Wang Zhuo's sudden shout puzzled not only the few Indians present but also drew the attention of the other onlookers on the deck.

Major Heidegger had just hurried over to where Wang Zhuo and the Americans stood, catching the big man's warning to Wang Zhuo to "go back to India." Before he could utter a word, he saw Wang Zhuo waving at the Indians.

"A lightning strike—crispy on the outside, tender on the inside!" Heidegger didn't know what the word "lightning strike" (, lei) meant in China, but that was exactly how he felt right then—so choked up he nearly rolled his eyes.

Arguing is one thing, but dragging a third party into it is the most taboo move; it easily leads to a pincer attack. The Americans had just shot themselves squarely in the foot!

Seeing an Asian face—a young man—smiling and waving at them, the Indians exchanged a look and walked over, their faces full of confusion.

However, the four tall American men who had been confronting Wang Zhuo were left dumbfounded, completely unprepared for Wang Zhuo to pull such a stunt.

India is a massive importer of military hardware in the world, so their presence here was hardly unusual. Furthermore, it was likely some of these individuals had military backgrounds. Coupled with the famously stubborn and eccentric tempers of Indians—which could be as prickly as jelly—they were certainly not a group to be trifled with.

That wasn't all. Wang Zhuo, who worked in pharmaceuticals, knew, just like these Americans, that India was the world's largest "guinea pig" nation. Testing new drugs on human subjects in developed countries incurred extremely high costs, but in India, there were no such concerns. For just a few thousand RMB, one could sign a trial contract with impoverished Indians that was akin to selling their very lives—countless Indians died annually from new drug trials originating from developed Western nations.

The big American's exhortation to Wang Zhuo, "Go back to India," was originally just a casual metaphor, but it thoroughly exposed the discrimination against India that was deeply ingrained in his character. This was precisely the soft spot and the scar Indians most wished to conceal: You developed nations may be rich, but must you be so pretentious? In barely over ten seconds, the Indians arrived before Wang Zhuo and the four Americans. The youngest among them addressed Wang Zhuo in fluent, crisp British English, asking what he required of them.

By now, Wang Zhuo had completely forgotten Liu Jiming. The aggressive posture of these American fellows had made him extremely irritated, especially their condescending attitudes. This was British territory, after all; if they were this brazen here, they would likely resort to physical violence if they were on American soil!

"Big guy, please repeat what you just said to me to these Indian gentlemen," Wang Zhuo said with a slight smile to the older-looking American.

The Indians immediately turned their gazes toward the tall American. While Wang Zhuo’s manner was clearly provocative, the logic was clear: they assumed the American must have been speaking ill of them behind their backs!

Which nation values 'face' the most in this world? Some might say China—While gates of gold and meat are abundant, the bones of the frozen lie on the road. The entire nation's annual poverty relief funds amount to less than a fraction of their spending on official vehicles, all while they tighten their own belts to support impoverished nations! However, if a global referendum were held, the nation that values face most undoubtedly would be the United States, the self-appointed international policeman. Unlike nations that puff themselves up with false pride, their arrogance was intrinsic, woven into the very fabric of their being!

So, even knowing Wang Zhuo was sowing discord, the Americans chose not to defend themselves, nor did they apologize to the Indians.

They stood there, glaring at each other in a tense stalemate for a few seconds before the Indians finally lost patience. A middle-aged man whose skin was as dark as that of his African brethren frowned and asked Wang Zhuo, "What did they say?"

"Perhaps they won't admit it, but please believe me, I am not lying," Wang Zhuo replied with a light shrug and a smile. "I merely conducted a medical trial in America. These gentlemen just suggested I should go to India next time."

Heidegger clutched his head in mounting frustration. Rivalry among customers could actually be a good thing, as it often spurred impulsive spending; if they started bidding against each other, the final auction price would surely please the big bosses at the Ministry of Defence. But the Indians were too sensitive about their pride and were notorious for running to their superiors with complaints. He wished he had just hidden aside and pretended not to see anything!

As expected, the moment Wang Zhuo finished speaking, the faces of the Indians changed. And since one could always find someone more obsessed with saving face, the Americans merely snorted in disdain, cementing their attitude: Yes, we said it. What are you going to do about it?!

Jabbering loudly, one of the more hot-tempered Indians began arguing fiercely with the Americans. The others looked at Wang Zhuo with suspicion; while the man who badmouths others behind their backs is detestable, those who stir up trouble are equally unwelcome.

Wang Zhuo feigned innocence, shrugging and spreading his hands—acting as if the matter had nothing to do with him.

It had to be admitted, the Indians' English proficiency was excellent. Britain had colonized the Indian subcontinent for ninety long years, leaving a profound impact on their politics, economy, and culture. Consequently, the Indians and Americans conversed at a very rapid pace and quickly reached a consensus.

A consensus? Wang Zhuo blinked, then felt a sudden wave of absurd amusement. The Indians had abruptly pivoted, joining forces with the Americans to turn their attack solely upon him!

