60: Chapter 60 The Counterattack of Capital (Part Two)
Three days after Happiness Resonance was activated, Lin Feng received a note from Yuki.
The writing on the note was more forceful than usual; the tip of the pen had nearly pierced through the back of the paper:
[Someone is investigating us.]
Lin Feng looked at the note for three seconds, then looked up at Yuki.
Yuki’s expression was rarely this serious. This girl, who usually hid in a corner tapping away at her keyboard, was now standing before him, her fingers trembling slightly.
He asked, "Who?"
Yuki handed over another note, this time two sheets stacked together.
The first sheet:
[V Company. And several others I haven't seen before.]
The second sheet:
[The names are all here.]
Lin Feng looked down at the list of names—V Digital Entertainment, V Life Platform, V Media Group, V Capital, followed by several names he hadn't heard of: Backstone Fund, Risersize Capital, Cestwood Partner.
He folded the note and tucked it into his pocket.
"Understood."
---
That evening, Alex’s data monitoring system sounded an alarm.
A piercing buzz echoed through the church, startling George, who was dozing off.
"What's going on?"
Alex stared at the screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard. On the screen, dense clusters of IP addresses swarmed like locusts, frantically scraping all the information from the happiness map—town locations, population counts, renovation plans, contact information for those in charge, even every photo posted by the townspeople.
Alex’s hands were shaking:
"Boss, what are they trying to do?"
Lin Feng crouched beside him, staring at the flashing red dots without saying a word.
Rachel crawled out of her sleeping bag, rubbing her eyes as she leaned in to look. After only three seconds, her face went pale:
"They're trying to copy our model? This data is enough for them to build an identical platform!"
Tony, for once, set down the book he never seemed to finish and shook his head:
"It's not copying. It's sabotage."
He pointed to the distribution map of IP addresses on the screen:
"Look, they're attacking the data ports of all the towns simultaneously. This isn't about stealing; they want to completely paralyze us."
Sam held his guitar and struck a heavy chord:
"Then what do we do?"
Lin Feng remained silent for a long time.
Then he asked Yuki, "Can we block them?"
Yuki shook her head.
--
The next day, the first wave of attacks arrived.
Not physical, but cyber.
The happiness map servers were flooded with a massive volume of spam comments.
The once-clean pages were filled with tens of thousands of malicious comments overnight. These comments began pouring in at 2:00 AM, and by 6:00 AM, they had exceeded 300,000.
[Xinfeng Town is a scam]
[Lin Feng is a foreign spy, taking money from the Chinese government]
[The renovation plan has political motives; it's meant to brainwash Americans]
[Those mushrooms are poisonous; you'll die if you eat them. There have already been three cases.]
[George's son isn't his son at all; he's an actor.]
[Edna's husband didn't die; it's a made-up story.]
Yuki worked through the night to clear them, her fingers developing blood blisters from typing. But as soon as one batch was cleared, another arrived. The comments came like a tide, wave after wave, with no end in sight.
On the third day, the server completely crashed.
Alex clutched his computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Sweat poured down his forehead, and his T-shirt was soaked through:
"Boss, the other side has a professional hacking team. Their attack pattern is distributed, coming from dozens of countries worldwide. We can't hold them off."
Lin Feng crouched beside him, looking at the screen full of error codes. 404, 503, 504—those red error messages were as piercing as blood.
Silence lasted for a long time.
Then he asked Yuki, "Can we get in touch with those towns?"
Yuki nodded and turned on another device—a backup satellite network terminal she had assembled herself, not connected to the public internet.
On the screen, messages from the towns popped up one by one.
Millfield, Ohio:
[We received an anonymous email saying you're scammers. Is it true? The sender said you've taken money from a foreign government specifically to disrupt American small towns. Who should we believe?]
Carbon, West Virginia:
[Someone came to our town handing out flyers, saying the Xinfeng Town model is brainwashing and that you've planted spies in every town. Who are they? How do they know about our town's affairs?]
Coal Creek, Kentucky:
[A few strangers came by today in black SUVs, asking all over town if Lin Feng has taken money or forced us to work. They said they were journalists but didn't show any ID.]
