141: Chapter 141 Can drinking for free really cause problems?

On the presidential viewing deck on the second floor of the Neon Black Market, Zhang Xing, who had arrived from the back via the VIP elevator, waved at the manager: "Go on, the usual. And bring up a few from the atmosphere team—don't just send up anyone to make up the numbers, alright?"

The manager nodded, bowing slightly with a smile: "Rest assured, Young Master Zhang. You know the quality we provide here better than anyone, don't you?"

With that, he turned and headed back downstairs.

Qian Lin leaned against the second-floor railing, listening to the pulsating music and watching the young men and women gyrating wildly below. He turned his head and smiled at Zhang Xing: "Not bad, Daxing. You've still got some clout."

Zhang Xing rolled his eyes: "You've got more clout than me. It's rare for both my parents to be home today, and my mom even cooked for you personally. It's been ages since I've received that kind of treatment."

Qian Lin flipped him off: "Screw you. Isn't it the same for me? Haven't the fish my dad caught all ended up in your stomach? And that rooster my grandpa raised was turned into white-cut chicken—he wouldn't even let me have any when I wanted it."

"Hahaha."

The two locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter.

The DJ's music faded down, and he leaped onto the highest platform, gripping the microphone with one hand and roaring: "Ladies and gentlemen! Let us turn our attention to the second floor. Young Master Qian, who is visiting our Neon Black Market for the first time, has just ordered our most prestigious 'Ice-Sealed Dragon Set,' and he's treating every booth here to a dozen Heinekens! Tonight, Young Master Qian is the brightest star in the night sky. Let's hear your cheers for him!"

With that, the DJ stood on the platform and bowed toward the second floor.

All eyes turned to the man by the second-floor railing, who was wearing aviator sunglasses and a floral shirt. A moment later, an unprecedented roar of cheers erupted.

"Young Master Qian, you're the man!"

"Holy sh*t, thanks, Young Master Qian!"

"Hey handsome, I want to have your babies!"

The cheers nearly drowned Qian Lin out. He smiled and waved, then looked over at Zhang Xing, who was busy on his phone.

"You're still at it? You've got money to burn, huh?"

Zhang Xing waved a hand dismissively: "It's not that much money, just over a hundred thousand. It's to keep you happy, otherwise, you'd just be trash-talking me in the group chat later."

A dozen bunny girls, carrying the Ice-Sealed Dragon Sets, swayed their graceful figures as they emerged from behind the DJ stage and headed toward the second floor.

Meanwhile, the service staff began carrying dozens of Heinekens to each of the booths.

A marketing rep looked at the manager with a hint of worry: "Boss, is it really okay to do this? We're mixing real and fake alcohol. If Young Master Zhang finds out, we're both finished."

The manager waved him off dismissively: "What do you expect me to do? We only have so much real alcohol. The shipment that was supposed to arrive today is MIA, and it still hasn't shown up. If I don't serve the fake stuff, what am I supposed to serve?"

"Besides, there's not much difference in taste between the real and the fake. Everyone down there is drinking on someone else's dime anyway. Even if it is fake, so what? You're getting a free drink, are you going to complain about it? Besides, the fake stuff is only going to the people in the side booths. It's fine, don't worry about it."

The marketing rep thought about it and decided not to say anything more.

At a side booth, a middle-aged man with a bloated, fleshy face glanced disdainfully at the spot on the second floor where Zhang Xing and Qian Lin were. A heavily made-up female companion beside him asked curiously: "Brother Hong, how much does that 'Ice-Sealed Dragon Set' cost? It's quite the spectacle."

Before Brother Hong could answer, a "spiritual youth" nearby—wearing a Wangzai shirt with a shrimp-line tattoo—chimed in: "Sister Moli, you don't know? I've seen this 'Ice-Sealed Dragon Set' on Douyin before. I heard one set costs nearly six figures."

"Wow, six figures?"

"Ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand... one hundred thousand? One set costs a hundred thousand?"

"Is this thing made of gold?"

Listening to the exclamations and envious remarks from his lackeys and his female companion, Brother Hong's hand tightened on the wine bottle, trembling slightly. He felt a sour bitterness in his heart. He was just a local Chengdu tough, a real piece of work. A few years ago, he'd gotten lucky during a demolition project and was originally allocated two decent storefronts. But he felt cheated and insisted on being a holdout. In the end, he was arrested for obstructing urban development. By the time he got out, the prime locations were gone, and he'd only been allotted two terrible spots.

Fortunately, the location was still decent enough that even the bad spots could be rented out, though while others could get ten or twenty thousand a month, he could only get three or four thousand.

After getting out, Brother Hong hadn't changed his stubborn, combative ways. A few local "spiritual youths" had somehow heard he'd done time and flocked to him to pay their respects, and an old flame had even returned to him.

In a great mood, Brother Hong decided to take his lackeys out to wash away his bad luck and have a good time.

Who knew nightclubs were so expensive these days? Even a decent booth had a minimum spend of several thousand. So, Brother Hong had to settle for a side booth.

It was going fine at first. The "spiritual youths" had never been to a place like this—usually, a cup of Mixue lemonade was their definition of luxury. Now, they had alcohol, fruit platters, and snacks. The dozen or so of them even spontaneously performed a "flower hand" dance for Brother Hong, which made him feel like a big shot.

He hadn't expected to be slapped in the face so quickly. But thinking, "If it's free, why not drink it?" Brother Hong took the drink from the waiter.

After one sip, he knew something was wrong. He was an old drinker; he could tell the real stuff from the fake. The drink was bland—it was basically water—and it had absolutely no texture.

He brought the bottle to his nose and sniffed. There was no aroma of malt or grain, just a pungent odor.

He snatched the beers his lackeys had already opened, took a sip of each, and sniffed them. Brother Hong chuckled to himself. Trying to act like a big shot with fake booze? And you ran into Brother Hong? If I don't extort you, it'll be like I never even got out of jail.

With that thought, Brother Hong hurled the beer bottle toward the second floor. He wasn't stupid, though—he aimed for an empty spot.

"Thud!"

The beer bottle hit the wall with a dull sound, giving quite a scare to Zhang Xing and Qian Lin, who were busy chatting about life, reading palms, and checking for skin conditions with the young ladies.

Zhang Xing, in particular, felt like his dignity had been tossed into a cesspit. He stood up furiously and marched to the railing to see who it was.

Seeing this, Brother Hong knew his chance had arrived. He leaped onto the DJ platform in a few strides and, while the DJ wasn't paying attention, snatched the microphone and shouted:

"I was just thinking about which young master was so generous to treat us all to drinks. I was full of gratitude, but it turns out it's all fake booze! If you're broke, don't try to act like a big shot. I could've treated everyone to fake booze too!"

The people in the booths below looked at each other in confusion, then looked at the drinks the waiters had just brought them.

"Mine is real. Where is it fake?"

"Damn, it really is fake. I even said some nice things earlier. What a total rip-off."

"F*ck, the inner booths get the real stuff, and the outer booths get the fake stuff? Playing favorites, huh?"