Wolves of Dragon City

Chapter 21 — Counting the Cost

The name Fuman Tower alone smelled of old overseas Chinese culture—and for good reason. The place was actually owned by the Fu Chamber of Commerce: four floors, interiors drenched in red and gold so thoroughly it felt like a palace dining hall. Fuman’s business model aimed at the masses—affordable dishes, crowds of middle- and lower-class customers—so the clientele was always a mixed bag. Drunken brawls were hardly rare. Add to that the restaurant’s status as a go-to neutral ground for the Fu Chamber, and you get the local custom: when two gangs or factions wanted to “settle numbers,” they came here to talk it out—“jiang shu,” as the underworld put it.

Given the recent hatred between the Su–Liu–Bai–Kong bloc and Changqing, tonight had the smell of fireworks.

On the top floor, in the largest private room, Li Hongze, Lu Feng, and six or seven of Changqing’s lieutenants lounged across the south-side sofas. When Su Tianyu, Su Tianbei, Kong Zhenghui, Liu Lao’er and their entourage arrived, five respectful juniors sat primly at the dining table while the main negotiators took the north-side sofas. The room itself was one hundred and sixty-odd square meters—spacious, designed to impress—and with Li Hongze’s party facing south, they held the ostentatious advantage.

When everyone settled, the older Liu Lao’er bowed his head and tried to smooth the air. “Mr. Li, if we hadn’t been pushed this far, none of us would have come to Changqing. The prior clashes were unavoidable—we hope you can understand.”

Liu was the classic middle-aged everyman: burned-out, cautious, with no appetite for high-risk gambits. He’d long ago traded youthful fire for the safety of the status quo.

Li waved a hand, the movement casual, face smiling. “Spare the pleasantries. We’re all here—let’s get to business.”

“Right,” Liu said, relief leaking through his voice.

“Since Director Wang’s involved, we’ll read the room and stop where we must,” Li said with feet crossed, voice even. “We’ll release the men we held, and let Lu Feng’s boys be the end of the matter. From now on, sanitation in Zhanan—each to their own. Keep to your patch, and we will all prosper.”

Liu visibly relaxed; the solution sounded fair. He started to nod.

“... That won’t do.” Before Liu could speak, Su Tianyu cut in.

Li turned his head toward Tianyu, eyes asking rather than accusing.

Tianyu’s tone stayed even. “We’re small and low-profile. We live off thin margins; we can’t afford being crushed. But these incidents aren’t just bumps you smooth over with a word.”

A middle-aged thug at Li’s left bristled. “Then what do you want?”

“You compensate.” Tianyu’s words were blunt. “Our workers were maimed. Our depot was smashed and burned. My second brother was stabbed and nearly killed. Those are real losses—this isn’t petty anymore. You can’t just call it ‘bumping’ and walk away.”

A hush fell. Lu Feng fiddled with the teacups and said nothing.

Li gave a faint chuckle and asked, “How much then?”

“Sixty thousand,” Kong’s man, Kong Zhenghui, answered before Tianyu could—firm, businesslike.

“Sixty grand? Are you kidding me?” the thug snapped, standing up with a growl. “You think we’re giving you cash just because you squealed at the papers? We came to give face to Director Wang and Yu Jinrong—don’t get cocky!”

Kong didn’t flinch. “I spent close to twenty thousand on media work already. We laid the groundwork; you only sit down to negotiate because we forced it. You should reimburse that too.”

Li frowned, weighed the room, then—after a beat—said nothing.

Tianyu and Kong exchanged looks. Li Hongze felt the pressure: if this spiraled into a major public case—with the floral-shirt thug, the restaurant shooting, the arson, the maimings—then Changqing risked being branded a violent monopoly. That label would be poison for anyone who’d backed them, including Zheng Fu’an’s allies. Li still had leverage—the Su–Liu–Bai–Kong elders were detained—but the calculus was changing. Paying out cash now could buy a way to breathe.

He nodded once. “Sixty thousand in cash, is that it?”

“That’s it,” Tianyu answered.

“Fine.” Li rose, expression controlled. He looked at Lu Feng and said flatly, “You screwed this up. Make the payout arrangements.”

Lu Feng nodded, silent.

Li motioned them to remain seated, and—without ceremony—he and three men exited the room.

The air tightened. Lu Feng watched the group and gave a low order: “Get the finance people here. Sixty thousand, now.”

A finance clerk returned soon, carrying two plastic bags. “Counted,” he said.

Lu Feng pointed and flicked his cigarette. “Take it.”

Liu Lao’er watched Lu Feng’s brow sweat; White (Bai) Hongbo could feel the fever in the room. Tianyu and Kong rose at the same time, grabbed the bags, and said in unison, “Thank you, Mr. Li.”

“Let’s go,” Su Tianbei barked.

Then everything lost a hair of grace.

The thug who’d stood earlier—liquor-stiff and brutal—burst into the room brandishing a blade. “You take it? You really going to take it?!” he roared.

“Don’t be reckless, there are cops downstairs,” Bai tried to calm him, standing up.

The man snarled, “I know there are cops. I’ll gut you here and toss the knife down the stairs. Jail five years? Fine. Long as I take a few with me.”

Tianyu didn’t hesitate. He dropped the money, grabbed a decorative floor lamp next to the sofa, and strode straight at Lu Feng.

“You want me to do this again? Try me,” Tianyu said, voice flat. “You standing like a deflated dog—got something to say?”

Smash.

The lamp swung like a battering ram. Lu Feng leapt, blocked it with an upraised arm, and all at once the room exploded into fists and steel. Chairs toppled, dishes shattered. The bouncer lunged. The thug slashed out. Men converged, pushing and cursing.

What started as negotiation raged into chaos in a heartbeat—exactly the kind of violent flare the city hated, and exactly the kind of moment that could undo any deal made that night.