Mill Town, Pennsylvania:
[People from a TV station came for an interview, from FOXX. They asked if we were being coerced and if we signed any secret agreements. What does 'coerced' even mean? We're just growing mushrooms.]
A new town in Tennessee:
[Someone is hanging banners at our town entrance saying you're a cult. People in town are starting to get scared, and a few said they want to quit. What do we do?]
Lin Feng read through them one by one.
After reading, he put his phone down.
Margaret, standing nearby, asked, "What do we do?"
Lin Feng stood up and brushed off his pants, his movements a bit slower than usual.
"To the church."
---
In the church, everyone had already gathered.
Not just the seven of them. George, Edna, Mike, Tom, and several representatives from other towns, along with the trainees who were studying, packed the church to capacity. Even the aisles were full of people.
George stood before the altar, his face grim, fists clenched:
"Lin Feng, something's happened over in West Virginia."
Lin Feng looked at him.
George continued: "Someone hung banners at the town entrance saying we're a cult and that you're brainwashing people. Your photo is on the banners with a big red 'X' drawn over it. A few old ladies were so scared they're hiding in their houses and won't come out."
Edna leaned on her cane, her hands and voice trembling:
"People came to Pennsylvania too. They said our 'Ear' sculpture is a cult symbol used to control people. They even tried to smash it but were stopped by the townspeople. But those people took photos and said they were going to post them online."
Mike ran over from the bar, out of breath, his apron still stained with wine:
"Someone called the bar asking if this was a pyramid scheme. I said no, but they didn't believe me. They called over thirty times in one night, all from the same number. I pulled the phone line, so they started spamming malicious reviews online, saying the alcohol I sell is fake and that you'll get poisoned if you drink it."
Tom held his camera, his expression also grim, his eyes red:
"Someone is taking frame-by-frame screenshots of the documentary I filmed, saying I'm intentionally being melodramatic to trick the audience into crying. They said George's segment was acted, Edna's was fabricated, and even the shot of Mike wiping a glass was staged. Someone doxxed me, dug up all my previous work, and picked apart every single flaw. The comment section is full of people cursing me, calling me a 'misery-porn director'."
Sam held his guitar and strummed a few chords, out of tune, his voice raspy:
"Someone is spamming comments under my songs, saying the lyrics have political metaphors. I wrote about mushrooms, about stars, about white mushrooms growing in mine shafts—where is the politics in that? But those people don't care; they analyze every single line, saying every lyric is a code. My comment section is unusable now."
Jenny lowered her head, clutching the letters in her hands—the thank-you notes she had always cherished:
"These thank-you letters... someone said I wrote them myself. They said there aren't that many grateful people and that it's all made up. They said the handwriting is too neat, and it looks like it was all written by one person. But it was clearly written by over a hundred different people..."
Chris gripped his toolbox, his knuckles white and the veins on the back of his hand bulging:
"At the farm, people came to inspect today. They said they received a report suspecting us of illegal planting and using banned pesticides. They took away three crates of mushrooms, saying they were taking them back for testing. George grew those mushrooms with his own hands, watered them one by one, and picked them one by one. Now they've been taken away."
Alex and Rachel were speechless, just looking at Lin Feng. Alex's hands were still shaking, and Rachel's eyes were so red they looked like they might bleed.
Yuki kept her head down, her computer screen dark—her eyes were red, and tears were falling one by one onto the keyboard.
Lin Feng crouched before the altar, looking at this group of people.
Silence lasted for a long, long time.
The only sounds in the church were the breathing and the wind blowing through the old locust tree outside.
Then he spoke, his voice soft but audible to everyone:
"Do you believe in me?"
George was the first to answer. He stood up, walked to Lin Feng, crouched down, and looked him in the eye:
"Lin Feng, I dug coal for forty-five years. I've seen too many scammers, too many bad people, and too many people who talk a good game in my life. You're not one of them."
Edna was the second. Leaning on her cane, she walked tremulously to Lin Feng, reached out, and patted his head as if he were her own grandson:
"If I didn't believe in you, I would have left long ago. I'm over eighty years old; what haven't I seen? You are real."
