"Young master? What young master? What's young about me, huh? Son of a bitch—you old bastard, looking down on people, are you?" Zou Ruoguang's palm cracked across Kang's father's face, raising five red finger marks on his cheek.

Kang's mother heard the shouting and came hurrying out. Seeing her own man struck, she flared up at once: "Who are you? What do you think you're doing here?"

The sight of his wife sent a jolt through Kang's father; he frantically signaled her with his eyes. Were these people the likes of his family could afford to cross? Forcing a smile, he introduced them: "This is Boss Zhang, this is Boss Zou, and this here is... Brother Zou..."

Kang's father no longer dared call Zou Ruoguang "young master"; "Brother Zou" was the best he could manage. It rankled to call a man brother—someone years his junior, barely older than his own son—but there was no way around it.

"Old Kang, what do you think you're doing? They're here to pick a fight, aren't they? Call the police—call them this instant! I don't believe they can outgun 110!" Seeing her husband grovel so, Kang's mother grew frantic.

"Ha ha ha ha!" Zou Tiandi threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Call the police? Go on, call them! I'd love to see what the police can do to us. We're consumers—we've come for tea!"

"You hit people!" Kang's mother jabbed a finger at Zou Ruoguang.

"Hit someone? Did I? Did you see it, you old fossil—did I hit you?" Zou Ruoguang glared at Kang's father.

"N-no... no..." Kang's father knew these little thugs for what they were: calling the police wouldn't accomplish a thing. They hadn't done anything to you—just a slap across the face, hardly even a public-order offense. But the moment the officers left, you'd have hell to pay: they'd be back to harry you every single day.

Kang's mother stared, then realized these men were no ordinary customers out for a cup of tea. Whatever could make her husband this terrified must mean serious backing. But she didn't know who they were, so she looked at Kang's father in bewilderment.

Kang's father sighed and stepped closer, keeping his voice low: "Boss Zhang is Zhang Baji, who owns Baji Teahouse across the street. Boss Zou is Zou Tiandi, boss of Tiandi Entertainment. And the one with the yellow hair is Zou Ruoguang—the punk boss of the North District. We can't afford to cross any of them..."

"What! So it's them!" This time the names clicked into place, and she jumped too. Kang's mother had known about the petty tricks Zhang Baji was pulling; what she hadn't imagined was that his backers would be this formidable.

Zhang Baji, Zou Tiandi and Zou Ruoguang had naturally seen her face and knew Kang's father had spilled their identities. Zhang Baji said, very pleased with himself: "Boss Kang, I hear your teahouse isn't doing well and you're planning to put it up for transfer. I'd like to take it off your hands. Shall we talk?"

"Transfer it?" Kang's father blanked for an instant; then, taking in Zhang Baji's expression, he saw exactly what game was afoot. Wasn't this buying and selling by force, straight out of real life? Uncomfortable as it made him, he knew that if he went on like this the teahouse wouldn't be long from running at a loss—and letting it go would at least spare him the trouble. So he nodded. "I'm open to it. What price did you have in mind, Boss Zhang?"

"Well, I couldn't say, really. Big Brother Zou, why don't you put a value on it for me?" Zhang Baji turned to Zou Tiandi, feigning ignorance.

Kang's father and mother felt their hearts go cold. Zhang Baji ran a teahouse himself—did he really not know what one was worth? Who was he trying to fool? But the pose was plain: he was handing the pricing over to Zou Tiandi so that they wouldn't dare bargain.

"Let's see. Commercial units on this street run about ten thousand a square meter. Yours, upstairs and down, comes to two hundred square. I'll give you a flat price, round it off: two million."

"What?" Kang gaped at Zou Tiandi, dumbfounded. It was true that commercial premises on this street went for ten thousand a square meter—but that figure was figured on gross floor area. His teahouse had a usable area of two hundred square meters, yet nearly three hundred square meters gross; at the going rate it should fetch two point seven, two point eight million. And that was only for the property—the fit-out, the tea sets, the stock of rare and precious teas were worth a million on top of that. Once a buyer had offered him four million and he hadn't sold. Now Zou Tiandi was lopping off half in a single stroke?

"Ha ha, Dad—the old fossil's gone stupid from your price! I told you, you offered too much. This wreck of a teahouse is worth a million at the outside!" Zou Ruoguang cut in. "Uncle Zhang runs a teahouse; he knows the market. Am I right or not?"

"Whatever price Young Master Zou names, that's the price!" Zhang Baji nodded, then went on: "Still, since Brother Zou has had his say, I can't very well offer any less—two million, then! What do you say, Boss Kang?"

"This property of mine has a title deed. The gross floor area on it is two hundred and eighty square meters—and then there's the fit-out..." How could Kang sell the teahouse for two million? He'd been thinking that if Zhang Baji too would offer four million, he'd just let it go. But two million—that was nowhere near enough.

Bear in mind, the family lived right there in the teahouse. Sell it and they'd have to buy a place to live. Even now, if they didn't buy in a good spot downtown, a flat around Ningshi Road, hard by the shantytown, still ran over eight thousand a square meter—one apartment would cost better than a million. Two million, buy a home, and what was left? How was the family supposed to get by?

"Who buys decoration when they buy a house?" Zou Ruoguang spoke up again. "Old fossil, are you stupid? Never heard that money spent on fit-out is money thrown away? Nobody buying a second-hand place gives a damn about your renovations."

"That's..." Kang's father was choked speechless by the single retort. He didn't dare argue back—Zou Ruoguang was a punk boss, and the wrong word could earn him a beating. He wasn't about to cross him.

"Then let's call it settled. You say two hundred and eighty square meters—so two eighty: two point eight million!" Zhang Baji's own price in his head was actually four million. But he had sent word to Kang before, and Kang wouldn't sell at four million. Very well—if you won't sell, I'll just have to make you.

By now Zhang Baji naturally couldn't offer Kang's father four million; he had already paid Zou Tiandi five hundred thousand to see this business through, and Zou Tiandi had promised him the teahouse for no more than three million.

"Boss Zhang, when you do business there should be some fairness, after all... A while back, someone offered me four million for this teahouse..." Kang wasn't much of a hand at bargaining; he laid his cards on the table at once. "Tell you what—you give me four million, and I'll sell."

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