I started by submitting to the Douluo Continent, and the nation helped me become a god.

Chapter 79 Gentlemen!

"interesting."

"It's actually a multinational corporation backing us?" Li Fulan's tone was thoughtful, and the rhythm of her fingers tapping her knees quickened slightly.

Lin An nodded, his expression showing no surprise whatsoever.

"Professor Zhu's paper published in an overseas journal has a very problematic stance." Lin An put down his coffee cup, his finger casually tracing circles on the rim. "That feeling of something being off is like a dish that doesn't fit into a table of delicious food; the taste is very jarring. We noticed him a long time ago."

He paused, a slight smile playing on his lips: "This scholar has cultivated his reputation in academia for over thirty years, appearing on the surface as a renowned expert in social culture, but behind the scenes he has been engaging in activities that violate academic ethics. Today, it's time to clarify the truth."

The images on the screen continued to play.

The atmosphere inside the sealed room was heavy, with a subtle tension permeating the air. Light streamed down from the old-fashioned chandeliers overhead, illuminating each person's face with sharp contours and creating an interplay of light and shadow.

The elderly man, referred to as Professor Zhu, held a neatly bound research document in both hands, his movements cautious and solemn. He leaned slightly forward and handed the document to the person opposite him, referred to as "Mr. Yamamoto," maintaining the restraint of an academic discussion.

"This is all the preliminary analysis we've compiled so far." Professor Zhu's voice was steady, but one could vaguely detect his seriousness. "The relevant data does show some unique patterns, but we still need to further study the core operating mechanism..."

He spoke while his gaze was fixed intently on the document in his hand, occasionally glancing up at the other person with a serious expression.

The person in charge, referred to as Mr. Yamamoto, took the document with steady movements. He flipped through a few pages, his gaze carefully moving across the paper. The cover of the document was simple and professional, standing out prominently in the quiet conference room.

"Baka!"

Yamamoto uttered a Japanese swear word, and his previously calm face instantly contorted into a grimace. His narrow eyes flashed with a chilling light, like two poisoned daggers, staring intently at Zhu Bingfu, as if he wanted to pierce the old man with holes.

"I gave you funding and equipment, not for you to perform this calisthenics for me!" Yamamoto's voice was deep yet imposing, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth, filled with gritted hatred. "Stretching muscles and bones? Pouncing on breath? Are you insulting my intelligence? If you continue to be so presumptuous, I'll retire and go back to my hometown!"

As he spoke, he slammed his right hand heavily on the round table, causing the teacups on it to tremble. That sudden outburst of anger was like a bucket of ice water poured over the heads of everyone present, making the temperature in the secret room seem to drop by more than ten degrees.

Zhu Bingfu trembled with fright, his face, covered with age spots, instantly turning ashen white, even his lips losing all color. He fell to his knees with a thud, his knees hitting the hard marble floor with a dull thud.

He bowed repeatedly, his forehead almost touching the ground, his waist bent at nearly a ninety-degree angle. His groveling and fawning manner showed no trace of the dignity expected of a university professor.

"Yamamoto-kun, please calm down! Yamamoto-kun, please calm down!" His voice trembled, like air leaking from a broken bellows. "It's my fault for not doing a good job and for letting you down! Please give us some more time, next time we'll definitely... next time we'll definitely get our hands on the core secrets!"

"Next time? Will you ever have a next time?"

Before he could finish speaking, a sudden change occurred.

"Snap!"

The crisp clanging of metal echoed throughout the sealed room. The pampered "elites" gasped in shock; some screamed, some cursed, and some stared wide-eyed in disbelief at their bound hands.

Yamamoto's expression changed drastically, and for the first time, astonishment appeared on his usually arrogant face. He tried to stand up abruptly, only to find that his hands were also firmly locked.

Just then, the shadow that had been standing quietly in the corner of the secret room suddenly twisted eerily.

The shadow, like an inkwell stirred by something, began to slowly flow and churn. As if ink had been dripped into clear water, several black figures emerged from the shadow without warning. These figures were completely shrouded in black combat uniforms, wearing masks, revealing only pairs of cold, emotionless eyes.

Their movements were incredibly fast, without a word, without any hesitation, and not even a sound could be heard. They were like a group of silent ghosts, moving through the secret room and leaving only afterimages in their wake.

A flash of cold light appeared, and before the bodyguards guarding the door could even reach for their weapons, they collapsed limply to the ground. A thin line of blood appeared on their necks, the mark of some extremely sharp blade, clean and swift, without even a splatter of blood.

The next second, the cold blade was already pressed against Zhu Bingfu and Yamamoto's necks. The blade gleamed with a sinister light, so sharp that a single, light stroke could sever a person's head.

"Shadow Guard, close the net."

As Lin An calmly uttered those four words into the walkie-talkie, his voice was so calm and even, as if he were merely instructing a servant to pour a cup of tea, rather than declaring the fate of a group of traitors.

The image on the screen froze on Zhu Bingfu's face, contorted with extreme terror. His cloudy old eyes were wide open, almost popping out of their sockets. His lips trembled violently, as if trying to say something, but no sound came out; only a series of incoherent sobs squeezed out from deep in his throat.

And Yamamoto, standing beside him, finally showed a look of fear on his usually arrogant face.

Li Fulan whistled, a light and casual sound that contrasted sharply with the frozen terror on the screen. He picked up the remote and turned off the television, plunging the screen into darkness, and the distorted faces finally disappeared from view.

"Cut-off," he commented, casually tossing the remote back onto the coffee table. "But what will become of these people?"

Lin An put down his coffee cup, the porcelain cup clinking against the tray with a crisp sound that was particularly clear in the quiet lounge. He stood up, straightened his perfectly wrinkle-free collar, his movements elegant and composed, as if he had just watched an insignificant movie.

"Traitors who attempt to betray and subvert our country will ultimately be nailed to the pillar of historical shame."