?Mobile reading After touring the underground laboratory, Qin Feng finally gained a solid understanding of Qin Group's business scope, which spans pharmaceuticals, precision mechanical components manufacturing, and construction materials—covering a wide range of industries. The pharmaceutical and precision mechanical components manufacturing sectors are particularly strong under Hou Bao’s expertise, contributing more than 60% of the company’s total profits annually. Take, for instance, his developed three-clutch automatic transmission—outperforming a German brand that has long dominated China’s automotive industry and now exported to established industrial nations in Europe and North America. "Little Feng, you can’t just be a hands-off observer now. Since you’ve returned, you have a responsibility to carry forward and develop the Qin Group that Awai founded," Hou Bao said earnestly. "Although I and Xiao Hui will assist you, it’s ultimately safest if you master the skills yourself. Don’t you agree?" Qin Feng never thought he would ever venture into business or manage a company. It was only for freedom that he had the courage to dismantle the operations on the Death Island. Managing a company was no small task—especially research and development, which required him to be constantly immersed in the lab, day and night—something perfectly illustrated by Hou Bao's thinning hair. Yet, if he simply refused, it would seem a bit unkind. With firm determination, he nodded and said, "Hou Bo, please rest assured. I will do my best and never let my father's spirit on heaven fall short of expectations." Hou Bao once again choked up, patting his shoulder and saying, "What a thoughtful and responsible child! You needn't worry—Qin Group will never fall into the hands of Cheng's family. I and Xiao Hui will always stand by you." In truth, Qin Feng had wanted to ask, "How much does the company actually earn each year?" If there's less, then I'd rather keep being a killer. A Tier-S mission pays a million euros, and assassinating a high-ranking official like Wei Qingtian commands over sixty million—killers typically receive at least thirty million. Yet he still didn't dare ask, as if he were being overly greedy—something he truly couldn't bring himself to do. He politely declined the chauffeur and dedicated vehicle offered by Hou Bao, and left the building humming a tune. What should he do now? Mei Hui had just called to say she'd arranged a place for him—a three-story villa with a basement wine cellar and a garden, nearly five hundred square meters. But it was still early, and besides, he'd just settle for a simple meal before heading home. Whenever he thought of eating, he found himself thinking of Fang Fang, and especially her father's exquisite stir-fry skills. So off to Fang Family's Stroll Restaurant he went. Dating and dining—both could go hand in hand. Recalling the lingering ambiguity from this morning that didn't last, he mentally scolded Hou Bao a hundred times—why couldn't he have arrived just a little later? Didn't he know it would have ruined his big plan? If only he'd stayed ten minutes longer, they'd have officially established a romantic connection by now. To solidify a relationship with Fang just one day after meeting—doesn't that seem a bit fast? Fast? In today's fast-paced world, being a little slower might mean someone else swoops in first, and then where would he go to cry? "Now I'm finally at ease," the taxi driver said as they started moving, picking up the walkie-talkie and announcing, "Hey, take me to Lao San Street—go around the Nan City Expressway. Keep me updated on any traffic conditions, so I don't end up taking unnecessary detours." Whether it was taking a detour or using the in-car walkie-talkie, Qin Feng hadn't given it much thought. His memory of Ping'an City dated back over ten years, and he still wasn't sure how to get to Lao San Street from here. As the speed increased, a sense of urgency stirred within him—a killer who always kept his head tucked in his belt relied heavily on his sixth sense. And usually, that sixth sense was remarkably accurate, not only during missions, but even during the initial training exercises when the trainees had fought each other to the point of mutual casualties, saving him on several occasions. He glanced ahead, furrowed his brow, and suddenly said, "Master, we've taken a wrong turn, haven't we? With your current route, we're moving farther and farther from Old Third Street." "We haven't taken a wrong turn at all!" the taxi driver's eyes betrayed clear signs of panic—he was lying. In truth, Qin Feng had no clear idea whether the route was correct or not; he was merely testing the situation. "Stop the car. Where exactly are you taking me?" Qin Feng demanded coldly, one hand reaching toward the strangulation cord hidden in his belt, the other already ready to knock out the driver. Seeing his cover blown, the driver spoke in a hurried tone, "We haven't made a mistake at all—we're here now!" "Zzzh... The wheels emit a sharp screech. The car, which had been moving at a moderate pace, suddenly decelerates and swerves to a halt across the roadside. The taxi driver opens the door and rushes out, but he still misses his mark—秦烽 delivers a well-aimed cut to the back of his neck, sending him forward as his upper body has already extended beyond the doorframe. Though not life-threatening, this blow is sufficient to keep him unconscious for several hours. How could Qin Feng have possibly intended to kill him, when he still hadn't fully grasped the situation? Qin Feng shook his head with a苦笑. He had always been the one launching ambushes on others—never before had he, upon returning to his long-missed homeland, been ambushed himself. He remained calm, opening the car door and stepping out of his seat. Leading the group was a lean, tall man in his thirties who asked, "You're Qin Feng, the one who defeated Chen Hu on Old Street Three yesterday, right?" The fact that they could name him correctly indicated they had come prepared. Qin Feng shrugged. "That's me. Who are you people?" "Who we are doesn't matter," the tall man said with a sniff. "All that matters is this: today, one year from now, will be your funeral day!" Qin Feng replied with a look of disdain. "Just you and your few companions? I suspect you'll be disappointed." "Hah! We know you're strong," the tall man said, "but no matter how strong you are, can you outpace a bullet?" With a glance, he signaled several of the others, who, still holding their hands empty, quickly drew their handguns from their waistbands.