To borrow a phrase from the gaming world—that was legendary! Even if Jiang Hai didn't fully understand what "legendary" meant, he could tell the effect was... spectacular.
Watching Roland Shalid collapse, vomiting and defecating at the same time, Jiang Hai smirked with satisfaction and turned back toward his exhibition hall. His revenge had gone off without a hitch, and he couldn't be more pleased.
A little while later, Bell returned, now back in his own clothes. He had knocked Willy Barton unconscious before pulling off the stunt without raising any suspicion. Jiang Hai was genuinely relieved to have someone like Bell on his team—this "general" of his truly made life easier.
Jiang Hai casually pulled out his phone and transferred $100,000 to Bell's account. It wasn't a tip. It was a reward. After all, money was the one thing Jiang Hai had in abundance.
Though Jiang Hai didn't say anything, Bell naturally understood what the money was for. With a grin, he nodded gratefully and returned to tending the cattle. As the saying goes, no windfall, no fortune; no night grazing, no fat horses. At this rate, Bell might even start hoping for more trouble to come Jiang Hai's way.
Shortly after, Pravolton returned but didn't stay long—she and her team still had other exhibition halls to visit.
With the dung incident cleared up, more visitors finally started streaming into Jiang Hai's exhibition area. His cattle really were remarkable. Even without dissection or extensive testing, one could tell at a glance: large size, well-defined muscles, glossy coats, clear eyes without discharge, bright expressions, and clean, white, neatly aligned teeth—without foul odor or plaque.
For farmers, these were premium breeds. For restaurateurs or meat dealers, these cows were treasures. Yesterday, the place had been rank with the smell of manure. Today, it was refreshingly clean.
Most notably, the natural scent of Jiang Hai's cattle was nothing like the usual barnyard stench. If anything, it was more like the mild sweat of an athlete post-game—barely noticeable and quick to dissipate with air circulation.
Curious visitors continued to stop by and inquire about the cattle. Though Jiang Hai's team wasn't looking to expand sales or take new orders, they couldn't be sure who among the visitors might be judges. So they treated everyone with respect and answered questions professionally.
The entire morning passed in a busy blur. Around noon, as tourists went off to eat, Jiang Hai ordered takeout to the booth—pizza from RS Pizza, a Texas-based chain originally from Dallas. Among the top ten pizzas in the U.S., RS was unique for being the only one not from New York or Chicago.
RS Pizza wasn't an ancient institution—founded only about a decade ago, it had started in a run-down shack before gaining popularity and opening multiple branches. Fortunately, there was one close by.
Their pizzas were baked in charcoal ovens, offering a rich flavor profile. Customer favorites included chicken sausage, spiced roast chicken, Italian prosciutto, and Parma-style cold-cut pizzas.
And no, we're not talking about the "Pizza Hut" type that's so famous in China—it barely registers on the American list. In the U.S., the tastiest pizzas often come from low-key, independently run shops.
Jiang Hai and his friends were all big eaters. A 13-inch pizza with toppings? Each person could easily finish one. So today, Jiang Hai ordered a meat-lover's pizza, bacon pizza, sausage pizza, and a Texas-style pizza.
He might not like the people around here, but he had to admit—their pizza was damn good. Loaded with beef and oozing thick cheese, just opening the boxes made everyone's noses twitch in anticipation.
No need for small talk—everyone dove right in. The four pizzas disappeared in record time. And of course, no pizza feast is complete without Coca-Cola. Pizza and Coke—the ultimate American combo.
With their stomachs full, the group lounged on chairs, savoring a moment of rare downtime before the busy afternoon ahead. Jiang Hai lay back for a moment before remembering he had to make a phone call—to Du Famen.
He told Robbins Garcia to hold down the booth while he stepped aside and dialed. Considering the time difference, it was already past midnight in the U.S.—meaning around 9 p.m. in Dubai. But someone like Du Famen wouldn't be asleep this early.
Sure enough, when the call connected, Jiang Hai was nearly deafened by pounding EDM.
"Hey Jiang, what's up? Why're you calling now?" Du Famen shouted over the music, his voice excited.
