The two men who came to buy Bezoar from Yan Fei arrived in a small car and were naturally well-dressed. Both wore sharp suits and shiny leather shoes, their hair combed so smoothly that even a mosquito would slip off. They looked every bit the successful types, a sight seldom seen in Sancha River.
The moment they heard Yan Fei directly say he wouldn't sell the Bezoars, their faces stiffened; they hesitated before the driver, who was not holding a briefcase, spoke: "Boss Yan, do you know where we come from? This is Manager Song from our city's pharmaceutical factory, in charge of procurement. Your Bezoar can only be sold to our factory to benefit more people. How can say you won't sell?"
Yan Fei didn't even blink, "I am certainly going to sell, but not to you."
His refusal was still straightforward, and he clearly had no interest in negotiating with them.