A blade pierced the air, embedding itself in the table and pinning the coin in place.
Sun Ping froze, his eyes widening as he traced the knife's path back to its source.
It was the woman.
Her smirk was cold. With a sharp gaze, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she casually spun another knife between her fingers.
"Careful, Sun Ping," she said, her voice low and venomous. "Deals can change just as quickly as fortunes."
The woman leaned in, her sharp, serpent-like eyes locked on Sun Ping's trembling form.
"This is the new price," she said coldly. "Take it."
Sun Ping's hands quivered as he stammered, "But—"
Before he could finish, she slammed the blade into the table once again.
"There are no buts," she hissed. "Choose."
She slid a small bag of coins to one side of the table and rested her blade on the other.
For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around Sun Ping.
He was nearly forty now, though his short stature and youthful face often misled people. Still, he bore the burdens of a man who had spent years scraping by, every deal a gamble for survival.
His eyes flickered between the money pouch and the blade.
Just as he hesitantly extended his hand toward the money bag, heavy footsteps interrupted the tense silence.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The owner of the establishment approached with slow, deliberate strides. His orange blazer caught the faint light, his rugged face shadowed under his thick black beard. His dark eyes flicked between the burly man and the woman before settling on Sun Ping.
"Is there a problem here?" he asked, his voice low.
The burly man sneered, his posture tightening with aggression.
"Fuck off!" he barked, his voice reverberating through the room.
"Oh," The owner muttered, his tone unreadable. He lowered his head and turned away, walking off in apparent submission.
The burly man smirked triumphantly, turning his attention back to Sun Ping.
"Now," he growled, "make your move."
But Sun Ping wasn't looking at the coins or the knife. His eyes were wide, fixed on something behind them.
The woman frowned, her instincts prickling at the shift in atmosphere. She turned her head slightly, just as the screech of wood against the floor cut through the air.
Screech.
Screech.
The owner was dragging a chair toward them, its legs scraping ominously across the floor.
With an air of casual defiance, he set the chair down behind Sun Ping and sat.
The burly man's jaw tightened.
"I said, Fuck Off! Get out of here" he snapped, his voice tinged with irritation.
The owner ignored him.
Slowly, he reached into his blazer and pulled out a cigarette. He placed it between his lips, lighting it with a flick of a battered lighter.
He took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled in the dim light.
"Has no one ever told you?" the owner said at last, his voice quiet, almost conversational.
The burly man clenched his fists, stepping forward as though ready to strike, but the woman raised her hand, stopping him.
"Tell what?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.
The owner puffed on his cigarette again before speaking, his words barely louder than a whisper.
"… You - shouldn't - curse - at - The - Owner!"
The woman's brows knitted together in confusion. But then it hit her—the room had gone silent.
She turned her head slowly, realizing what she had overlooked in her confidence.
Every single person in the establishment was staring at them.
Conversations had stopped, drinks had been set down, and all eyes were fixed on their table.
The burly man's bravado faltered. His lips parted as if to speak, but all that came out was a shaky whisper.
"The owner…"
The woman's gaze snapped back to the man in the orange blazer, her mind racing. Then recognition dawned on her, and her confidence dissolved into shock.
Carefully, she lowered her legs from the table.
"So," she said, her voice steady but tinged with shock, "you're the owner, The Owner of Vargath, The Uncrowned King of Vargath, Robert."
Robert exhaled another cloud of smoke, his eyes meeting hers without a hint of fear. His presence was magnetic, his dominance unquestionable.
"You've got some nerve causing trouble in my place," he said finally, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.
The burly man swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling. Sun Ping sat frozen in his chair, caught between fear and awe.
The woman hesitated, her mind racing. She had heard the stories, of course. Everyone in Vargath had. But now, faced with the man himself, she realized how much she had underestimated the situation.
Robert leaned back, his chair creaking slightly under his weight. He tapped ash from his cigarette onto the floor, his gaze unwavering.
"Now," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "do you still think it's a good idea to curse at the owner?"
The silence that followed was deafening.