Jiang eased around the table and stood close to Zhou. He suddenly reached down, grabbed Zhou’s collar, and jerked the agent to his feet.

Zhou kept his arms at his sides and smiled harmlessly.

“Who are you?” Jiang said, his face millimeters from Zhou’s.

“My name is Tsen. I am a farmer from Baotou. Now, you tell me your name?”

Jiang’s eyes flared at his boldness. “Listen to me, farmer.” He held Zhou’s collar tightly. “If you ever want to tread the soil of Bayan Obo again, then I suggest that you pretend you never came here. You saw no one and talked to no one. Do you understand?”

Jiang’s breath reeked of smoke and garlic, but Zhou never flinched. With a pleasant grin, he nodded at Jiang. “Of course. But if I was never here, then I didn’t spend eighty yuan on drinks with your friends.” He held out an open palm as if waiting for reimbursement.

Jiang’s face turned red. “Don’t ever enter this bar again. Now, get out.”

He freed his grip on Zhou’s collar so he could punctuate the threat with his fist, but he was too close to throw a punch and he took a step back.

Zhou anticipated the move and scissored his foot behind Jiang’s, catching the back of the truck driver’s ankle. Jiang stumbled, but still unleashed a hard right as he fell back. Zhou moved left, absorbing the punch to his shoulder, then countered by shoving Jiang’s torso. Jiang lost his footing and fell backward, out of control.

Zhou kept a grip on him, driving him toward the table, where Jiang’s head smashed against the lip. He collapsed to the floor like a felled redwood, knocked out cold.

At the sight of his cousin’s takedown, Yao leaped up and tried to grab Zhou in a bear hug.

The smaller and more sober Zhou easily spun away, then launched a sharp kick to Yao’s knee. The big man buckled, allowing Zhou to deliver several lightning strikes to the head. A final blow struck his throat. Yao turned and fell to his knees, clutching his throat while overcome by a false sense of suffocation.

The bar fell silent, and all eyes turned to Zhou. Drawing attention to himself was foolish, but there were times he couldn’t help himself.

“No fighting!” the bartender shouted. But he was too busy pouring drinks to bother throwing out any of the culprits.

Zhou nodded at him, then casually picked up his glass of baijiu from the table and took a swig. The other patrons returned to their drinks and jokes, ignoring the two men on the floor.

Wen had watched the brief fight in a stupor, not moving from his chair. “You have quick hands for a farmer,” he stuttered.