Liu Yutong sighed helplessly and glanced at Yun Cheng.
Understanding her intention, Yun Cheng reached out and picked up a massive steamed crab. He then grabbed two tubes of wasabi, squeezed every last drop onto the shell, and handed it to Zhao Junjie with an impassive expression.
"Mr. Zhao, eat it all. No wasting."
Zhao Junjie stared at the crab smothered in wasabi, his face turning as green as the condiment.
The pungent, spicy fumes assaulted his nostrils, making his eyes water instantly.
He had never liked wasabi to begin with, and this amount was practically lethal. Eating it would surely burn his insides to a crisp.
Yet he didn’t dare refuse—Zhang Feiyang’s fate was a stark reminder of what defiance could bring.
Trembling, Zhao Junjie accepted the crab, mentally cursing Yun Cheng and Liu Yutong’s ancestors eighteen generations back.
Just as he was about to peel the shell open—
Yun Cheng’s icy voice cut in again: "No wasting."
Zhao Junjie: "…"
He got the message. He was expected to eat the shell too.
Damn it, you ruthless bastard!
With a gritted resolve, a hint of reckless defiance flashed in his eyes. He opened his mouth wide and took a savage bite.
CRUNCH!
An indescribable explosion of spice erupted in his mouth!
Zhao Junjie’s eyes bulged instantly. Tears and snot gushed uncontrollably, smearing his entire face.
Yun Cheng, ever considerate, gave a casual wave.
Two men in black stepped forward, promptly plopping a trash bin over Zhao Junjie’s head before hauling him out of the room by his arms.
They didn’t want his retching to ruin the young mistress’s appetite.
Soon, the muffled sounds of Zhao Junjie’s agonized screams and violent retching echoed from outside, as if he were enduring some unspeakable torture. The sheer horror of it sent chills down everyone’s spines.
The private room fell into dead silence once more.
After a long pause, Liu Yutong spoke again:
"Seems Mr. Zhao is quite protective of his food, even eating in private. Well, let’s not mind him. Everyone, please don’t hold back—dig in."
At that, no one dared hesitate. They grabbed their chopsticks and began wolfing down the dishes like starved animals.
Liu Yutong didn’t stop them. She had already eaten and had no intention of competing with these hungry wolves.
Just as the group was devouring the meal (though inwardly trembling)—
Liu Yutong suddenly called out a name: "President Mao, is the food to your liking?"
Mao Yong, a middle-aged man, stiffened before hurriedly nodding. "Very much, very much! The dishes Miss Liu chose are excellent."
Liu Yutong gave a slight nod. "Good. President Mao, I’d like to introduce someone to you."
She gestured to the man beside her. "This is Mr. Lin Muyang. He’d like to discuss some business with you—if that’s convenient?"
Mao Yong relaxed slightly upon hearing it was just business. "Of course, of course! What kind of business did Mr. Lin have in mind?"
Lin Muyang knew it was his cue. He stood, raising his wine glass.
But Mao Yong reacted faster. He sprang up, glass in hand, and rushed over before Lin Muyang could take a step.
"Mr. Lin, Mr. Lin, you’re too kind! I should be the one toasting you."
With that, he firmly pressed Lin Muyang back into his seat, then threw his head back and downed the entire glass of baijiu in one go.
Lin Muyang took a symbolic sip before cutting to the chase.
"I’ve heard your company holds a vast library of film and music copyrights. Would you be open to transferring those rights to me?"
Mao Yong’s heart plummeted.
Those copyrights were his company’s golden geese—CD sales, ringtone royalties, radio plays—they accounted for over half of the company’s revenue.
Lin Muyang asking for them was like demanding a pound of his flesh.
Before he could muster a refusal, Lin Muyang added, "Of course, I’m only interested in the digital streaming rights. If you’re unwilling to sell the others, I won’t insist."
He remembered Liu Yutong’s advice clearly: Prioritize securing the digital rights. The rest can wait.
(Also, the full package was way too expensive.)
Mao Yong exhaled in relief.
Digital rights weren’t currently lucrative—online piracy was rampant, and even major platforms often delayed or outright refused to pay royalties.
Still, he wasn’t eager to sell. He believed that as public awareness of copyright grew—especially with the explosive rise in internet users—these rights would skyrocket in value.
Forcing a smile, Mao Yong said, "Mr. Lin, while I’d love to transfer the digital rights, they’re a core asset of Miracle Sound & Vision. The licensing chains are complex, involving numerous partners. It’d take time to untangle. Perhaps… we could start with a preliminary agreement?"
His plan was simple: stall. Once he made it back to Bright Pearl City safely, he’d be beyond their reach.
Surely they wouldn’t chase him all the way there?
And if they dared cause trouble in Bright Pearl City, he’d teach these provincial thugs a lesson in civilized law!
Lin Muyang had anticipated this. Liu Yutong had warned him on the ride over—these old foxes never yielded easily. Preparation was key.
So he theatrically pulled out his phone and made a call.
Moments later, a lawyer entered, retrieving a document from his briefcase and handing it to Lin Muyang.
Lin Muyang slid it across the table to Mao Yong.
"President Mao, you’re right—copyrights are complicated. To save time and show goodwill, I’ve prepared a draft agreement with a bundled offer."
"Take a look."
Mao Yong’s stomach sank again.
They’d even drafted the paperwork. They weren’t letting him leave this room without a deal.
Steeling himself, Mao Yong picked up the document and began reading.
To his surprise, his expression shifted slightly.
Contrary to his fears of a predatory lowball offer, Lin Muyang’s price was fair—aligned with market rates.
The valuation of his tens of thousands of film and music digital rights matched previous professional appraisals.
Yet suspicion lingered.
Would these gangsters really play fair?
Or was there another game afoot?
Though Mao Yong's resistance had lessened considerably, he couldn't help saying, "President Lin, this is a deal worth tens of millions. I’d like to take the contract back and review it carefully..."
Lin Muyang was just about to respond when a stern voice of police officers questioning someone suddenly came from outside the private room, followed by Zhao Junjie’s agitated accusations.
The door to the room was pushed open again.
A group of officers entered, led by a visibly distressed Zhao Junjie—his face flushed, tears and mucus streaking down his cheeks.
…………
