Chapter 147 — The Long-Awaited...

"Let you go from what? If you don't want to compare, then don't. Who's forcing you to compare anything with me?" Yang Ce said, wholly indifferent.

But to Li Jialiang's ears, how grating those words sounded—like sarcasm, surely. Yes, it must be so. Thinking this, Li Jialiang dared not linger. He forced a dry laugh and said, "I'll be going, I'll be going right now."

With that, Li Jialiang turned and bolted like a rabbit toward the villa's main gate. The crowd looked on in utter bewilderment, not knowing what on earth had happened.

"Damn, what rotten luck." Only after he was out the gate did Li Jialiang let out a long breath. Had he known this madman would be here, he would never have come. He was no fool—what difference was there between this and stepping into a minefield? One wrong step and he'd be blown to bits.

Most people assumed Li Jialiang was a soft egg who had been frightened off by Yang Ce's towering frame—including the pink-headed fatty, who thought so too. He figured Li Jialiang had been afraid of Yang Ce, but he himself need not be: in build he was no lesser man, broader even than this Yang Ce before him by a good measure, and he came from a cattle-slaughtering stock, possessed of enormous strength. He refused to believe he would lose.

So the pink-headed fatty stepped forth with great swagger, looking very cocky, and clapped Yang Juehuan on the shoulder—only to find, to his chagrin, that he was a head shorter than Yang Ce and had to strain to reach. "I say, brother, you look pretty cocky. But being big and strong is no use. Frightening Brother Li away doesn't prove a thing."

"And who are you?" Yang Puqi brushed the pink-headed fatty's hand off himself, frowned, and asked in return.

"I just can't stand the sight of him," the pink-haired fat man declared, evidently pleased with how dashing he sounded. He had not counted on Yang Ce firing back a single retort and then, without waiting for any reply, turning on his heel and walking away.

The pink-haired fat man was left performing to an audience of himself, and became the laughingstock of the crowd. Flushed with humiliation and fury, he jabbed a finger at Yang Ce and bellowed, "You stop right there! What's with the attitude? What exactly do you mean by that?"

Yang Shuoxuan ignored him and kept walking toward Huang Yan. Seeing that Yang Ce would not give him the time of day, the pink-haired fat man felt he had lost face entirely. Smarting with rage, he lunged forward and seized Yang Juehuan's clothes from behind: "Don't you walk away! You're going to explain yourself today! You look down on me, is that it? What kind of attitude is that?"

Only then did Yang Cenbin turn around. He looked at the pink-haired fat man, who was beside himself with emotion, lightly pried the man's hand off his clothes, and said blandly, "You're not sick, are you?"

"Sick? Of course I'm not sick!" The pink-haired fat man was stunned for a moment before it dawned on him that Yang Ce was calling him sick in the head. Enraged, he shouted, "You're the one who's sick!"

Had they not been on Huang Lin's turf, with all these people being Huang Lin's guests, Yang Ce would have slapped him long ago. Was this fellow missing a screw?

"Forget it. I don't have the time to bother with you. Believe whatever you like. I honestly can't fathom how someone with your breeding ever got into this villa," Yang Xunai said with a shake of his head.

"Breeding? What breeding?" The pink-haired fat man was nouveau riche by origin. Now that his family had money, he considered himself the equal of any rich man alive, and what he dreaded most was for anyone to say his manner or breeding fell short of others'. So the moment he heard Yang Ce touch that old wound, he exploded, pointing at Yang Ce: "I—I challenge you to a duel!"

Yang Ce was truly at his wit's end with this addle-brained oaf. He had never imagined a single simple remark could provoke such an enormous reaction. "Fine, say I was wrong. Satisfied?"

Yang Yongjin was not about to waste more breath on him, so he offered a perfunctory apology in the hope that the fellow would settle down.

"No! What do you mean, 'say you were wrong'? I challenge you to a duel—do you dare?" The pink-haired fat man would not let it go. "If you lose, you give Brother Li one fair shot at courting Huang Yan. And me too, while you're at it."

Brother Li—that would be Li Jialiang, surely? Yang Yongjin was torn between anger and amusement. He hadn't pegged the pink-haired fat man as such a loyal sort; even in a situation like this, he still knew to stick up for Li Jialiang.

Now that he thought about it, the man might be a bit simple, but there was no real malice in him—far better than that Li Jialiang. So Yang Shuoxuan was disinclined to make a fuss: "Let's skip the duel. There are so many people in this villa; you're bound to run into someone."

"No! Then no duel—but we've got to compete at something," the pink-haired fat man said.

"Then name it. What shall we compete at?" Yang Ce was thoroughly exasperated by the fellow.

"We—we'll compete at slaughtering oxen!" The pink-haired fat man racked his brains for his own strengths but could not think of anything especially impressive. Since fighting was out, slaughtering oxen was the only thing he was really good at.

His words drew a burst of laughter from everyone present. But before Yang Ce could answer, the villa's main door was shoved open and two security guards came running in, shouting, "Mr. Huang! Mr. Zhang Kentao—he's forced his way in with men!"

The guards had barely finished speaking when a young man shoved one of them aside and snarled, "Get out of the way! Don't block the path!"

The Zhang and Huang families were, in fact, old family friends, and Zhang Kentao's circumstances were somewhat similar to Huang Lin's: he too had an elder brother who clung tightly to the company's power, leaving Zhang Kentao a spoiled rich kid in the truest sense of the word.

By rights, two men in similar straits should have commiserated with each other and become close friends. But Zhang Kentao, unlike Huang Lin, was not so broad-minded; his lust for power far outstripped Huang Lin's.

Their temperaments did not mesh, so the two could never be more than cordial. But even if they were not friends, surely they need not be enemies.

Yet that was not how it played out. Huang Lin was a passionate collector, renowned throughout Macau's collecting circles and hailed as both collector and connoisseur. Zhang Kentao, too, was devoted to collecting—only his name always ranked a notch below Huang Lin's.

In no walk of life would Zhang Kentao consent to play second fiddle. Being barred from the company's reins by mere seniority already galled him; now that he could not outdo Huang Lin even in the world of collecting, he was all the more put out.

It was also because the guards knew of the ties between Zhang Kentao's family and Huang Lin's that they dared not stand in his way when he forced his entrance; the matter could only be left for Huang Lin to settle.

To be continued.

883. Appraising Antiquities (Part Two)

883. Appraising Antiquities (Part Two). "Brother Huang, what's this—you look down on your old brother? Holding a banquet and not even giving me a heads-up?" Zhang Kentao strode brashly into the villa's great hall, two lackeys trailing behind him, one of them lugging a large bundle.

Huang Lin's expression shifted slightly, and he forced out a smile: "Brother Kentao, what kind of talk is that? I figured you're usually so busy, and this is only an informal family gathering, so I didn't send you an invitation. But given the ties between our two families, who needs an invitation? See—you can just come whenever you like."

Huang Lin's words were courteous enough, but the tone was neither soft nor yielding, and there was a barb buried in them.