“Oppose the mall’s wasteful exploitation of people!”
“Firmly defend our brand rights!”
“Return normal operations to our counters!”
“Drive out the bloodsucking luxury brands!”
“Pacific Mall must give us an explanation!”
The chants grew louder and louder, drawing the attention of passersby, filling the streets near the mall.
Li Fengrui, still in his office talking with several of the recently protesting merchants, realized that the crowd outside had swelled, attracting even more onlookers. His head was spinning.
“Get them out!”
“Who allowed them to gather there?”
“Who permitted this mob to cause trouble?”
“Tell them to leave or we’ll call the police—send them to jail if they don’t!”
Li Fengrui acted decisively. Leaving his office, he called his contacts in the police department.
At the mall entrance, several reporters from the Evening News and Daily papers were interviewing the merchants, who claimed to represent Pacific Mall.
Tears streaming, the merchants told their story: “After the Spring Festival, without warning, we were suddenly told the mall would be holding an event…”
Reporters scribbled furiously in their notebooks.
Outside the mall, the crowd grew larger. Across the street, spectators jammed the sidewalks. Some of the protesters even brought drums, beating them while shouting:
“Pacific Mall doesn’t care if its merchants die!”
“Pacific Mall drains ordinary merchants’ blood to feed luxury brands!”
“All those luxury brands are Western trash!”
“Down with imperialism!”
The crowd outside the mall kept swelling, so dense it was like a busy market during New Year—shoulder to shoulder, people everywhere.
The noise from the “protest” at Pacific Mall’s entrance grew deafening, punctuated by drums. At some point, a huge white banner appeared, stained in red, bearing the words: Pacific Mall drives merchants to death! Murder for profit!
Onlookers on the street whispered, pointed, and debated among themselves, all assuming that the mall had bullied its merchants—otherwise, the merchants wouldn’t have acted in unison.
Soon, sirens blared. The police arrived.
For Huo Zongzuo, who received calls at his company about the disturbance, the news was serious but not alarming. Calmly, he said: “Wait a bit.”
At Pacific Mall, the police, besides dispersing the crowd, intended to arrest a few of the ringleaders. They even detained a few “typical” protesters to investigate.
Suddenly, another police car arrived. An undercover officer jumped out, whispered to the lead officer, and shocked him: “Release them all?”
The undercover nodded.
By the end of the night, the crowd had been dispersed, though the blood-red banner—“drives merchants to death, murder for profit”—remained on the mall wall. Several reporters photographed it incessantly.
“Stop photographing!” the police urged.
Pacific Mall was now completely closed. All entrances were locked.
Inside the mall office upstairs, Li Fengrui was overwhelmed, arguing with merchant representatives who refused to leave.
Later, he received news that the police had not arrested anyone—only dispersed the crowd. Li Fengrui nearly lost control, calling the police contact furiously.
“No arrests?!”
It became clear—someone was backing the protesters.
Li Fengrui realized instantly: today’s chaos had been orchestrated from the start.
Who?
He immediately thought of Jiang Luo.
Yet, deep down, Li Fengrui despised Jiang Luo’s self-made status and initially denied it—Jiang Luo couldn’t possibly pull off something this big. But recently, he and Jiang Luo had been at odds.
Could it really be Jiang Luo?
Li Fengrui hesitated.
Still furious over the day’s events, he handed merchant representatives to his colleagues, grabbed his phone, and called Jiang Luo.
Beep… beep… beep… The line connected.
“Was it you?! Don’t deny it! This is your revenge, isn’t it?!” Li Fengrui roared.
Jiang Luo’s voice was calm: “I told you to wait. Didn’t say to wait for revenge. Or did you expect me to wait for air?”
Li Fengrui cursed, losing all composure.
“Jiang Luo! Fucking you!”
“Fucking!!!”
Through the phone came Jiang Luo’s laughter—clear, mocking.
Li Fengrui couldn’t focus on Jiang Luo anymore—the mall was the priority. He needed a strategy to control the situation.
By 4 PM that day, the evening papers ran front-page stories of the day’s chaos at Pacific Mall. Many used the red-on-white banner photo as the headline image, with eye-catching titles:
- Shocking! Pacific Mall sucking merchants dry? Why the uproar at the entrance!
- Every word bleeds! Life on the line! Who’s right—the merchants or Pacific Mall?
- Absurd farce? Malicious smear? Or someone blurring public and private interests?
Even the sold-out papers couldn’t satisfy the public—everyone in Haicheng wanted a glimpse of the mall spectacle.
Seeing the newspapers in front of him, Li Fengrui grabbed them and threw them down in rage.
And it wasn’t over.
Earlier that day, thugs like Yu Ge from Dongfang No.1, mingling among Haicheng’s underworld, received messages:
After dark, patrol Pacific Mall. Just circle around and throw a few bricks—one thousand in cash per person.
One thousand!
Who wouldn’t go?
Yu Ge and his men quickly gathered after nightfall, rode motorcycles to Pacific Mall.
At midnight, the streets near the mall were filled with roaring engines and shouting thugs.
They hadn’t expected so many people. Circling the mall, throwing bricks at the glass doors as they went—crash!—glass shattered. The thugs laughed and left.
Afraid of being caught by the police? Not a chance. Too many of them—dozens, maybe over a hundred. Who would know who did it?
Money in hand, they were out.
Li Fengrui was woken by a call in the middle of the night, informed that a large group of thugs was vandalizing the mall. Shocked and furious, he threw his phone down.
Jiang Luo!
Jiang Luo!!!
But Li Fengrui couldn’t dwell on Jiang Luo—he rushed to the mall himself, to control the situation.
Fearing more trouble during the day, he called his police contacts early, asking for patrols near the mall, even spending money to prevent further chaos.
For Li Fengrui, these measures were doable. His contacts accommodated him, but they also hinted:
“You should show mercy when you can. You’re not from Haicheng, you came from Taiwan. Why make it unpleasant? A step back broadens the horizon.”
“You’re young, your path is long. If you can avoid pushing things to the limit, don’t.”
Li Fengrui understood—they were warning him: someone powerful was backing Jiang Luo.
He refused to submit. The unlucky one would be him.
Jiang Luo!
Li Fengrui seethed but knew he had to contain the situation. He also understood that the police’s advice confirmed Jiang Luo had someone behind him.
Thinking of Guo Ronghai’s severed hand, Li Fengrui silently calculated.
He refused to admit it—Jiang Luo, a pauper needing a ten-million loan, should be nothing.
But he had to consider the mall, his own position, and the family back in Taiwan. His personal feud with Jiang Luo was secondary.
After some thought, he suppressed his rage, swallowed his pride, and called Chairman Qiu of the Haicheng Chamber of Commerce, hoping to mediate between himself and Jiang Luo and calm the situation.