Mike was the third. He squeezed through the crowd, crouched next to Lin Feng, and handed him a glass of wine—his own brew, the most expensive kind in the bar:
"Lin Feng, you once bought me a drink. That night I was in a bad mood, and you just crouched there and had a drink with me. That drink was real."
Tom was the fourth. He raised his camera and clicked the shutter at Lin Feng:
"The things I film are all real. I filmed you crouching, George planting mushrooms, Edna talking to the 'Ear', and Mike mixing drinks. Those images don't lie. If anyone says they're fake, let them come find me; I'll show them the raw footage."
Sam was the fifth. He held his guitar and softly strummed a chord—the beginning of "The Mushroom Song":
"When I wrote songs and no one listened, you did. That night I sang it for the first time in the bar, there were only three old men dozing off below. You crouched in the corner and listened to the whole thing. You were the first person to truly listen to me sing."
Jenny was the sixth. She held up the letters in her hand, showing them to everyone one by one:
"These letters are real. Some of the people who wrote them are still alive, and some have passed away. But when they wrote them, they were real. I can feel it."
Chris was the seventh. He opened his toolbox and took out a mushroom—the largest one picked from the farm:
"The farm is real. These mushrooms are real. I watch them grow every day, and that's real. If anyone says it's fake, let them come down and try growing one themselves."
Alex was the eighth. He pointed to the data on the screen:
"The data is real. Every town, every person, every photo, every comment. I recorded them with my own hands; they're all real."
Rachel was the ninth. She unfurled a design blueprint—the original sketch of Starry Sky Town:
"The design is real. I spent three months drawing this 'Ear'. Every line, every angle, I drew them myself. If anyone says it's a copy, let them bring out a design from 2018 to compare."
Yuki was the last.
She looked up, her eyes red and tear stains still on her face.
She handed over a note.
There was only one line on the note:
[When you don't speak, you are real.]
Lin Feng looked at the note for a long, long time.
Then he smiled.
He stood up and said to everyone:
"Then that's enough."
-
The next day, Lin Feng went to New York alone.
Margaret chased him to the edge of town, grabbing his sleeve, her fingernails nearly digging into his flesh:
"You're going alone? Are you crazy?"
Lin Feng turned back to look at her.
Margaret's eyes were red, her voice trembling:
"Those people are capable of anything. If you go, what if you don't come back?"
Lin Feng thought for a moment and said:
"Then I won't come back."
Margaret was stunned.
[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]
Lin Feng continued, "They want to see me, so I'll go see them. If I don't, they'll keep causing trouble. If I go, at least I'll know what they're up to."
Margaret stared at him for three seconds, then let go.
"I'll wait for you to come back."
Lin Feng nodded, turned, and got into the car.
Manhattan, another glass building.
It was taller, colder, and more silent than the V Company building. The entire structure was covered in black glass curtain walls; even the sunlight that hit it was absorbed, leaving not a single reflection.
There was no sign at the entrance, only a small metal plaque engraved with a string of names—all of which were funds and investment companies Lin Feng had never heard of: Backstone, Risersize, Cestwood, and a few mysterious names consisting only of abbreviations.
Lin Feng squatted at the entrance and waited for ten minutes.
Passersby walked past him; some took a second look, while others took out their phones to take pictures, but he didn't move. He just stayed there, squatting, holding that straw that had already been bitten flat in his mouth.
A woman in a black suit walked out, her expression as cold as an iceberg: "Mr. Lin, please come with me."
The conference room was on the top floor.
As the elevator ascended, Lin Feng watched the floor numbers jump all the way to 78.78.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the entire Manhattan skyline. Central Park looked like a green handkerchief, the Hudson River like a silver ribbon, and those skyscrapers that usually seemed to pierce the clouds were now just small toys beneath his feet.
Across the long table sat seven people.
William sat at the very end, his expression complex. He glanced at Lin Feng, and there was something indescribable in his eyes—was it guilt? Sympathy? Or something else?
In the center sat a man in his sixties with graying hair and eyes as sharp as an eagle's. He wore a custom dark gray suit, and the buttons on his cuffs were platinum inlaid with diamonds.
He stared at Lin Feng and spoke, his voice deep and powerful, like the lowest note of a cello: "Mr. Lin, I've heard much about you."
Lin Feng didn't shake his hand. He walked straight to a chair and squatted on it.
