"Just because we're working-class people at the bottom doesn't mean you get to trample on our lives and health! We're gonna make this black-hearted boss pay up!"
I froze. They looked perfectly fine—what was I supposed to pay for?
I rushed forward and spoke directly into his phone camera: "That was a photo of me cleaning the kitchen before closing every night. He's making things up!"
Marcus's assistant shoved me back, and the whole group started cursing.
"Got the nerve to do it but not to admit it—typical. You're the one scooping gutter oil!"
"If we hadn't come to speak up for these workers, they'd still be getting scammed by a black-hearted boss like you!"
The workers Derek brought were already getting riled up. "Pay us! Refund all our meal money from the past three years!"
By then I'd already pulled out my purchase invoices. "Everything I use comes from the wholesale market—produce and cooking oil, all of it. Here's the proof."
Marcus snatched the invoices with one hand and tore them to pieces without even glancing at them.
"Just a photoshopped list you printed to cover your ass. What's there to see? Still trying to scam people?"
I grabbed his hand. "What gives you the right to destroy my invoices? Give them back!"
He tossed the shredded paper into the air and turned to the workers. "Why do I give out free boxed meals? Because I can't stand these black-hearted vendors!"
"They wave the 'cheap' flag around, but they're using the worst ingredients to screw over honest people!"
He spun back to face the camera. "I'm here to crack down on businesses like this. That's why I'm out here livestreaming, even risking my life. Family, don't forget to send those gifts!"
From his excitement, I could tell donations were already pouring in.
The workers' stares grew harder, their muttered curses sharper.
"Thank God for Marcus standing up for us!"
"Call the cops. Get this bastard thrown in jail."
Derek glared at me, hand outstretched. "Enough talk. Refund us. If something happens to our health later, you're not walking away."
"Three years of eating your poison—we deserve compensation! Five thousand each, minimum! Don't pay, and you're done around here!"
I looked at these same coworkers I'd made tangyuan for, the ones I'd given extra portions to for free.
My heart went cold.
When I didn't move, Marcus shoved me hard. "Stop playing dead. Refund the money today, or we trash your shop!"
The chaos erupted. I don't know who threw the first punch.
Someone flipped the insulated bucket—scalding soup splashed across the floor. Someone knocked over the dining table—dozens of boxed meals crashed everywhere.
"Refund it! Give back every cent you made off us!"
I staggered back. My head hit something, and my vision blurred. I struggled to shout "Everybody stop!" but no one listened.
When I came to, the shop was destroyed.
Derek and Marcus's whole crew still blocked the entrance, but they'd gone quiet. Just watching me.
I stared at the red mark on my thumb. I couldn't remember what it was from.
A bitter laugh escaped me. If this was how it was going to be, my eight-dollar boxed-meal stand might as well close for good.
I was about to leave when Market Supervision Bureau staff arrived.
Their section chief, a man named Chen, walked in with a deep frown. "We received a report. Who's the owner?"
I started to answer, but Derek suddenly pushed through the crowd, waving a document.
"Him! This is the compensation agreement. He already signed and admitted to using gutter oil—agreed to pay each worker five thousand dollars!"
