"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!"

My head buzzed—what agreement? When did I sign anything?

Chief Inspector Dickerson took the paper, studied it carefully, then looked at me. "Did you sign this?"

I leaned in. The agreement was covered in dense clauses, and at the very bottom, there it was—my name, with a bright red fingerprint beside it.

The position matched the red mark on my thumb exactly.

"No!" My scalp went numb. "I didn't sign this! I got hit on the head, and while I was unconscious they—"

"What nonsense." Derek cut me off. "You admitted you used gutter oil. Said you'd pay compensation. Now you're backing out?"

Marcus held his phone high, shouting at the camera. "Family, did you see that? The black-hearted boss wants to weasel out!"

He turned, pulled the photo from his pocket, and handed it straight to the inspectors.

"Evidence—him scooping gutter oil in the kitchen!"

Chief Inspector Dickerson studied the photo. His expression darkened. "We need an on-site inspection."

They walked straight into the kitchen. I followed.

I cleaned that kitchen spotless every day. They wouldn't find anything.

But when I saw the black plastic bucket in the corner, I froze.

That wasn't mine.

Chief Inspector Dickerson walked over and shined his flashlight into the liquid. A sour, rotten stench hit the air.

"What is this?" He turned to me.

"This isn't mine!" My voice came out hoarse. "I've never seen this bucket! They must have snuck it in!"

Derek sneered. "Still arguing? Caught red-handed and you want to deny it?"

Marcus stepped closer to Chief Inspector Dickerson, lowering his voice. "Sir, this is the evidence. These workers trusted him—ate gutter oil for three years. Ruined their health."

Chief Inspector Dickerson photographed the bucket, then collected a sample in a test tube. "This is serious. You'll need to come with us for an investigation."

My legs went weak.

Derek fanned the flames. "Sir, you've got to investigate thoroughly. This kind of black-hearted vendor deserves the harshest punishment! The agreement says five thousand per person. He's backing out, and we won't accept it!"

The workers' voices rose and fell. "Yeah! He has to pay!"

Chief Inspector Dickerson raised his hand for silence. "We'll handle this according to the law. Everyone calm down."

I watched Marcus secretly flip me off. Every word stuck in my throat.

He'd set up this trap long ago. Calculated every step.

Then Derek's expression changed. He clutched his stomach, doubling over. "Ow… my stomach…"

Several workers grabbed their stomachs too, cold sweat breaking out on their faces.

"Mine too! Like knives twisting inside!"

Someone vomited. Someone collapsed.