"I heard you got into a fight with the cowboys around here today?" Prawalton asked lazily, glancing up at Jiang Hai. He had to admit—doing that kind of thing was strangely addictive. After a long, busy day, the moment they returned to the hotel, Prawalton and Cheryl Lee hadn't even bothered with dinner. Instead, they dragged Jiang Hai straight into the room.
When everything was finally over, Jiang Hai sat up helplessly and started looking for food. He hadn't eaten all day.
"Yeah, had a bit of a conflict with them. I just told them I can't stand people like that," Jiang Hai replied, spreading his hands with a helpless shrug.
Prawalton burst out laughing.
As a person of color, life in Texas wasn't exactly easy. According to U.S. statistics from more than a decade ago, the population here was overwhelmingly white—over 52.4%, and that number has likely only increased. Mexicans came second, understandable given Texas's history with Mexico. African Americans, who made up a significant portion of the national population, accounted for just 11.5% here.
The state was also heavily influenced by its German (9.9%) and Irish (7.2%) heritage. The unemployment rate among people of color in Texas was over 90%, and about 95.3% of them eventually left—driven out for one reason or another. It was, undeniably, a white man's paradise.
Even compared to Boston—once considered a cradle of racism—Texas was worse. The locals were tough, rugged, and proud cowboys, many of whom were stubborn to a fault. They stuck together, and neither the state nor federal government could easily rein them in.
Even when laws were passed, they still hurled insults and acted however they pleased. Fines were rare. If anyone dared arrest one of them, a horde of cowboys would likely surround the police station in protest. The saying "poor mountains and bad waters breed unruly people" definitely applied here.
"As a businessman, you need to learn to hide your emotions. Don't let anyone read your joy or anger. That's how you maintain the upper hand at the negotiation table. You're still too emotional," Prawalton said with a smile as he leaned against Jiang Hai's chest, casually flipping through the menu in his hand.
"Then I guess I'm not a qualified businessman," Jiang Hai said with a shrug, clearly unbothered.
"These cowboys are tightly knit. They can't touch you now, but once the exhibition starts the day after tomorrow, things might change. Be prepared—they're probably going to come after you," Prawalton warned seriously. She wasn't sure what they would do, but offending a group like that never led to anything good.
"Yeah, good point. I'll be careful," Jiang Hai nodded thoughtfully. In his opinion, the most they'd do was send someone to mess with him—and if anyone got bold, he wouldn't hesitate to teach them a lesson. Jiang Hai didn't exactly have a gentle temperament.
"I want this, this, and this. Cheryl, what do you want to eat?" Prawalton asked, pointing at the menu with her foot as she addressed Cheryl Lee, who was nestled in Jiang Hai's arms.
"I'm kind of sleepy… I don't really feel like eating. Just something light," Cheryl mumbled with a dazed smile. Her stamina wasn't quite up to Prawalton's level. Back in New York, Cheryl had pushed herself to the limit. Worried about her health, Jiang Hai had infused her with spiritual energy. Now, she was in decent shape—but even so, a session with Jiang Hai usually left her exhausted. Without at least thirty minutes of rest, someone like her wouldn't even be able to get out of bed.
"You still need to eat something. What do you want?" Jiang Hai said gently, moving Prawalton's foot aside and covering Cheryl's back with his hand as he softly patted her.
"Anything's fine… as long as you feed it to me. Mouth to mouth," Cheryl replied with a playful smile.
"You little vixen," Prawalton rolled her eyes at her shamelessness.
Jiang Hai just laughed and agreed, then happily ordered some pasta.
When the food arrived, the three of them dug in. Prawalton ate on her own, while Cheryl sat on Jiang Hai's lap, letting him feed her bite by bite. Watching them, Prawalton curled her lips in mock disdain. After they finished eating, she threw Cheryl onto the bed—clearly ready to mount a counterattack.
The next two days passed quietly, surprisingly peaceful given the tension.
The man who had shown interest in Prawalton and tried to harass her never appeared again. The cowboys, too, were uncharacteristically well-behaved—clearly saving their schemes for when the exhibition began.
Jiang Hai and his team remained vigilant, but their caution proved unnecessary—for now.