"Find a quiet place. This is serious," Jiang Hai shouted back.
There was the sound of footsteps and a door closing. The music faded. Then Du Famen's voice came through again. "Okay, I'm alone. What's going on?"
Jiang Hai didn't beat around the bush.
"Earlier today, a guy named Luke Sean came to buy my grass. He said he had his own testing lab. Apparently, you or someone from your side sent samples of my grass to various global labs. That's how he found out it's not ordinary. So he came directly to me. Look, if you don't trust my grass, use your royal family's lab. I don't want unnecessary attention on me. This makes me look bad."
Although the situation wasn't a major crisis for Jiang Hai, it was a perfect opportunity to scare Du Famen into taking things seriously. Brand-building was fine, but secrecy mattered too.
"What? That's impossible! We only sent it to our royal testing center—once! And that was it. I never ordered further testing. How could this have leaked from my side?" Du Famen's voice was filled with panic.
He knew very well: Jiang Hai's grass was a miracle for the cattle industry. If word got out, other buyers would demand a share—and Jiang Hai wouldn't sell it cheap. Du Famen's exclusivity would be lost, and profits would plunge.
"Check your people. The guy today was very clear—it came from you. Someone in your circle betrayed you."
Whether or not Du Famen was truly unaware, Jiang Hai didn't care. His goal was simple: send a message.
"I understand. I'll investigate and get back to you ASAP," Du Famen replied, his tone grim.
"One more thing," Jiang Hai added. "Stop using helicopters to herd your cattle. Even if they're effective, the noise stresses the animals out. It ruins the marbling in their meat—those white fat lines? That's what gives beef its premium value. If the fat burns off through excessive exercise, your cows are worthless. Just hire more people. Don't waste your money or my grass."
There was a long pause on the other end.
"I get it. Thank you for the warning, Jiang. You'll always be my friend," Du Famen finally said, sounding genuinely solemn.
"I'm always happy to be friends with rich people," Jiang Hai chuckled. "Take care. I'm hanging up."
As soon as the call ended, Du Famen's already dark expression turned murderous.
"Our grass has been leaked. Did you know about this?" he asked without looking up, addressing the middle-aged man standing silently beside him—his lead bodyguard and de facto chief of staff.
"I... I knew a bit," the man admitted hesitantly, clearly nervous.
"Then why the hell didn't you tell me?" Du Famen roared. Before the man could answer, Du Famen grabbed an ashtray and smashed it into his head.
The ashtray shattered. Blood streamed down the man's temple. Still, he said nothing—just bowed lower.
"It was Mr. Akita Shingo," the man said evenly. "He said he didn't trust Mr. Jiang's grass and needed independent testing. I thought it wasn't serious, so I didn't tell you."
Du Famen's eyes blazed. "Not serious? Are you insane?! Akita sent the grass to labs all over the world. Now everyone knows about Jiang Hai's miracle grass! We were supposed to be the exclusive buyers—now we have to share. Do you know how much money you've cost me?"
He yanked the man's hair and forced him to look him in the eye.
"Fifty thousand dollars per cow. A million cows. That's fifty billion. You just cost me half of that. Twenty-five billion! And you say it's not serious?!"
The man flinched but stayed silent.
"I didn't think the grass would work," he said after a pause. "Mr. Jiang seemed more like a con man than a real supplier."
"You think I didn't check the reports myself?! You moron! Do you think I'd stake billions on a scam?" Du Famen exploded, kicking the man hard. He wanted to kill him right there—but this wasn't just a bodyguard. He was also part of the royal surveillance unit sent to monitor Du Famen.
He could punish him, but he couldn't kill him.
"Spread the word: recall all grass shipments. And track down Akita Shingo. I want him arrested for commercial espionage. All those Japanese involved—arrest them! Bastards! All of them!"
Du Famen ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. The damage was done. Jiang Hai's secret was out. It wouldn't hurt Jiang Hai—his product would sell regardless. But for Du Famen, it was a massive financial blow.
He could've had it all to himself.
Now... he'd have to share.
And it hurt like hell.
To be continued...