Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

The port window office is on the second floor.

The heating in the room was on high, making it unbearably hot. The air was thick with the smell of coffee, mixed with the musty odor of cheap cigarettes and old leather.

Vasily sat behind his large desk, sunk into his leather swivel chair, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He didn't even get up, but simply gestured with his gloved hands towards the items on the desk.

On the table, several glossy sable furs were spread out, along with several wild ginseng roots with intact rhizomes and fine, dense rootlets.

These are all top-quality "first-class goods".

But in Vasily's eyes, they were nothing more than a pile of rotten cabbages by the roadside.

"Director Li, please have a seat."

Vasily spoke politely, but didn't even lift his buttocks; his eyes revealed an arrogance that seeped from his very bones.

Director Li stood before the table, suppressing his anger and trying his best to maintain the dignity and composure of a Chinese official.

"Mr. Vasily, we have come with good intentions."

"This batch of mountain products is the finest selection from our county. According to our previous agreement, it absolutely meets the 'first-class' standard. We have a heavy foreign exchange earnings target, and this is also for the long-term cooperation of our two countries' border trade..."

"cooperate?"

Vasily blew away the foam on his coffee, interrupting Director Li.

He lifted his eyelids, his grey-blue eyes devoid of any warmth:

"Director Li, don't talk to me about feelings, and don't try to pressure me with talk of long-term cooperation."

"This is the port of entry window; we're talking about standards."

Vasily extended a finger and gently tapped the sable pelt:

"Your Chinese first-class standard would only be considered second-class in the Soviet Union."

"The color isn't pure enough, and the hairs aren't long enough. We're following regulations; we can't accept substandard products."

One sentence was enough to shut down Director Li's smile.

Director Li took a deep breath.

He was an employee of the system and knew that he couldn't afford to turn against the authorities at this time, because doing so would be a diplomatic incident and a failure of the mission.

"Mr. Vasily."

Director Li took a step back, attempting to resolve the issue in a more flexible manner:

"Regarding the standards, there may be some technical differences between our two sides. Therefore, to show our sincerity, we can reduce the price of this batch of goods by five percentage points from the original first-grade price."

"This is not just a price reduction, but also our confidence in the quality of this batch of goods."

Director Li felt that this proposal was already very generous. It preserved the "top-grade product" reputation while also providing the other party with tangible benefits.

However, Vasily laughed.

That kind of laughter carried an undisguised mockery.

"Five points?"

Vasily put down his coffee cup, leaned forward, and in that instant, the oppressive feeling of bureaucracy was overwhelming:

"Director Li, since you're willing to lower the price, it means you yourselves know there are risks involved in this shipment."

"Since there are risks, it's even less likely that it can be classified as Level 1."

"I'll give you a straight answer too."

Vasily held up two fingers:

"First, to mitigate risk, this batch of goods must be settled at the price of second-grade products. There's no room for negotiation."

"Secondly, I've also heard that you have five more train cars of goods waiting to be shipped. I'm only giving you ten days to seal the trains. If you exceed that time, I'll replace you."

At this point, Vasily leaned back in his chair, his eyes sweeping contemptuously over the wild ginseng on the table, and added the most cutting remark:

"To be honest, I'm only doing this because we know each other. Otherwise, I wouldn't even bother looking at something of this quality."

"You Chinese businessmen always like to exaggerate ordinary goods into top-quality goods. You need to change this habit."

"you--!!"

Zhang, the translator standing behind Director Li, was so angry that his face turned red and his fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

Director Li's face also turned completely cold.

Concessions do not earn respect, but rather humiliation and further encroachment.

"Mr. Vasily."

Director Li's voice was no longer polite, but carried an official seriousness:

"This shipment involves significant foreign exchange transactions and the replacement of heavy equipment. If you insist on settling for second-grade goods..."

"Can."

Director Li took out a bilingual "Foreign Trade Inspection Conclusion Form" from his briefcase and professionally pushed it onto the table:

Please clearly state the reasons for classifying the product as Grade II in the "Inspection Conclusion" column.

"Whether it's a color issue or a problem with the fuzzy texture, please put it in writing."