"What do you want with me?"
The man smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes, not even a trace: "Mr. Lin, your Xinfeng Town model is developing very quickly."
Lin Feng nodded.
The man continued: "One hundred towns in half a year, covering over a dozen states. We admire this speed. To be honest, we've been in investment for so many years and have never seen this kind of growth curve."
Lin Feng waited for him to continue.
The man changed the subject, his tone still calm, but every word felt like a nail: "But Mr. Lin, have you ever thought that this kind of model would cut into a lot of people's piece of the pie?"
Lin Feng thought for a moment and said: "I know."
The man raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise at the corner of his eye: "And you still did it knowing that?"
Lin Feng said: "I only knew after I did it."
The conference room was silent for three seconds.
A middle-aged woman next to the man spoke up. She was in her fifties, with exquisite makeup, but her eyes were as sharp as knives: "Mr. Lin, we've checked your background. A Chinese citizen who came to the United States three years ago with no fixed job, no stable source of income, and suddenly you have millions of dollars. Where did your money come from?"
Lin Feng looked at her and said seriously: "The System issued it."
The woman was stunned for a moment: "The System? What system? Which institution? Which bank? Is there a transaction record?"
Lin Feng didn't explain.
William coughed lightly to the side, signaling her to stop asking. But the woman was relentless: "Mr. Lin, this is the United States. The source of every penny must be clear. If you can't explain it clearly, we can only assume the worst."
Lin Feng looked at her, still saying the same thing: "The System issued it."
The woman's face flushed red.
The man in the center waved his hand, silencing her.
He stared at Lin Feng, enunciating every word like a judge reading a verdict: "Mr. Lin, we are not here to interrogate you. We are here to talk business."
He pushed a document across the table. It was thick, with a gold-stamped cover printed with the logos of those companies. "These are our terms."
Lin Feng picked up the document and flipped through it.
The document was long, over fifty pages, filled with dense legal clauses.
But the core meaning was simple—those companies were willing to invest one billion dollars to fully acquire the Xinfeng Town model.
After the acquisition, Xinfeng Town would retain its original name, keep all the townspeople, and keep the mushroom farms, the Soul Massage centers, and the music bars, but the operating rights would belong to them.
Lin Feng could continue to be the "brand ambassador," could continue to squat under the old locust tree, and could continue to stare blankly with a straw in his mouth, but all decisions would be made by them.
All expansion plans would be approved by them.
All renovation plans would be reviewed by them.
All connections between the towns would be monitored by them.
The price: they would stop all current attacks.
Lin Feng finished flipping to the last page and looked up at the man: "What if I don't sign?"
The man smiled, a cold smile like winter iron railings: "Mr. Lin, every one of those one hundred towns is within our surveillance range. We have enough data, enough resources, and enough connections."
He paused, letting each word hit hard: "We can make them, one by one, return to what they were before. Those mushroom farms can close down. Those Soul Massage centers can shut their doors. Those music bars can cease operations. Those people who returned can leave again."
He stared into Lin Feng's eyes: "Do you believe it?"
Lin Feng stared at him for three seconds. Then he stood up and pushed the document back. "I believe it."
He walked toward the door. Reaching the door, he turned back and looked at the seven people: "But I believe in the people of those one hundred towns even more."
The door closed.
In the conference room, the seven people were silent for a long time. Then the man spoke, his voice colder than before: "Execute the second plan."
William opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.
By the time Lin Feng returned to Xinfeng Town, it was already dark.
Driving back from Manhattan took six hours, and he hadn't stopped along the way. He only realized it when the fuel tank was almost empty.
Margaret was squatting under the old locust tree at the entrance of the town, waiting for him.
He didn't know how long she had been waiting. Her hair was tousled by the night wind, and her eyes were red, but she kept watching the end of the road.
Seeing his headlights light up, she stood up and ran over.
Lin Feng parked the car at the town entrance, opened the door, and got out.
Margaret stood in front of him, looking at him, not saying a word.
Lin Feng looked at her, also not saying a word.
After a long time, Margaret spoke, her voice hoarse: "Lin Feng..."
Lin Feng walked over and squatted beside her. "What's wrong?"
