In the banquet hall, thunderous applause and rhythmic chanting erupted. All eyes converged on An Ning's table, specifically on the two conspicuously black-haired Eastern women.
"What are they trying to do?"
Zhao Xin discreetly gripped the dinner knife on the table. An Ning patted the back of her hand, then picked up a napkin with her other hand and elegantly dabbed her lips.
"It's nothing. Just someone looking to be taught a lesson."
Having said that, An Ning stood up, a glass of red wine in hand. Her standard, yet relaxed, French gradually quieted the boisterous crowd.
"I have two questions. First, who told you that we from Huaxia were going to perform for you? Why is this news to us?"
