Li Bai wasn't the only one who looked down on the Japanese people's money.
More importantly, there had been too many troubles and headaches lately. He didn't want to bring a whole new heap of trouble upon himself.
As for the Senkai Association's threats, he'd deal with them when they came knocking.
At worst, he could unleash the power of money and let those guys taste the iron fist of capitalism.
Yamamoto Takeo's chest heaved several times, and the corners of his mouth twitched as he gradually steadied his breathing.
Although he'd been mentally prepared, he'd still been so thoroughly rebuffed that he'd nearly gotten hurt.
This Chinese doctor's gift of the gab rivaled Zhuge Liang's during China's Three Kingdoms period. He could not only anger someone until they spat blood, but also drive them to their death.
There was no longer a Zhou Yu around, and nobody else could stand up to him.
Ever since Li Bai had given him a hard time, Yamamoto Takeo, who'd never had any of the three highs, had developed all three.
He was absolutely certain that just now, his blood pressure had soared past the normal threshold.
The conversation had reached an impasse.
"Anything else?"
Li Bai gradually polished off the snacks on his plate. At that moment, he was quite satisfied.
With Zhao Aiguo, a hulking muscleman, holding down the fort at the tavern in his place, the local dark-skinned chefs had probably been getting plenty of pointers. The food tasted more and more authentic.
Unless you paid close attention, it would be hard to notice the difference in flavor.
Those dark-skinned chefs just loved pouring in oil and liquor. Their food was not only greasy, but often reeked of alcohol, too.
The local dark-skinned patrons and mercenaries who came to eat