Chapter 60 A Gentle Trap at the Feast of Hongmen (Part One)

Yang Changfeng was never one to tolerate troublemakers. Since that brat was clearly looking for a beating—and it wasn't illegal to oblige him—why not give him what he wanted? With a single slap, he knocked the boy out cold, then dragged him by the legs into the teahouse. Today was a day for fighting; better to strike first than hesitate, especially since words alone would never defeat an opponent.

A few people reading the notices at the teahouse door took one look and knew they couldn't afford to provoke him, so they scattered in haste.

The teahouse door was closed but not locked. Yang Changfeng pushed it open with one hand and tossed the unconscious boy aside like refuse, adding a kick that sent him crashing into a corner with a resounding bang against the wall.

The pain roused the boy, only for him to faint again.

When one steps out into society, shouldn't it be clear whom it's safe to provoke and whom it isn't?

Footsteps thundered on the stairs—six or seven young men rushed down, but they weren't there to start a fight; they were hurrying to shut the door.

"Our boss, Tiger Wang, is waiting upstairs," said a man who looked like the teahouse manager, inviting Yang Changfeng up.

Surveying the teahouse's decor, Yang Changfeng strode up the stairs with long, decisive steps, feeling almost regretful. Why wouldn't this gang give him a chance to use his fists?

Civilized people, after all, have no grounds to resort to violence without cause—such is the mark of refinement.

Perhaps those young men ought to be grateful to Yang Changfeng; it was his "refinement" that saved them.

The wooden stairs echoed underfoot, sometimes creaking and trembling—not from poor craftsmanship, but by deliberate design.

Tiger Wang sat in the second-floor hall, brewing tea with meticulous care, as if he were truly a connoisseur. Behind him stood two women in qipao, garishly dressed, yet of impressive quality—at least a seven out of ten.

Tiger Wang, holding a purple clay teapot, poured pale yellow tea into white porcelain cups. Glancing up at Yang Changfeng, he remarked coolly, "There’s no need to take out your anger on my men."

Anger? What anger could I possibly have? Yang Changfeng walked over, bent to examine the teapot and tea, then nodded with mock seriousness. "Not bad at all. You could easily make a living abroad as a kung fu tea performer. You’d earn good money."

Seating himself across from Tiger Wang, Yang Changfeng scanned the room and sneered, "Why bother setting an ambush? Planning to smash a cup as your signal? Dismiss them—or I’ll lay them out before I get to you."

Tiger Wang barked, "Watch your mouth!"

Without another word, Yang Changfeng seized a teacup and flung its contents at him. Tiger Wang dodged aside, but scalding tea splashed onto the arm of the woman in the blue qipao, making her wince and cry out, her eyes suddenly aglow with a pitiful, captivating anguish.

"Enough with the theatrics," Yang Changfeng said leisurely, picking up the purple clay teapot, scrutinizing it for a moment before setting it down again. "This isn’t your stage tonight. No women should have their throats cut here. I suggest you leave."

This was a teapot with a hidden compartment—inside were two types of tea, one good and one not. Clearly, Tiger Wang intended to tamper with the teapot.

But could it really be that simple?

Yang Changfeng didn’t expose him. His x-ray vision made him nearly omnipotent, but if he revealed the trick now, how could he embarrass Tiger Wang later?

Tiger Wang took deep breaths, calming his anger. He clapped his hands, and in moments, a dozen toughs emerged from behind curtains, private rooms, and even from downstairs. Some blocked the stairway; others stood guard outside the windows, clearly intent on preventing Yang Changfeng’s escape.

Someone shouted, "Yang, if you disrespect our boss, you disrespect us all. Prepare to die! You’re not leaving here today!"

"If I want to leave, which of you could stop me?" Yang Changfeng glanced at the two men blocking the stairs—both carried guns concealed under their clothes.

Yang Changfeng sat down, employing a subtle sleight of hand. His x-ray vision saw the teapot’s inner chamber rotate, blending two different liquids into a cup of tea with multiple sources.

He poured this into Tiger Wang’s cup, set the teapot down, and noticed a fleeting look of satisfaction in Tiger Wang’s eyes—proof that his scheme was working.

He wouldn’t be able to take Tiger Wang out completely, but getting him to trip over his own ploy was child’s play.

Tiger Wang hadn’t noticed Yang Changfeng’s deft movements; he only saw him pour a cup of tea.

This was the untainted tea, safe to drink.

Resuming his seat, Tiger Wang raised his cup. "If we can’t be friends, then let’s be enemies. For enmity’s sake, let’s drink—tea in place of wine!"

Yang Changfeng smiled. The woman in the red qipao approached, leaning over to pour his tea, her fragrance intoxicating—she had all the makings of a temptress.

Yet, after spending time with Chen Aijia and Anya, Yang Changfeng’s standards had risen to such heights that even these two beauties couldn’t shake his composure.

Tiger Wang downed his tea in one gulp, upended his cup, and fixed a piercing gaze on Yang Changfeng.

Yang Changfeng set down his cup carefully. "I have no reason to trust you. Your tea—no matter if you drink it yourself—I won’t touch it. Now, let’s get to the point. I’m here to inform you: return your illicit gains and turn yourself in. If you force my hand, you know I won’t be kind."

Tiger Wang said nothing. He poured himself another cup, drank slowly, then finally responded, "That’s your message. I have a proposal—why don’t you hear me out?"

He gestured to the two women. "Respectable girls—yours if you want them. If you tire of them, just discard them. No strings attached."

Yang Changfeng glanced at the woman in red, then at the one in blue whose expression faltered for a split second. He chuckled, "How generous of you, offering up others’ lives as tokens of goodwill."

"The teahouse business is good—I can give you a ten percent cut," Tiger Wang said casually, pouring himself more tea. "You won’t have to do much. Just stay out of company affairs."

So the Linjiang Teahouse was his—no wonder he had the nerve to confront me here.

Yang Changfeng understood. "I’m curious—no matter how much you embezzle from the company, as security captain you couldn’t have the whole finance department in your pocket. How do you actually pull it off?"

"Fishing for my secrets?" Tiger Wang waved for a Havana cigar, lit it, and took a deep, luxurious drag, chuckling. "It doesn’t matter if I tell you. Once you leave this room, I’ll deny everything. Even if you’re recording, it’s useless."

Such a small-minded approach.

Yang Changfeng laughed heartily. "No wonder you’re stuck sneaking around for petty cash. With such narrow vision, what more can you hope to do? Honestly, you should thank the company—if not for them, who else would take someone like you?"

"Shut up!" Tiger Wang’s men shouted.

The two with guns drew them, aiming at the back of Yang Changfeng’s head.

Meanwhile, the two women in qipao sat on either armrest of his chair, trembling slightly but wearing sweet, cloying smiles.

Were these Tiger Wang’s trump cards?

No, the night was still young—Tiger Wang had yet to reveal his true hand.