Soon enough, it was time for the Texas National Livestock Exhibition to begin.
Unlike Chinese festivals with drums, fireworks, red flags, and packed streets, Americans preferred a more reserved kind of fanfare. Still, the event was no less grand—just more orderly and formal.
At six in the morning, Jiang Hai's team brought their cattle to their designated exhibition area. The setup was far more refined than a typical cowshed. Each cow had its own iron-fenced stall with grazing space, allowing full visibility for observers. These stalls would be judged in the first three days.
Jiang Hai received the scoring criteria: the cattle would be evaluated on appearance, size, coat color, eye brightness, dental neatness, and signs of congenital defects. Eight categories in total, each scored from 0 to 10. The judges would blend in with the crowd, watching silently and scoring discreetly.
Jiang Hai didn't scrutinize the form—he already knew that among Angus cattle, his were kings. Even against Wagyu, he felt no fear.
Leaving Robbins Garcia and the others anxiously attending the cattle, Jiang Hai strolled out of the exhibition hall, confident. He trusted his cattle more than he trusted himself.
Looking around at the crowd, he had to admit—the Texas Livestock Show was far more impressive than the one in New York. As much as he disliked the people here, Texas truly was the cattle capital of the U.S.—possibly even the world.
The exhibition had two main sections: the livestock showcase and the cowboy competition.
The cowboy events, while smaller in area, drew far more spectators. They featured three main competitions: equestrian (riding over obstacles, not dressage), sheep grabbing (locating a ribbon-marked sheep among a flock and racing it to the finish line), and bull riding (enduring a wild bull's thrashing for as long as possible).
Bull riding was particularly dangerous—falling could lead to severe injuries or worse. Yet it remained the most popular attraction among cowboy circles.
These three events took place over three days. The top 64 performers then advanced to the finals.
Tourists flocked to the cowboy arena, leaving the livestock exhibition relatively quiet. But Jiang Hai wasn't worried. They were here for business. Tourists might watch people, but buyers came to inspect cattle—and that was what mattered.
Compared to New York's show, the Texas venue was five times larger, more professional, with better security, more organized halls, and no gimmicky stuff like tourist voting.
In this regard, even Jiang Hai had to admit: Texas did it right.
"Make way! Move! Coming through!" A frantic voice suddenly rang out.
Jiang Hai turned and saw a smelly cart full of cow dung barreling toward him.
He instinctively stepped aside—but oddly, the cart seemed locked onto him.
"What the hell—" Jiang Hai reacted quickly, but the cart was faster. He glanced around and noticed a few nearby cowboys grinning mockingly, with clear disdain.
At the last moment, Jiang Hai leapt backward, narrowly avoiding a collision.
The cart-pusher hadn't expected such agility and froze for a second. But instead of stopping, he twisted the handle, tipping the cart—and dumping its entire foul contents right in front of Jiang Hai's exhibition booth.
The stench was instant and overwhelming. Pedestrians around them recoiled in disgust.
"What's the meaning of this?" Jiang Hai growled, eyes burning with anger. His brain quickly connected the dots—this guy must be working with those cowboys. This was their move.
"What do you mean? You just watched my cart fall. Didn't you Chinese pride yourselves on being a land of manners? Why didn't you help me?" the man snapped back with hands on hips, his voice full of mock indignation.
Jiang Hai let out a bitter laugh. He'd met shameless people before—but this was a new low. Help him with a manure cart? Is that what "manners" meant?
"Screw your manners. Get this garbage out of here!" Jiang Hai barked, his face dark with fury.
"Oh, I'm not cleaning it. Hit me if you dare!" the man taunted, standing defiantly.
Jiang Hai clenched his fists. He was tempted. But if he started a fight, the exhibition would be ruined.
"Boss, calm down. Call security," Robbins Garcia whispered, pulling Jiang Hai upwind of the stench. Then he signaled to Burkedale.
Burkedale had already contacted security. The team arrived quickly, but as soon as they approached, they instinctively stepped back, covering their noses.
The smell was eye-watering. Cows were gassy creatures, and their manure had a particularly vile stench. The security guards looked between Jiang Hai and the cart-pusher, unsure what to make of the situation.
To be continued…