The country entrusted me to buy an aircraft carrier, Hou Liangping, do you dare to investigate?

After the match began, the two players exchanged shots, their movements seemingly casual, yet both wore scrutinizing eyes. Huang Feipeng's every shot was full of power and speed, but he maintained a calm, analytical mind. He secretly observed his opponent's actions, trying to find clues in every move. His opponent reacted quickly, returning the ball cleanly and crisply, seemingly focused entirely on the game. However, Huang Feipeng knew that the true purpose hidden beneath the surface was deeply concealed.

During a return shot, Huang Feipeng deliberately reduced the force of his touch, gently hitting the ball to his opponent's left side, forcing them to adjust their footwork to receive it. His opponent hesitated slightly upon receiving the ball, quickly concealing it, but this fleeting weakness did not escape Huang Feipeng's notice. He smiled inwardly, seemingly having already seen through his opponent's flaw.

"Your reaction time is still so quick," Huang Feipeng said with a smile, seemingly a casual compliment, but his gaze remained fixed on the other man's expression. He wanted to know if this compliment would elicit any reaction from him. The other man gave a faint smile and calmly replied, "How can I compare to you, Brother Huang? Your technique is still more precise."

The two continued the match, but the atmosphere grew increasingly subtle. Each round was like a psychological battle, ostensibly a contest of skill, but in reality a clash of wits and judgment. Huang Feipeng's every move was meticulously calculated; he not only had to conceal his true intentions but also try to glean information from his opponent's reactions.

As the match progressed, Huang Feipeng's opponent seemed to sense his composure and calmness. His eyes became more alert, and the power of his returns varied, as if testing Huang Feipeng's intentions. Huang Feipeng inwardly sneered, knowing his opponent's patience was being gradually worn down. The match had reached a fever pitch, with both sides trying to seize the initiative, yet neither revealed their hand.

Just then, Huang Feipeng suddenly changed his strategy, deliberately hitting the ball extremely wide, and said with a hint of amusement, "Looks like I haven't been in good form lately, my touch isn't as accurate as before." His words carried a touch of self-deprecation, as if it were just an unintentional mistake, but in fact, it was deliberate. He wanted to see if his opponent would relax at this moment, lower their guard, and thus reveal an opening.

As expected, his opponent smiled slightly, a hint of disdain in his eyes, seemingly believing Huang Feipeng was indeed growing tired. He seized the opportunity to hit a quick return shot, carrying a sharp force, aimed directly at Huang Feipeng's face. Huang Feipeng calmly watched the rapidly approaching ball, a sharp glint in his eyes. With a slight flick of his wrist, he gently swung his racket, accurately returning the ball to his opponent's corner.

The opponent clearly hadn't expected Huang Feipeng to handle the situation so calmly. His expression changed slightly, and he hurriedly chased after the ball, but he was a step too late. Seeing the change in his opponent's expression, Huang Feipeng already knew the answer he wanted—the subtle attitude his opponent displayed during this game had inadvertently revealed certain information.

After the match, both men were covered in sweat and panting as they walked to the side to rest. Huang Feipeng casually picked up a water bottle, took a few sips, and looked at his partner with a smile: "Not bad, you were in great shape today."

The other person forced a smile, a hint of displeasure in their eyes, but still pretended to be casual and said, "Maybe it's because you've been practicing a lot lately, Brother Huang's touch is still as good as ever."

Huang Feipeng smiled, but a hint of doubt arose in his heart regarding the other person's form of address. Every word the other person spoke seemed casual, yet carried a sense of estrangement, as if deliberately maintaining a certain distance. He began to doubt how much this so-called "friend" truly knew about him, or perhaps the other person had never truly considered him a friend, but rather was more like a hidden surveillance agent.

“We can have another match sometime. I wasn’t in great form today, but I’ll definitely do better next time,” Huang Feipeng said casually, secretly observing the other person’s reaction. He noticed a flicker in the other person’s eyes, as if they didn’t expect any further contact with him. Huang Feipeng immediately understood that the other person’s probing was over, and he needed to be careful from now on.

On his way out of the stadium, Huang Feipeng pondered for a moment, then adjusted his pace and casually said goodbye to the other person: "See you next time." He waved calmly, watching the other person turn and leave, his eyes filled with a deep meaning.

Huang Feipeng's barbecue restaurant is located at the entrance of a slightly secluded alley. The shop is small, but the decoration is simple and clean. The wooden sign at the door reads "Brother Peng's Barbecue" in bold but messy handwriting. A unique aroma of charcoal fire wafts from outside, and as night falls, the aroma spreads along the entire alley on the breeze, attracting the attention of passersby.

Huang Feipeng never imagined he would one day actually run a barbecue restaurant. He used to enjoy a fast-paced life, busy day after day, chasing a kind of inexplicable sense of accomplishment. However, in recent years, the weariness he had accumulated had nowhere to go. For him, the barbecue restaurant was a form of liberation, and also a disguise. In this unassuming little shop, he could temporarily escape the layers of pressure and blend into the lives of ordinary people. But he knew this tranquility was fleeting. This barbecue restaurant might be his safe haven, or it might be the best cover for concealing his true identity.

On opening night, he personally busied himself in the kitchen, wearing a simple apron and holding an iron skewer, repeatedly turning the meat skewers over the charcoal fire until they gradually turned an enticing golden brown. Waves of heat from the charcoal fire swept over him, and smoke carrying a rich aroma rose up, the sizzling sound of grilling particularly clear in the quiet night. A light sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his arms glistened in the firelight. He focused intently on each skewer, skillfully sprinkling salt and cumin powder on the grilled meat, and finally carefully placing them on a plate with tongs.

"Boss, you're still open so late?" A man who looked haggard walked in from the door and sized up Huang Feipeng. The man was dressed in tattered clothes, with some tattoos on his arms that hadn't completely faded, and his eyes revealed a sense of exhaustion.

Huang Feipeng looked up and smiled, handing the plate to the man. He said in a friendly tone, "It's alright, we're busy since we just opened. Come try my signature lamb skewers." His words were casual and gentle, instantly instilling a sense of trust. The man picked up a skewer of lamb, took a bite, and closed his eyes slightly, seemingly savoring the unique aroma and tender texture of the charcoal grill.