Act 2: The way of inhaling and exhaling is with hardness and softness.

Dignity

Cheng Sinzan smacked his lips as the tray of hot wings was set down in front of him. He tucked his napkin into his shirt; the chair he was seated in creaked under his weight as he leaned over his plate to take in the spicy aroma of his food. He then looked to the dapper blonde who sat across the table from him and gave thought to offer her a piece.

He shrugged when she politely declined. "I really like what you've done with the place, kid. You've really brought this old dump back to life."

King remained relaxed in her seat. "Thank you, Cheng." She did her best to hide her disapproval of his gauche table manners, evidence that he was accustomed to eating alone.

Unawares, Cheng eyed a young waitress as she passed. "I see a lot of familiar faces working here... Was that Elizabeth I saw walking by just now?"

"That was Sally. I think." King pouted at her inability to tell the twin sisters in her employ apart. "When the cops brought down Club L'Amor, that suddenly put an experienced wait staff on the market—no training costs."

Cheng smiled and tapped his temple, saying, "I like the way you think, kid."

"I hope you relay your confidence in my management style to the other investors."

"Oh, I came here on my own, actually." He burped. "I wanted to get a progress report of sorts."

King suddenly found herself annoyed, and she folded her arms. "I hope that I don't have to remind you of our deal: as long as I meet my numbers, I get full autonomy of Club La Illusion."

"That's the thing kid: I've been watching you, and I don't think you're going to meet your quota this quarter."

"I still have plenty of time, Cheng." King's eyes narrowed, being at the end of her patience. "The last thing I need is you coming down here giving me shit about it!"

Cheng smirked, unimpressed. "You got me all wrong, kid. Your success is my success: I want to throw some extra business your way."

Ever the businesswoman, King took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm listening."

"The King of Fighters is spinning up again; I was thinking of parlaying public interest in that into a battle-of-the-bands contest."

She grinned. "What are you going to call it? The King of Musicians?"

"I'm still working on the title." Cheng took the last chicken wing from the plate and dunked it into the bowl of hot sauce. "The only real challenge is finding interesting venues to host the competition."

"By 'interesting venues' you mean to include my night club, I take it?" King said in understanding. "What's your cut?"

"A mere thirty percent. I'm not greedy." He placed the chicken wing in his mouth and slurped noisily as he sucked the spicy meat from the bone.

King snorted. "You're a real sweetheart, Cheng, considering all you have to do is hand out fliers."

"C'mon, kid. I do a little more than that." He wiped his hands clean and reached for his cigar. "Your competitors are already on board."

"My 'competitors' do not have La Illusion's je ne sais quoi." She extended her hand and offered, "Twenty percent and you got a deal."

Cheng lit his stogie and regarded the savvy Frenchwoman thoughtfully. After substantial deliberation—and a few choice puffs of smoke—he returned her handshake. "Twenty it is... only because I like you, kid." He removed his cigar and leaned in to kiss her hand.

She withdrew it quickly, her expression aloof, and said, "There is no smoking in La Illusion."

"That is going to be the first thing I change if the board ever takes over"—Cheng looked over his shoulder and frowned—"along with that monstrosity you have hanging over the bar."

King smiled, even as she swatted away the smoke. "Hey, I like that painting. I... liberated it from L'Amor before the creditors picked the place clean."

"Why?"

King shrugged and, in reverie, stared at the macabre masterpiece. Over the years she had memorized every detail of this painting. The subject was a slain bullfighter displayed prominently against a dark nondescript background. With his hand draped over his chest, it would appear as if the bullfighter were merely sleeping, were it not for a trickle of blood that stained the ground at his shoulder, marking a violent final performance. "It has a quiet dignity about it, non? Dignity in the face of death."

Cheng did not share King's appreciation. "You should've let them keep it. It's a downer for your customers."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes. "I'll move it to the dining section for the duration of the competition."

"Good girl." He took one last drag from his cigar. "You see, I'm not so bad, am I?"

"You're always welcome, Cheng... as long as you're a paying customer." Having had enough of Cheng's second-hand smoke, King rose from the table.

"While you're up, be a dear and bring me some more wings." King yelped when Cheng slapped the blonde on her bum as she passed.

A loud smack garnered everyone's attention towards Cheng's table. The portly businessman rubbed his cheek as King walked away; she sported a very visible smirk of satisfaction.