"Uh... Sir, please let me explain," he stammered, gesturing apologetically. "Regarding the 'Mad Mosquito Disease' causing tens of millions of deaths and huge economic losses to your nation—I express my deepest regret. But... the production capacity for Angel One is limited, and I am merely the inventor; I cannot control the subsequent manufacturing and supply chain."

"I am not shirking responsibility! How can you say that? The outbreak and rampant spread of the Mad Mosquito Disease is not my fault!"

"Publish the formula? I apologize, but first and foremost, I am a businessman, and only secondarily a researcher. Your nation has never approached me to negotiate the purchase of the formula, has it?"

This time, he truly was outnumbered, two fists against four hands. No matter how eloquently Wang Zhuo spoke in English, he struggled. His pace was slower, and the three Indians were speaking simultaneously, with the Americans chiming in. He was quickly cornered, appearing utterly incapable of rebuttal. His sentences were often cut off mid-way by rude interruptions!

A scholar meeting a soldier! Wang Zhuo was both annoyed and embarrassed. The Americans' tactic of stirring up trouble had actually succeeded! These Indians were truly too used to being colonized, lacking any backbone. Once the powerful Americans gave them an opening to vent, they immediately redirected their aggression toward the less formidable Chinese!

Indians really couldn't be trusted—they were fence-sitters, blowing whichever way the strongest wind blew!

"Ahem!"

Heidegger finally cleared his throat forcefully and intervened. The British Ministry of Defence had conducted background checks on the potential bidders for the Royal Princess. Wang Zhuo was identified as one of the most likely high-spending clients, partly because Chinese businessmen had a history of purchasing decommissioned aircraft carriers, and partly because Wang Zhuo’s reported wealth surpassed every other guest present.

If these few "Indian A-sans" and American dandies, who showed no genuine interest in purchasing, managed to drive away such a major potential buyer with their bickering, it would be a huge loss!

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, what’s done is done. Can we please stop arguing about things that have already passed?" Heidegger said with a strained smile, trying to placate everyone. "Let's all calm down; we can discuss everything calmly later."

While mediating, he couldn't help but wonder why a group of Chinese people standing just a few meters away were watching the spectacle instead of coming to Wang Zhuo’s aid. Did Wang Zhuo usually have such poor rapport with people?

"He must leave immediately."

The American Wang Zhuo had called "Uncle" spoke coldly, "We do not welcome him, and neither do Mr. Rajeev from India and his friends!"

The Indians immediately concurred. As for the things the Americans had said to Wang Zhuo earlier, like "Go back to India," they had long since flushed them down the drain.

If you can rely on an A-san, a sow could climb a tree, Wang Zhuo muttered internally, sneering at the American elder, "This isn't American or Indian territory. What right do you have to kick me out on behalf of the British master?"

Boom—the geographical grenade was detonated. The phrase "British master" was used with a double meaning, sharp and subtle. India had been colonized by the British for ninety years, subjected to oppression and servitude. The Americans had fought a War of Independence to wrench the bloodsucking British leech from their own backs. Though both nations now stood proud and independent, Wang Zhuo's insinuation that their ancestors had served as British dogs was hardly going to sit well with them!

As expected, the Americans were instantly enraged by Wang Zhuo’s words. Leading the charge was the tall man who first confronted Wang Zhuo, who had introduced himself as Cole earlier. Cole stepped forward and reached out to push Wang Zhuo's chest.

Wang Zhuo, just over 1.80 meters tall, was about ten centimeters shorter than Cole. Their 'masses' were clearly in different weight classes. Cole could easily envelop Wang Zhuo; his hands looked like huge reed fans, his shoulders broad, his back thick, and his limbs sturdy—he was clearly a man who had undergone rigorous training.

Step, step, step. Wang Zhuo was pushed back three steps. Li Mingxu and the others immediately stepped forward to separate the two parties, completely unaware that Wang Zhuo had intentionally allowed himself to be pushed.

"What are you doing? You dare hit me?" Wang Zhuo stiffened his neck, shoving the intervening Zhou Jiyuan aside, and then challenged Cole with a façade of bravado, "If you have the guts, try pushing me again!"

Zhou Jiyuan, having served in the military for years, was physically tougher than he looked, but Wang Zhuo’s light shove sent him stumbling uncontrollably to the side. This man was quick-witted; he instantly understood that Wang Zhuo had deliberately staggered back those few steps, realizing Wang Zhuo possessed genuine fighting skill.

When have Americans ever tolerated being called spineless? Cole didn't hesitate, adding a third of his strength to another powerful shove toward Wang Zhuo!

At the edge of the crowd, Aileen Top let out a small gasp. She then watched as the Chinese youth, who had been standing perfectly straight, suddenly angled his body, letting Cole’s palm slide past. Simultaneously, Wang Zhuo caught Cole's wrist with his left hand and yanked outward fiercely. He then raised his right elbow and slammed it into Cole’s chest with a solid bang!

That wasn't all. After striking Cole’s chest, his right fist swung upward at the same time, the back of the fist connecting squarely with Cole’s chin, lips, and the tip of his nose!