The atmosphere in the VIP lounge was eerie in the extreme.
After finishing his call, Fatty Wang was drenched in cold sweat. Like a frightened quail, he huddled trembling in a corner, not daring to breathe too loudly.
Chen Lin, meanwhile, leaned back serenely on the leather sofa, lifted a cup of black tea, and gently blew on the steam.
Zhang Ruoxi stood obediently behind him, her slender, fair fingers massaging his shoulders with just the right pressure.
Both looked relaxed, as though they were vacationing in their own backyard rather than causing trouble on someone else's heavily guarded turf.
Half an hour later.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Bang!
The two heavy solid-wood doors were shoved open roughly.
Zhang Cheng strode in with a thick Cuban cigar clenched between his teeth. Four burly foreign men with sinister eyes followed behind him.
The four men exuded a heavy air of bloodshed, and the bulges beneath their suit jackets at their waists made it obvious they were armed.
Having operated in Macau for years, Zhang Cheng had connections everywhere. Both the underworld and the authorities showed him a measure of respect.
He paid no heed whatsoever to the young outsider who had come to challenge him.
He waved a hand.
As though granted a pardon, Fatty Wang hurried out with several of his men, closing the doors tightly behind them.
Zhang Cheng swaggered over and sat opposite Chen Lin, crossing his legs. He exhaled a thick smoke ring and surveyed Chen Lin arrogantly from head to toe.
"Young man! I don't believe we've met." Holding his cigar between his fingers, Zhang Cheng pointed at Chen Lin. "Out with it. What do you want from me? You're the first person in Macau who's dared make me come down to meet him personally."