Ren Bing was frankly surprised that the tiny bouncer in the Mongolian Bar in Lanqi, Inner Mongolia, had been able to take him down so easily and readily with just a running tackle.
The lead up to the tackle was, he admitted, a bit foggy. So much of the fierce munggu jiu had been flowing freely.
Shots done over mutton hotpot.
Strip poker with a local who was adamant that he was a direct descendant of Chinggiz Khan, local hero.
More shots.
Shots.
Shots?
And the sudden realization that he was, in fact, Kublai Khan! It all made sense!
He wasn’t Ren Bing, junior accountant from Shanghai, in Inner Mongolia for an accounting conference!
He was Kublai Khan!
Kublai fucking Khan!
He needed to get to Xanadu immediately to build a stately pleasure dome! It would have a bath house and a rooftop helipad and lots of huge, flat screen TVs and lots of enthusiastic KTV girls!
Luckily, Xanadu was just up the road.
Inner Mongolia was very convenient.
He remembered heading in what he thought was the approximate direction of Xanadu, with a sword he’d borrowed from the bar’s wall decor in hand, ready to battle any foes who objected to his mission.
Xanadu!
Xanaduuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
The tiny bouncer’s elbow dug into his ribs.
Ren Bing sighed.
The first presentation of the accounting conference was due to start at 8am.
Xanadu would have to wait.