"We need to take this conclusion back for filing."

This technique is called "leaving a trace".

Director Li neither argued nor made a fuss, but he was determined to firmly establish responsibility.

If you dare to write it, that's the evidence.

Upon hearing this, Vasily, who had just been so arrogant, suddenly had a flicker in his eyes.

His fingers tapped unconsciously twice on the table, and he even glanced at the translator next to him out of the corner of his eye.

That subtle movement betrayed his guilty conscience.

"Director Li, there's no need to make things so tense."

Vasily didn't take the form; he simply shrugged and began to evade the question.

"We have our own internal procedures, and this kind of conclusion form is too complicated; there's no need to write it in such detail."

"You just need to accept the results. As for signing... that's something you sign only when the goods are finally put into storage."

"What? You want to teach me how to do things?"

Rascal.

Utterly shameless.

He doesn't refuse; he just drags his feet. He doesn't sign; he only wants the result.

Director Li stood there, caught in a dilemma.

They can't sign anything, they can't get any evidence, and the other party won't budge.

It's like punching cotton; it's so frustrating it makes you want to vomit blood.

In this deadlock.

"Squeak—"

The heavy office door was pushed open from the outside.

A gust of cold wind, carrying shards of ice, instantly rushed into the sweltering room.

Vasily frowned and looked up, about to scold who was being so rude.

But then a young man wearing a sheepskin coat and exuding a chilly aura strode in.

Zhao Shanhe didn't even glance at Vasily.

He walked straight to the desk, stretched out his rough, large hand, and grabbed the sable furs that Vasily had casually discarded like trash, as if he were harvesting corn on his own kang (heated brick bed).

His movements were rough, with a wild, unapproachable air about him.

"Splash!"

He rolled the sable fur into a ball and casually stuffed it into his arms.

Immediately afterwards, his hand reached for the few precious wild ginseng roots.

Vasily was stunned.

Having served as the window manager for so many years, he was used to seeing Chinese businessmen bowing and scraping to him, offering him cigarettes and alcohol with obsequious smiles.

He had never seen anyone like this before.

Like a wild boar that barged into a china shop, completely ignoring his presence and the rules of the place.

"stop!"

Vasily finally realized what was happening.

He abruptly stood up, his towering 1.9-meter frame exuding an imposing aura, and roared in broken Chinese:

"Who are you?!"

"Who let you in! This is my office!"

"Put it down! That's our sample!"

As he spoke, Vasily stretched out his large, gloved hand and pressed it against the back of Zhao Shanhe's hand, which was about to reach for the ginseng.

Trying to stop me?

Zhao Shanhe stopped what he was doing and slowly raised his head.

Those eyes were colder than the wind and snow outside, staring straight at Vasily, a mocking smile playing on their lips.

"Your sample?"

Zhao Shanhe scoffed.

next second.

He suddenly flipped his wrist, grabbed Vasily's wrist with his other hand, and then exerted force like an iron clamp.

"Ugh—!"

Vasily let out a muffled groan, his expression instantly changing.

He felt as if his hand was being clamped in pliers, and his bones were about to crack.

Before he could react, a tremendous force came through his arm.

"Get out of here."

Zhao Shanhe casually tossed it aside.

"Bang!"

The burly Russian, who looked like a bear, was casually tossed aside by Zhao Shanhe and sent stumbling back two or three steps before falling back into the leather swivel chair.

The chair creaked and slid half a meter away.

"you--!!"

Vasily gripped the handrail awkwardly, his face, already swollen from years of heavy drinking, instantly turning a purplish-red.

This is humiliating!

Blatant physical humiliation!

Here, on his own turf, he was actually pushed over by a Chinese man?

"Barbaric! So barbaric!"

Vasily, enraged, pointed at Zhao Shanhe, then at Director Li, who stood beside him equally dumbfounded, and began to roar:

"Director Li! Is this the kind of quality you Chinese people have?!"

"Is this how you treat your foreign friends?!"

"I protest! I'm going to complain to higher authorities! You're creating a diplomatic conflict! This is thuggish behavior!"