Chapter 42: Clashing Head-On
Fu Junyao's temper was legendary—fiery, unyielding—but even she felt stuck. One side was her best friend, Ye Xiwen; the other was a potential crime scene. Two men lay poisoned, and Infinity was at the center. She couldn't ignore protocol, but nor could she throw Ye to the wolves.
"Xiwen jie, show me the private room," she said finally. "I need to see the scene. Maybe we'll find something. Anything."
Ye nodded, gesturing for Liao Zhiyuan to lead the way. But when she turned to find Wu Yifan, he was gone. *Typical*, she thought, a faint苦笑 tugging at her lips.
Yet inside the private room, there he was—chatting with a young hostess, the one who'd served the poisoned men.
"Wu Yifan! What are you doing here?" Fu snapped, storming over. "This is a crime scene! Tampering with evidence could get you arrested!" Her hand hovered near her cuffs, ready to snap them on.
Wu feigned a flinch, then smirked. "Easy, Officer. Ladies should act like ladies. Scaring people won't help you find a husband."
Two of Fu's officers stifled laughs. Everyone in Beitian knew her reputation—she'd once kicked a harasser so hard, he'd ended up in the hospital. No one dared tease her… until Wu.
Fu's cheeks flushed. "You—!" She grabbed his collar, inches from his face. "One more word, and you're in a cell."
"Enough." Ye's voice cut through the tension, sharp and tired. "We have a crisis, not a playground fight."
Fu released Wu, muttering under her breath. "Later." She turned to the hostess, softening. "Tell us everything. What happened with those two men?"
The hostess—young, with wide, nervous eyes—nodded. "They came in, asked for a private room. I started recommending drinks, but… two things felt off."
"Go on," Fu said, pulling out a notebook.
"First: they looked… ordinary. Their clothes—total street vendor junk, maybe 200 yuan tops. But when I mentioned Rémy Martin Louis XIII? They didn't even ask the price. Just said, 'Bring it.' Who does that?" She glanced at Wu, as if to emphasize—*not people like him*.
Wu feigned offense. "Hey, I'd ask the price. Louis XIII's, what? 10,000 yuan? That's a month's rent for me."
Fu nodded, scribbling notes. "Wealthy people don't flaunt it like that. Poor people don't drop 10k without blinking. Suspicious. Second?"
The hostess pointed to the table—a half-full bottle of Louis XIII glinted under the lights. "That. Who orders 10k wine and leaves half? Even rich folks finish it, or take it home. Wasting that? It's like burning cash."
Ye's eyes narrowed. "They knew they wouldn't finish it. Because… they planned to get 'sick.'"
"Bingo," Wu said, grinning. "Poison works faster on an empty stomach. Chugging wine? That'd slow it down. They took sips, waited, then 'collapsed.' Classic setup."
Fu stared at the bottle, then at the hostess. "Did they touch anything else? Plates? Cups? Anything we can test for toxins?"
"Just the glass. I took it to the bar—told them to save it."
"Good girl," Fu said, relief edging into her tone. She turned to her officers. "Bag that bottle, the glass, everything. Send it to forensics. Fast."
Ye let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "You think that's enough?"
"Enough to cast doubt," Wu said. "Qian's timing's too perfect. He shows up to 'compete,' and *poof*—poisoned customers? He's screaming 'guilty.'"
Fu nodded. "We'll check hospital records. See if those two have a rap sheet. Professional scammers, maybe? Paid to fake poisoning."
They left the room, heading back to the entrance—where Qian Baoqing and his mob still lingered, grinning like vultures.
"Ah, Boss Ye! You're looking better. Did you… sort things out? Shame about the 'accident.' Counterfeit alcohol's a terrible look. Bad for business, bad for Beitian's reputation." Qian clucked his tongue, feigning sympathy.
Ye didn't answer. She just stared, cold as ice.
Qian didn't mind. He turned to the reporters hovering nearby—cameras rolling, mics ready. "A tragic reminder: greed corrupts. East Coast would *never* risk lives for profit. We vet our suppliers, test our drinks—safety first."
