"Ten thousand? Fine. This dress is mine."
Jiang Hai heard the price, waved to Ai Xiaoxi, and pulled a wad of cash from his bag. He had withdrawn this money earlier, just in case he couldn't use his card to apply for a license plate at the vehicle management office after buying a car. As it turned out, they did accept cards, so Jiang Hai was left carrying 20,000 yuan in cash—and this ten thousand was part of that.
When Jiang Hai tossed the ten thousand yuan over, the man known as Hao Ge froze for a second. Truth be told, he was here to stir up trouble.
He never expected some leek-selling old guy to have that much cash on hand. But now, whether he liked it or not, he had to believe it.
"Alright, we're done here. You've got guts," he said. Although he'd come to make a scene, when faced with hard cash, even he decided to back off—for now. After all, these people were bound to come into town again.
He examined the money, saw it was enough, stuffed it into his pocket, and turned to leave.
"Hold on a second—aren't you forgetting something?" Jiang Hai called out as the man started to walk away.
"What? You planning to give me another ten thousand?" Zhang Hao asked, scowling.
"No. But that shirt you're wearing? It's mine now. So kindly take it off."
Jiang Hai's tone was calm, but his words made Zhang Hao's jaw drop. Still, he couldn't argue—Jiang Hai was technically right.
Zhang Hao glanced at one of his lackeys, who quickly ran to a nearby clothing stall and brought back another shirt. Without hesitation, Zhang Hao stripped in front of the crowd and tossed his original shirt at Jiang Hai's feet before changing into the new one.
"Now I'm really leaving," he muttered. Publicly changing clothes didn't bother him—he just found Jiang Hai amusing. He turned to leave again, chuckling.
But Jiang Hai wasn't done.
"What now?" Zhang Hao snapped, annoyed as he stopped once more.
"Your issue is settled. But my uncle's isn't." Jiang Hai pointed to Ai Xiaoxi's father, who was still recovering from the beating.
"There are eight footprints on him. Let's call that eight kicks. One million per kick—eight million.
And the leeks on the ground? Carefully raised by my uncle. Ten thousand each. I'll round it for you—twenty million. Pay up, and we'll call it even."
The bystanders gasped. Twenty million?! The words alone took courage to say, and yet Jiang Hai had said them with such ease that no one dared assume he was joking.
The color drained from Zhang Hao's face, and his expression darkened. He cracked his neck and strode toward Jiang Hai menacingly.
"You messing with me?" he asked coldly, his dead-fish eyes narrowing.
"Nope. I'm serious. And don't get so close—your breath stinks."
Zhang Hao's rage exploded.
"Get him! Beat that guy to death! Leave the woman to me!"
At his command, the lackeys charged. Seeing Jiang Hai standing still, they assumed he was frozen in fear. One launched a kick at his chest.
The blow landed—but Jiang Hai merely staggered back a step, then smiled.
"Self-defense, now," he muttered. After years in America, Jiang Hai had gotten good at using counterattacks as legal defense. He looked down at the footprint on his chest, chuckled, then swiftly dodged a second man's attack and slammed a backhand punch into his face.
The man's face caved under the force. He flew backward, crashing into a stall and collapsing, his nose broken and front teeth shattered. Blood covered his face.
But the others hadn't noticed yet.
Jiang Hai didn't hold back. He stepped in and struck another thug in the temple. The man crumpled sideways, likely with a severe concussion—he wasn't getting up anytime soon.
Another attacker swung at him. Jiang Hai ducked, seized his arm, and snapped it backward at the elbow.
"Aaaah!" the man howled as his arm bent unnaturally to a 90-degree angle.
The last thug—who had hesitated and lagged behind—froze in place, dumbstruck.
Ai Xiaohui and Ai Xiaoxi's father stood rooted in place, stunned. They had no idea Jiang Hai was this powerful—or this ruthless.
To Ai Xiaohui, Jiang Hai's tall figure now seemed even more towering. A young man with looks and explosive strength? Her heart couldn't help but stir with admiration.
Behind them, Zhang Hao looked on with a mix of fear, confusion, and seething hatred.
He hadn't expected Jiang Hai to be a martial artist.
Quietly, he pulled a switchblade from behind his waist. Then, as he shoved his dazed lackey forward—who stumbled toward Jiang Hai instinctively—he made his move.
Jiang Hai didn't care about the lackey. One kick to the face and the guy collapsed, groaning in pain and out of the fight.
"Die!" Zhang Hao roared, lunging at Jiang Hai with the knife aimed at his back.
Jiang Hai's eyes narrowed. He wants to kill me.
If this were the U.S., Jiang Hai wouldn't hesitate to kill in self-defense. But in China? He had to hold back.
He sighed. Sometimes the rules here really are a pain.
Still, just because he couldn't kill didn't mean he'd let things slide.
As the blade came at him, Jiang Hai grabbed Zhang Hao's knife hand with one arm, the elbow with the other, and twisted sharply. With a sickening motion, he redirected the blade into Zhang Hao's own shoulder.
"Aaaah!"
Zhang Hao screamed, stunned. He was just a local thug, good at picking fights, but this… this terrified him. Blood poured from his shoulder, and he collapsed, cradling his injury.
Jiang Hai dusted off his hands.
"With skills like that, you really thought you could pull this off?"
Just then, an old man stepped out from the crowd.
"Young man, you'd better run. Zhang Hao's uncle is the deputy director of the town's police station. We called the cops when the fight started—they'll be here soon. If you don't leave now, you won't be able to."
Jiang Hai smiled and nodded but didn't move.
Run? That word didn't exist in his vocabulary.
A deputy police director? So what?
Jiang Hai had plenty of influence—and money. Still, that didn't mean he'd just stand around.
He pulled out his phone and called Moses Adams. He didn't ask Moses to come in person—too much hassle—but asked him to recommend a top lawyer in China.
Moses, who had just been drifting off to sleep, immediately sat up and got to work. Within minutes, he gave Jiang Hai a number.
Jiang Hai called it.
Once he said his name, the lawyer on the other end grew instantly respectful. He was a top legal expert from Beijing. Though his reputation wasn't quite as famous as some others, his skills were rock-solid.
Normally, someone with Jiang Hai's net worth—ten billion RMB—wouldn't even approach him. But now? This was a huge opportunity. The lawyer agreed at once and booked a flight. He said he'd be there in about three hours.
Jiang Hai said nothing more and waited.
If the local police followed proper procedures, Jiang Hai would simply press charges against Zhang Hao and his men.
But if any shady business started?
Then he'd raise hell.
He wasn't bluffing. Jiang Hai had powerful connections—the Qi Group, the National Security Bureau. Institutions at the highest level. If push came to shove, he had the strength to tear the whole thing down.
Five minutes after he ended the call, several police cars pulled up.
Officers pushed through the crowd, their expressions hardening as they took in the scene.
"Who reported this?" a middle-aged officer shouted.
"Uncle Zheng! That kid stabbed me! You've got to get justice for me!"
Zhang Hao, lying on the ground and barely conscious from the pain, mustered up what strength he had to cry out to the officer.