"Do you have a grudge against the Carlette Company?" Pravolton asked, her voice soft and breathless as she lay on Jiang Hai's chest, eyes half-closed.
Jiang Hai had one arm around her and the other wrapped around Cheryl Lee. Taking a couple of deep breaths to steady himself, he began to explain.
"This all started about a year ago. Carlette, as you know, is the biggest livestock company in the Northeast. My ranch hands originally wanted to sell our cattle to them. It wasn't their fault—they didn't realize how valuable my cattle were. The folks Carlette sent over were arrogant, so I made a bet with them: whether or not I could take first place at the New York State Livestock Show. You know how that turned out. I won, and they lost a ton of money. That's where the grudge came from."
He smiled at Pravolton as he spoke.
"Oh, that's it? Just regular business competition. Don't let it get to you." Pravolton closed her eyes, found a comfortable position on Jiang Hai's shoulder like a content kitten, and drifted toward sleep.
Jiang Hai followed suit, holding both women as he slowly began to fall asleep.
Unbeknownst to him, the people from earlier at the restaurant had left and continued their own conversations.
Later, Jiang Hai attended a Spurs home game. He had to admit, the team was impressive—easily one of the best in the league. Even the Raptors, one of the Eastern Conference's top three teams, were outmatched.
Still, something about the Spurs didn't sit right with him.
They lacked a true offensive superstar—the kind of player who could break through any defense.
Duncan used to be that guy, with an unstoppable turnaround shot. But now, with the team led by the Double D core, things felt shaky. Aldridge was inconsistent in the paint. He fared well against smaller, weaker defenders, but struggled when facing more physical opponents. He thrived at the four, but was underwhelming at the five.
Kawhi Leonard had the league's best defense at small forward, but his offense—particularly his ability to create off the dribble—still needed polish. His post-up game wasn't all that efficient either.
From Jiang Hai's perspective as a casual fan, the Spurs were strong contenders, but not quite championship material.
After the game, the group returned to the hotel. Naturally, Connorson Peters couldn't resist a late-night snack before calling it a night.
Back in their room, Jiang Hai, Pravolton, and Cheryl Lee had another round of fun. Fortunately, Jiang Hai wasn't an ordinary man—otherwise, he might've been completely drained.
Sometimes, he couldn't help but think that monogamy in civilized countries wasn't just about women's rights—it was also a way to protect men's longevity.
Holding both women close, Jiang Hai eventually fell asleep. The hotel, located in the suburbs and rated four stars, was quiet with excellent soundproofing. They all slept soundly.
The next morning, they didn't leave the room until 9 a.m. After washing up, they headed to the hotel lobby for breakfast.
The meal was included with their stay. While the event organizers provided accommodations, they didn't cover lunch, dinner, or midnight snacks. Breakfast, however, was buffet-style—and the selection was impressive.
There were sandwiches, toasted bread, fresh milk, fried eggs, sausages, ham, bacon, lettuce, cabbage—anything you could want. Alongside the Western fare were Chinese options like congee, soy milk, and even Mexican burritos.
The hotel clearly catered to an international crowd.
Jiang Hai and the other five in his group found the dining area bustling. Robbins Garcia had already left early to guard the cattle shed. With the show approaching, it was crucial to ensure no accidents happened. If something went wrong, there wouldn't be time to transfer cattle from the manor.
The night shift had been split: Burkedale covered the first half, Belleister the second. Robbins Garcia had taken over in the morning.
Now, at breakfast, Jiang Hai's group found a table. Most people around them wore standard cowboy gear, while others were in suits—likely livestock company reps or executives.
Jiang Hai didn't pay them much attention. He found an empty table and asked Pravolton and Cheryl Lee to hold the seats while he grabbed food.
When he returned, though, he couldn't help but laugh at what he saw.
"Well, this is bloody cliché," he muttered.
"Boss, want me to deal with him?" Connorson Peters stepped up beside him, his voice low and eyes sharp.
Jiang Hai waved him off. "Let's see how this plays out."
At their table, a man had seated himself beside Pravolton. Jiang Hai recognized him—he was the one who'd bumped into him the night before.
Now, he was trying hard to charm Pravolton, bragging about his ranch in Montana, a beachside villa in California, and his private yacht.
Pravolton, for her part, looked utterly bored. She always kept a cold face for men—except for Jiang Hai—and this guy was clearly not getting the hint.
"Hey, you're in the wrong seat," Jiang Hai said calmly, setting his tray down and narrowing his eyes.
The man glanced at him, then turned away and kept talking.
"I've got a yacht… We can cruise the Pacific together…"
Jiang Hai smirked. "Oh, I see. He's not deaf—just brain-damaged." He shrugged and looked at Pravolton. "Let's sit somewhere else."
As they stood, the man finally reacted.
"Are you blind? Can't you see I'm talking to this lady? If you are, go see an eye doctor—and stop being disgusting."
"Oh? You can talk after all. Just not listen, apparently," Jiang Hai replied, unimpressed.
"Is this your seat? You say it is, well, I say it's mine. A Boston upstart trying to act big in Texas? You won't make it out of here in one piece."
"I hate Texas," Jiang Hai said casually, looking to Pravolton. "Too many barking mutts who don't understand human speech."
Pravolton smiled, picked up a slice of bread, and tore off a piece to chew. "Now the dog's barking. What do you plan to do?" she asked.
Jiang Hai chuckled. "Normally I'd put down a barking dog. But I'm in a good mood today, so I'll just drive it off."
He placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
"You wanna—"
Before the man could finish, Jiang Hai threw him—literally—off his chair. The guy flew about two meters through the air and landed hard on the carpet. Jiang Hai then calmly sat down.
"Ahh! My arm! You bastard, how dare you! Where are the security guards?! I was attacked—somebody help me!"
The fall hadn't seriously hurt him, but the impact had jarred his arm. Still, he had enough energy to scream.
Security arrived promptly, but instead of taking sides, they asked the man if he wanted to call the police or an ambulance.
It was clear: they weren't going to cause trouble for Jiang Hai.
Humiliated, the man's face turned beet red.
Watching from a distance, Jiang Hai and his group laughed. The man looked like he had a classic case of main character syndrome—thinking the world revolved around him and that any disagreement was an attack.
He ranted a bit, but didn't dare act. Even if he called the police, Pravolton could countersue for harassment.
Realizing he had no winning hand, the man finally stormed off.
"There are mad dogs everywhere," Jiang Hai said with a chuckle.
Just then, a middle-aged Asian man approached their table.
"Young man, be careful," he said kindly.
"Oh? What should I be careful of?" Jiang Hai asked.
"That guy you threw out—Roland Shalid. He's the heir to the Texas Livestock Company. His family has serious influence in the state."
Jiang Hai looked to Pravolton for clarification.
"We've had dealings with them before," she said thoughtfully. "One of the biggest in Texas. The company name's an abbreviation—'Texas Livestock Company.' Market cap's probably around two billion."
To be continued…