The man who came in said a few words in English to the guy sitting in the chair, and that South Asian-looking fellow glanced at them before speaking in broken Chinese: "What business are we discussing?"
Yang Fan walked ahead, heading towards the chubby man: "I want to inquire about something."
"Inquire about something? I only do business here, if you want to ask, go somewhere else." The chubby man showed them no respect.
"That's not up to you." After Yang Fan spoke, Shanji grabbed the smoking man and pushed him against the wall, closing the door to the room.
"What do you want?" This was his territory, the chubby man didn't panic.
"I told you, I'm asking about something." Yang Fan repeated.
"To hell with..." The chubby man cursed before pulling a pistol from the table.
Whoosh!
An iron nail flew out, piercing through the South Asian man's palm, and the man screamed, the gun fell to the ground. He hadn't had time to pull the trigger, and blood flowed profusely from his palm.