"Bold words for someone who showed up *right when* the 'accident' happened," Wu said, loud enough for the mics to pick up.
Qian's smile faltered. "Coincidence. I came for the cocktail contest, remember?"
"Right. The contest you're so desperate to film. Funny how it's getting overshadowed by… *poison*." Wu leaned against the doorframe, casual as if discussing the weather. "Weird, huh? Almost like someone wanted chaos."
The reporters perked up, scribbling notes.
Qian's jaw tightened. "Are you accusing me? I'll sue!"
"Just asking questions. Like: why'd those 'victims' order 10k wine they didn't finish? Why'd they dress like they can't afford instant noodles? Strange, isn't it?" Wu shrugged. "But hey, maybe they're secret millionaires who love wasting money. Who knows?"
Fu stepped in, before Qian could snap. "The police are investigating. We'll release details once we have them. Until then, speculation doesn't help." She shot Wu a warning look—*don't escalate*—but there was a flicker of approval in her eyes.
The reporters swarmed Ye, mics thrust in her face.
"Ms. Ye! Is it true? Did your club serve counterfeit alcohol?"
"Are the victims in critical condition? What's Infinity doing to compensate?"
"Qian says East Coast is 'safer.' Do you have a response?"
Their questions were sharp, designed to corner her—*admit guilt, or look guilty for staying silent*.
Ye met their gaze, calm despite the chaos. "Infinity has served Beitian for five years. We source all liquor from licensed suppliers—receipts, certifications, everything. We're cooperating with the police. When they find the truth, you'll hear it first. Until then… judge us by our record, not rumors."
Qian scoffed. "Records can be faked. Actions? Those don't lie."
"Actions like showing up with reporters, right when a 'crime' happens?" Wu shot back. "Real 'concerned citizen' energy."
The reporters exchanged glances. Wu had a point—Qian's timing *was* odd.
Qian's patience snapped. "This is ridiculous. The contest—"
"Canceled," Ye said, cutting him off. "Until the investigation's done, Infinity's closed. No contests, no customers. We won't risk more lives… or let others risk ours."
She turned to Fu, nodding. "Do what you need. I'll be here."
Qian stared, dumbfounded. *She's closing? Voluntarily?* He'd expected her to fight to stay open, to look guilty. Instead, she looked… noble.
"Wise choice," Fu said. "We'll secure the premises. Forensics will be here soon."
As officers moved to tape off the entrance, the crowd murmured—some sympathetic, some still skeptical. The reporters packed up, but not before one turned to Wu.
"Off the record—what do *you* think happened?"
Wu grinned. "Me? I'm just a security guard. But I know this: when a snake slithers into your yard, you don't wait for it to bite. You chop its head off."
The reporter raised an eyebrow, then hurried to catch up with the crew.
Qian shot Wu a venomous look. *This isn't over.* He stalked off, his entourage trailing behind.
Ye turned to Wu, a faint smile. "Snake metaphors? Really?"
"Worked, didn't it?"
Fu cleared her throat. "I'll send updates. Forensics should have the bottle results by morning." She hesitated, then added, "Watch your back. Qian's not the type to lose gracefully."
Wu nodded.
As the door closed, leaving Ye and Wu alone in the quiet lobby, she sighed. "Five years of building this place… and it could all burn down in a day."
"Not if we find who did it," Wu said. "Those two 'victims'—they'll crack. Scammers always do."
Ye met his eyes, a question in hers. "Why are you helping? You've never cared about Infinity before."
Wu shrugged. "Maybe I'm tired of seeing good people get screwed. Or maybe… I like my job. Don't want to find a new one."
Ye laughed—a real laugh, not the polite chuckles she used with clients. "Well, Security Guard Wu… thanks. For once."
"Anytime, Boss Ye. Anytime."
Outside, the crowd dispersed, gossiping as they went. But inside Infinity, a quiet resolve settled.
They'd find the truth.
And when they did, Qian Baoqing would regret ever crossing them.