apex as a monolith, it becomes clear—we’re an ecosystem. Not a throne."

She leaned back, impressed. "That’s bold. And it’ll cost you control."

"I’d rather lose control than credibility," Lin said.

Just then, his phone buzzed. It was a secure message from Qin Xue.

"Ping An has initiated a backchannel offer. They want talks. Neutral grounds. No media."

Lin raised an eyebrow. "Now this is unexpected," he murmured.

"Ping An? The insurance conglomerate?" Bai Xue asked, looking over.

"They’ve remained silent through the last two quarters. But now they’re signaling neutrality?" He thought for a moment. "No. They’re watching the chaos and positioning themselves to benefit, whichever way the wind blows."

He typed back.

"Accept. But bring them somewhere symbolic. Let’s see what side they fear more."

—

Later that afternoon, Lin found himself standing at the renovated South Campus Innovation Lab—a symbol of Apex’s reinvestment into local talent and research. A perfect choice.

Qin Xue arrived with a simple nod. No entourage. No flair. Just two black-suited assistants flanking her, both carrying ultrathin briefcases.

"I’m not here as your ally," she said without preamble. "I’m here as a broker."

"And you still came alone," Lin replied with a smile. "Either that means you trust me—or you think I’m desperate."

She didn’t smile back. "I think you’re surrounded. Slowly. And you’re not panicking. That makes people nervous."

He led her through the campus glass doors, down a corridor lined with student prototypes and AI research posters. The sounds of keyboards clicking and subdued conversations hummed in the background—a sharp contrast to the corridors of power they both typically walked.

"This is your insurance?" Qin Xue asked, eyes scanning the lab spaces.

"It’s my message," Lin said. "We don’t respond to media wars with noise. We respond by building something harder to destroy."

She paused at a wall displaying names of contributors to the campus program. Some were known; others were rising founders Lin had recently elevated into leadership roles.

"You’re starting a silent coup," she said, her tone low.

"No. I’m starting a distributed firewall."

Qin Xue looked at him for a long moment. Then handed him a tablet.

"Ping An will conditionally fund the South Campus expansion—three-year grant cycle, with oversight. But they want access to Keller’s psychological influence mapping data."

Lin didn’t react immediately. "That’s... unorthodox."

"It’s practical," she said. "They want to understand the battlefield. And they’re betting you’ll survive long enough for the data to matter."

He nodded slowly. "Agreed. But I want weekly anonymized transparency reports. No hidden analytics. No third-party transfers."

"I’ll relay it," she said, then added with a quiet tone: "They’re still watching Keller’s next move before committing long-term."

—

That night, Lin returned to his private terminal.

The system flickered online, responding to his presence with a familiar digital hum. As if sensing the weight in his posture, it prompted an update without being asked.

"Cassandra remains active but in decline. Keller’s proxy nodes increasing activity. Favorability matrix unchanged for primary leads. Advisory: Opportunity to solidify base structure unlocked."

"Three real-life skills available for selection due to network expansion milestone."

Lin leaned forward.

[Available Real-Life Skills – Choose One]

Negotiation Psychology (Expert) – Gain deep insight into opponent intentions during conversation. Emotion reading, microexpression analysis, suggestive pivoting.

Operational Finance (Advanced) – Ability to rapidly audit, restructure, and optimize financial systems within large institutions.

Crisis Perception (Enhanced) – Improved situational awareness under duress. Predictive analysis of social and political responses in unstable environments.

He hesitated for only a moment.

Then tapped: Crisis Perception.

The interface pulsed.

"Skill integrated."

—

The next morning, Lin stood alone in the rooftop garden above the Apex Council complex. Fog still rolled off the city skyline. But his vision had already cleared.

His reforms were no longer plans. They were in motion.

And Keller had just entered a battlefield he thought was shifting.

He didn’t realize—Lin had already changed the ground beneath him.