Xiao Chen writes first
Thirty men with sticks block the garage exit, and at the front stands Ren Kun, half his face still swollen from this morning. The driver’s door of the black Maserati opens. The man who gets out stretches like he just woke from a nap.
“Ren Shao. You recovered fast.” Xiao Chen cracks his neck and glances back at the car, where Su Qing is gripping her phone. “Stay inside, President Su. This is a logistics matter.”
Then he notices you, frozen beside the elevator with your laptop bag, right in the path of the crowd. He strolls over as if the men with bats were part of the parking lot and stops between you and them.
“Hey, colleague. Overtime too?” He grins and lowers his voice. “Do me a favor. Count to ten, slowly, out loud. By the time you finish, the road will be clear.” Behind him, someone yells a charge. “Unless you’d like to help? I’m short a hand for carrying them out.”