"Hey boss, four steaks, quick! The game's about to start, and we still have to drive over."
Four men walked in, loudly placing their orders. Judging by their jerseys—black Spurs gear—and their youthful appearance, probably around thirty, they were clearly basketball fans.
Hearing the commotion, Jiang Hai glanced up at them.
The group found a table and immediately launched into an animated discussion about tonight's game.
"There's a Spurs game tonight?" Jiang Hai muttered. He usually didn't follow the NBA too closely.
Although he used to enjoy watching basketball, his interests had shifted recently. These days, he preferred American TV dramas and variety shows. A few examples came to mind—shows like Lustful Slave and Spartacus. Well, they were great dramas—nothing contrary to socialist values. In fact, they were suitable for viewers from toddlers to the elderly and very well produced.
Still, he couldn't help but be curious about basketball again when he heard these fans talking.
"Of course, boss. It's the regular season—Spurs vs. Raptors tonight. San Antonio's got this in the bag," one of the fans, a white guy, turned and answered loudly.
His words sparked a series of excited cheers from others in the restaurant. It was clear that the Spurs had serious local support—and it was understandable.
The Spurs had won five championships since their founding, and since 1998, they had rarely disappointed.
They picked Duncan after a rough season and clinched a title in 1999, toppled the peak Lakers in 2003, took down the Pistons in 2005 after they dismantled the Lakers' "Big Four," and beat a prime LeBron James in 2007. They had been playoff regulars ever since.
In 2013 and 2014, they made it to the Finals two years in a row and used their "old arms and legs" to dismantle Miami's Big Three. The Spurs were undeniably one of the top teams in the league now.
Jiang Hai had started watching basketball because of Yao Ming on the Rockets. Later, he fell in love with the fast-paced Phoenix Suns. Their explosive style was thrilling, but during their peak seasons, they were always eliminated—by the Spurs.
At first, Jiang Hai couldn't stand the Spurs. To him, they played dull basketball—crushing opponents slowly without giving them any breathing room. But over the years, the Spurs evolved. Their offense became smooth and powerful, and Jiang Hai eventually became a fan.
He usually watched the games from home, but now that he was actually in San Antonio, and with the opportunity right in front of him, he turned to Pra Walton and Cheryl Lee for their thoughts.
"I don't really get it," Cheryl said after exchanging a glance with Pra, "but if you want to go, let's go."
Cheryl's gaze fell on Pra, as if to say it was her call. After a moment's thought, Pra agreed. They didn't have anything planned for the evening anyway, and they'd just spent a rather energetic afternoon in bed. If Jiang Hai wanted to go, she was fine going too.
Jiang Hai gave a quiet cheer and pulled out his phone to buy tickets.
The Spurs had a dedicated fanbase thanks to their consistent performance and playoff runs. And with their improved play style in recent years, they had only gained more fans. Still, the local market wasn't as fervent as some places. Unless it was a playoff game or a marquee matchup, tickets were relatively easy to get.
Jiang Hai didn't want to sit too far back, though, so he chose seats in the front row—right behind the Spurs' bench. Naturally, they weren't cheap. The Spurs' popularity meant their prices weren't going to be as low as a team like the Bucks.
He bought four tickets and, along with his group, quickly finished their meal. Just as they were about to leave the restaurant, another group walked in.
Unlike the casual fans earlier, this group looked like typical "successful" types—all suits and ties. The man leading them had a smile plastered on his face as he introduced the riverside area to the others.
Usually, strangers would simply pass by each other. But the restaurant's entrance was narrow, and this group didn't bother lining up. They just crowded in.
Jiang Hai, now in a rush, frowned but didn't say anything. This wasn't Winthrop—this wasn't his turf. Better to let it go and maintain his composure.
But if that had been the end of it, there'd be no need to elaborate further.
In the crowd, most eyes were focused on the restaurant. But some were distracted—by Cheryl Lee and Pra Walton.
Most men might have entertained a wandering thought or two, but refrained since the women had male company. However, one slick-looking white man, about thirty years old, didn't seem to care. With a grin, he tried to slide in front of Pra.
Jiang Hai didn't give him the chance. He stepped forward and blocked both women from the man's advance.
The man frowned but didn't back down. He sized Jiang Hai up and sneered, preparing to push past him.
But when their shoulders collided, his expression changed dramatically.
He hadn't expected Jiang Hai to be that strong. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, and his body staggered back instinctively.
"You hit me!" the man shouted, clutching his shoulder and glaring at Jiang Hai.
His outburst drew the attention of the suited group, and they rushed to his side.
Jiang Hai smirked. Were they trying to start a fight? He wasn't afraid.
But just as he was about to stretch and prepare for a confrontation, Connorson Peters stepped forward.
"Back off. Don't get close."
Seeing Connorson's massive frame, the others hesitated. One look at him was enough to know that causing trouble wasn't a wise move. They exchanged glances and stepped back.
At that moment, the restaurant owner—butcher and chef—stepped forward too.
"Hey, no fighting in here. Or I'm calling the cops."
Unlike Chinese restaurateurs who might try to mediate, American ones were direct. This guy had no problem calling the police.
The group backed off quickly, pretending everything was fine. They weren't actually here for a brawl. If they got hurt, it just wouldn't be worth it.
And although Jiang Hai didn't look flashy, the fact that he had bodyguards suggested he wasn't just any ordinary person.
"What's going on? Jiang Hai? Why are you here?"
A man from the outer edge of the suited group suddenly recognized him and walked over, clearly surprised.
Jiang Hai was surprised too—it was Roslin Carlett, one of his old rivals.
Carlett came from the Carlett Livestock Company. Their bad blood started when Paul Kaye tried to poach cattle from Jiang Hai's ranch. Later, at the New York State Cattle Expo, Carlett had challenged Jiang Hai—and got utterly humiliated.
Normally, Jiang Hai wouldn't have even remembered him, but given the context, it came back clearly.
"You? Got your job back already?" Jiang Hai crossed his arms, sneering. "Didn't your company fire you after last year's humiliation?"
Roslin's face darkened. "That's none of your business. What, the New York show wasn't enough for you? You think you can take on the National Beef Expo? Let me tell you—it's not like New York. There are serious competitors here."
Clearly, Roslin had already guessed Jiang Hai's purpose. He was here to compete—just like him.
Carlett Livestock normally didn't bother with national events. Their market was limited to the Northeast, and the competition here was brutal. But after being embarrassed by Jiang Hai last year, they had come south, hoping to avoid him.
Too bad. Fate had other plans.
And now, seeing Jiang Hai again, Roslin felt nothing but dread. He knew exactly how good Jiang Hai's beef was.
Jiang Hai, on the other hand, just shrugged. He had absolute faith in his cattle.
"Well, good luck," he said casually. "Let's go."
Roslin watched Jiang Hai and his group leave for the game.
"Who were those people?" asked the slick man nursing his shoulder. "That woman—she's something else."
Roslin hesitated, then smirked.
"Don't waste your time. The guy raises cattle in Boston—owns a small ranch. Not bad quality, honestly. He's probably here for the expo."
He had considered warning the guy, but on second thought… why not let him stir things up? If Jiang Hai got tangled up in drama, it might reduce the competition. If he didn't—well, it wasn't Roslin's problem.
The man stroked his chin with a sleazy grin. He wasn't one to give up easily. That woman… she was worth pursuing.
So what if she had a man? All flowers need a little soil loosened now and then.
As for Jiang Hai? Just a rancher. How powerful could he really be? With the right leverage, he might even play along.
And with that dangerous thought in mind, the man's intentions grew even stronger.
To be continued…