Chapter 7: Earning My Keep
Wu Yifan followed the hostess back to Infinity KTV, his steps quickening as they neared the chaotic private room. Along the way, she filled him in: A middle-aged man, drunk on flattery from the hostesses' coos of "Boss," had flipped when his tab hit over 2,000 yuan. Refusing to pay outright, he'd demanded one of the hostesses join him for dinner. When she'd refused, he'd exploded—ignoring even Manager Liao's attempts to smooth things over.
Infinity's hostesses worked for tips, not Ye Xiwen's payroll, but they'd always gone all out to please customers, knowing Ye had their backs. Most guys grumbled at checkout but paid up, charmed by the hostesses' antics. But every now and then, someone pushed back. Usually, Manager Liao defused it. Sometimes Ye stepped in, her smile sharp enough to cut steel.
Today, though, things had escalated.
"Fuck this! You got dozens of women here—one lousy dinner with me is too much?" the man roared, slouching on the couch. He was in his 40s, thick around the middle, his black suit straining at the seams. A gold chain glinted under his double chin, and his eyes, bloodshot with booze, scanned the room like he owned it. "That bitch earlier wouldn't even let me touch her! Acting prissy in a place like this? Fine—her pussy's gold-plated, I get it. I'll pay 2,000 extra. Just one dinner. Otherwise, you see this tab? It's staying unpaid."
Two younger guys flanked him—spiky blond hair, tattoos snaking up their necks, the kind of goons who thought scowls counted as intimidation.
Manager Liao, ever the peacemaker, held up his hands. "Boss, let's not ruin the mood. The girls here—they're just doing their jobs. Let me buy you a drink to make up for it, huh?"
The man swatted his hand away. "Spare me the bullshit. You think I'm here for your lousy beer?"
That's when Ye stepped in. She'd changed into a fitted red dress, her hair loose, and for a second, the man's leer softened—until he remembered he was supposed to be angry. "You the boss?" he sneered.
"Owner," Ye corrected, her tone icy but polite. "We have rules here. The girls陪酒 (péijiǔ—accompany drinking) only. No dates. I'm sure you understand."
The man's laugh was a bark. He leaned forward, hacking up a glob of phlegm and spitting it into a glass of beer, where it floated like a slimy island. "Rules? I'll follow your rules when someone drinks this. Bottoms up, and I'll pay double."
Manager Liao paled. He'd chugged worse for Ye before—cheap whiskey, even a shot of soy sauce once—but this? His throat bobbed. "A man keeps his word," he said, forcing a grin. "I'll do it."
He reached for the glass, but the stench hit him first—rotten, metallic. He gagged, turning away to retch into a trash can.
CRASH! The man slammed his fist on the coffee table, sending a vase shattering. "Fucking cowards! You think I'm gonna pay after this shit?"
That's when Wu Yifan stepped in.
He moved slow, deliberate, placing himself between Ye and the man. "Boss," he said, voice calm, "you wanna chase girls? My treat. Let's grab dinner—my pick."
The man scoffed. "Who the hell are you?"
Wu didn't answer. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. Then, in one fluid motion, he pressed the glowing cherry directly into the man's left eye.
"FUCK!" The man howled, reeling back—only to be hauled forward by his collar. Wu grabbed an unopened beer bottle and smashed it over the man's skull. *Crack.* Beer and blood sprayed, and the man sputtered, his嚣张 evaporating.
The two goons jumped up—one reaching for a broken bottle, the other flicking open a switchblade. Wu didn't flinch. He grabbed the man's tie, yanking him forward, and pressed the jagged edge of the broken bottle to his throat. A bead of blood oozed, staining the man's white shirt.
"Stay back," Wu said, his voice still steady.
The goons froze. Their boss, whimpering now, stared at Wu like he'd seen a ghost. "I—" he croaked, "I'll pay. Whatever you want. Just… let go."
Wu dropped him. "Settle the tab. Then get out."
The goons practically carried their boss out, his suit soaked in beer and blood. Manager Liao stared, slack-jawed. The hostesses, huddled in the corner, exchanged wide-eyed looks. Ye just watched Wu, her expression unreadable.
Later, in her office, Ye slammed a folder shut. "Do you realize what you just did?"
"Earned my keep," Wu said, shrugging.
"This isn't a joke, Wu Yifan. That man—he's connected. His cousin runs half the construction crews in Beitian. You think he'll let this slide?"
Wu leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "He wasn't gonna pay. He disrespected you, disrespected Manager Liao. My job's to protect this place. You pay me 2,000 yuan a month to sit on my ass? Today, I did the work."
Ye's jaw tightened. "And the consequences? What if he comes back with goons? What if he reports us to the cops?"
"He won't," Wu said. "Guys like him—they live for面子. Getting beat up by a security guard in a KTV? He'll bury that story. And if he *does* come back? He'll ask around first. Word gets out you've got friends in high places—he'll back down. You've been here long enough. You know how this city works."
Ye studied him, her gaze sharp. For a year, he'd been a ghost—slouching, smoking, vanishing to the mahjong parlor. But today? He moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he'd done this before.
"Take the next two days off," she said finally. "Lay low."
Wu shook his head. "Nah. I'm good. Besides—" He grinned, that lazy smile back, "—I haven't finished earning my keep. What if another 'boss' decides to skip out on the tab?"
Ye sighed, but there was a flicker of something like amusement in her eyes. "Just… don't kill anyone. Yet."
Wu left her office, heading back to his booth. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the KTV's sign in oranges and pinks. He lit a cigarette, watching a group of teenagers laugh as they stumbled in, already tipsy.
Decadent, messy, loud—this place was everything he'd once mocked. But today, standing there, knuckles still stinging from the fight, he didn't mind.
Maybe "earning his keep" wasn't so bad.
Maybe, for once, he wasn't just a slacker.
He checked his watch. 5 enhancement points left. Muscle strength unlocked. Whatever came next—whether it was that construction boss's goons or the Enhancer's next wild task—he was ready.
For now, though, he'd enjoy the quiet.
At least until the next drunk decided to skip out on his tab.