It was the same conference room.
A year ago, Wang Xiaoliang had sat here bidding, his palms sweating and his thigh muscles drawn tight.
He had been nervous, but more than that, excited.
Today, he was back in the same seat.
He was still nervous, but mostly afraid-afraid of losing the operating rights to his three stores.
Anger had replaced his excitement, too.
Times had changed.
Fuck, what right do they have to force us out?
Cold air blasted from the louvered vent overhead, straight onto his neck.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
Cold.
But the anger in his chest kept surging.
They had dragged this out for a full hour.
A textbook battle of endurance. Just leaving them waiting.
At first, a dozen or so owners had gathered to curse, pounding the table and shouting about putting up protest banners and taking their complaints to the Education Bureau.
The more they talked, the angrier they grew, and the louder their voices became.
Half an hour later, the cursing had dropped several notches.
The little clusters gradually broke up.
Forty minutes in, a few slipped into the corridor to smoke, cupping their phones as they called around for connections.
Fifty minutes in, all that remained in the conference room was the rustle of shaking legs and one sigh after another.
The door opened.
Seven people filed in.
Wang Xiaoliang looked them over. Huang Xueli was second from last, clutching a black leather notebook, his chin nearly touching his chest. He never once glanced toward the audience.
Feng Yuan was not there.
On an occasion like this, Feng Yuan could not even qualify for a seat at the table.
Sun Wenbin came in third. The moment he entered, his eyes met Wang Xiaoliang's, filled with hostility.
The seven pulled