Margaret pointed toward the church: "George and the others... are waiting for you."
Lin Feng looked in the direction of her gaze.
The church lights were on. Warm orange light shone through the stained glass windows, spilling onto the stone path outside.
Standing at the entrance were George, Edna, Mike, Tom, Alex, Rachel, Tony, Sam, Jenny, Chris, and Yuki.
There were also those who came from other towns. And those who came to learn, to help, to thank, and to stay.
Hundreds of people stood there, packed tightly, watching him.
No one spoke. But everyone's gaze was fixed on him.
Lin Feng was taken aback.
George walked over and stood in front of him. This old miner, who had dug coal for forty-five years, stood straight, his eyes more resolute than ever: "Lin Feng, we know what happened."
Lin Feng didn't speak.
George continued: "We heard about those people's terms. Yuki sent us the content of the document."
He paused, looked back at the people, then turned back to look at Lin Feng: "We've discussed it."
He took a deep breath, his voice as loud as a ringing bell: "Whether you sign or not, we're with you."
Edna walked over with her cane and stood next to George: "I'm over eighty, I'm not afraid of death. I'm just afraid that after I die, no one will remember my old man. You made him remembered. I owe you."
Mike walked over and stood next to Edna: "The bar is yours. You can close it if you want, or open it if you want. Besides, the wine is brewed by me, it doesn't cost money."
Tom walked over, raised his camera, and pressed the shutter at Lin Feng: "I want to keep this image."
Sam walked over, holding his guitar: "The next song will be written for you."
Jenny walked over, clutching those letters in her hand: "Among these letters, one is written to you. I haven't shown it to you before. I want to give it to you now."
Chris walked over, opened his toolbox, and took out the largest mushroom: "This one, I saved it for you."
Alex walked over, his eyes red: "Boss, the data can be lost, the servers can crash. But those towns are real."
Rachel walked over, her voice trembling: "The design drawings can be copied. But they can't copy the faces of those people."
Tony walked over, rarely without a book: "Lin Feng, I've figured out a question."
Lin Feng looked at him.
Tony said: "Why do people live? I didn't know before. Now I know—to meet all of you."
Yuki walked over last. She kept her head down, walked in front of Lin Feng, then looked up and handed him a note.
There was only one line on the note: [When you don't want to speak, we will speak for you]
Lin Feng stared at the note for a long, long time. Then he smiled.
He stood up and walked toward the church. After two steps, he turned back: "I'm hungry. Are there any mushrooms?"
Margaret was taken aback, then smiled. Tears were still hanging on her face, but the corners of her mouth were already curled up: "Yes. All you can eat."
That night, the church was crowded with people.
Sam led those old men in singing, and they sang all night long. From miners' songs to mushroom songs, to star songs, to those songs that didn't even have names.
Mike emptied half the bar, and the drinks were free for all. There was what he mixed, what others mixed, and the moonshine brought by a few old men from Kentucky—it tasted like kerosene, but everyone drank happily.
Edna got drunk for the first time, hugging Margaret, crying and laughing. She said that when her old man passed away, she didn't shed a single tear. Today, she made up for all of it.
George's son, Tom, filmed it all. He stood in the corner, his lens sweeping over everyone—singing, drinking, crying, laughing, staring blankly.
Lin Feng squatted in the corner, watching them.
Margaret held a plate of mushrooms and squatted beside him. "Lin Feng."
Lin Feng turned to look at her.
Margaret asked: "What now?"
Lin Feng chewed the mushroom without speaking.
He watched those people—Sam was playing the guitar, George was clinking glasses with others, Edna was asleep on Margaret's shoulder, Mike was pouring drinks for everyone, Tom was filming, Alex and Rachel were whispering in the corner, Tony was chatting with a new trainee, Jenny was organizing those letters, Chris was wiping his toolbox, and Yuki was typing on a keyboard—perhaps writing code, perhaps replying to messages, perhaps recording all of this.
After a long time, he said: "They make their move, we continue."
Margaret was stunned.
Lin Feng pointed at those people: "They want us to stop. We just won't."
He swallowed the last bite of the mushroom, stood up, and patted his butt: "Starting tomorrow, let those one hundred towns get moving."
[Chapter 60 End]