Chapter 41: Adding Frost to Snow
Qian Baoqing's arrival with his mob had drawn a crowd. Passersby lingered, craning their necks, eager for a showdown. Whispers rippled through the onlookers, sharp and speculative.
"Isn't that Qian Baoqing from East Coast? What's he doing here?"
"You didn't hear? East Coast and Infinity have been feuding. This is definitely a provocation."
"Infinity vs. East Coast? They're not in the same league. Ye Xiwen doesn't stand a chance. A twig can't stand against a tree."
"Don't be so sure. Ye's built Infinity from nothing—packed every night, outshining bigger clubs. Maybe she's got tricks up her sleeve. This'll be a brawl worth watching."
"Shhh! Qian's got gangsters on speed dial. You want to get beaten up for gossiping?"
Qian's jaw tightened. He'd heard enough. East Coast was *luxurious*—high-end clientele, pricier drinks, fatter profits. But no one cared about that. They only saw Infinity's crowds, its buzz, and mocked him for "losing" to a "small-time club." Rage simmered, hot and ugly.
"Boss Ye," he drawled, feigning concern, "your manager looks like he's seen a ghost. Trouble in paradise?"
Ye shot Liao Zhiyuan a withering glare. "Spit it out. What's wrong?"
Liao leaned in, voice trembling. "Two… two customers. They're unconscious. The doctor said… alcohol poisoning. It's bad, Boss. Real bad."
"Alcohol poisoning?" Ye went pale.
Infinity's liquor came from licensed suppliers—no back-alley deals, no cheap fakes. Methanol-laced "counterfeit alcohol" killed, and it spelled death for a club's reputation. If word spread, Infinity would burn.
Wu's gaze sharpened. *Too convenient.* Qian shows up to provoke, and *poof*—alcohol poisoning? Coincidence? Unlikely.
Ye's eyes locked onto Qian, icy with accusation. "This is your doing."
Qian threw back his head, laughing. "Me? I'm just here for a friendly contest! Speaking of which—" He gestured to two young people with cameras. "I brought reporters. They're gonna film our cocktail showdown—make it viral. Beitian deserves a little fame, don't you think?"
The reporters—fresh out of college, starry-eyed—held up mics, while their cameramen shouldered equipment, ready to roll.
"You're a snake," Ye hissed.
"Flattery," Qian said, grinning. "Now—about that contest? Or are you too busy… cleaning up messes?"
Liao grabbed Ye's arm. "Boss, we need to call an ambulance! Before it's too late!"
Ye hesitated. An ambulance would draw more attention, feed the chaos Qian craved. But letting people die? Unthinkable. "Do it," she said, voice tight.
Within minutes, sirens wailed. An ambulance skidded to a stop, followed by a police car—Fu Junyao, in uniform, her face set in a scowl. She'd recognized Ye's panic in the call.
"Xiwen jie? What's happening?" Fu asked, scanning the crowd, her gaze lingering on Qian—*always* trouble.
Ye explained, voice shaking: the poisoning, Qian's "contest," the reporters.
Fu's jaw tensed. Alcohol poisoning at a club? It screamed "setup," but without proof, she couldn't do a thing. "We'll investigate. Stay calm."
But calm was impossible. As paramedics wheeled the two unconscious men out—faces splotchy, foam flecking their lips, bodies twitching—the crowd erupted.
"Fake booze! Infinity's selling poison!"
"I drink here every week! What if I've been poisoned too?"
"Ye Xiwen's a killer! Shut it down!"
Regulars turned on Infinity, fury overriding loyalty. They'd bragged about "their club" to friends, and now? They felt duped, humiliated.
"Burn it down!" someone shouted.
"Quiet!" Fu barked, pulling her badge. "This is a police matter. Spread rumors, and I'll charge you with inciting violence."
The "Female Tyrannosaurus" reputation worked—for now. The crowd fell silent, but glares and muttered curses lingered.
Fu knelt beside the stretchers, checking the men. Red rashes, convulsions, froth—classic methanol poisoning. She nodded to the paramedics. "Go. Get them to the hospital. I'll send officers to guard the scene."
As the ambulance pulled away, Qian clapped, slow and mocking. "Tragic, isn't it? Who'd have thought Infinity would stoop so low? Counterfeit alcohol? That's a death sentence for a club."
Ye didn't rise to the bait. She turned to Fu, voice steady. "Check the liquor storage. Every bottle. I want to know if it's been tampered with."
"On it," Fu said, gesturing to her officers.
Qian's smile faltered. *She's still fighting?* He'd expected tears, surrender.
Wu stepped closer to Ye, low enough for only her to hear. "He planted it. The timing's too perfect."
Ye nodded, her eyes hardening. "I know. But proving it? That's the trick."
The reporters hovered, mics ready, hungry for quotes. Qian preened, already spinning the story: "A cautionary tale—greed ruins good businesses. East Coast would *never* risk lives for profit."
Fu shot him a warning look. "Save the speeches for the press conference. We're searching your club too, Qian. Just to be 'fair.'"
Qian's face flickered. *She wouldn't.*
But Fu's officers were already moving toward East Coast's door.
Wu watched, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. *Tyrannosaurus vs. snake.* This might get interesting.
Ye met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude. For once, she didn't see a lazy security guard—she saw an ally.
The crowd lingered, sensing the drama wasn't over.
Infinity's fight, it seemed, was just beginning.
And snow? It was falling fast.