Tòumíng pushed himself up from the sidewalk, his hands scraping against concrete. Bills were scattered around him, the five thousand yuan spread across the ground like leaves. He started to reach for them.
"Leave it," Cupid's voice was sharp, urgent. "Grab the gem and run. Now."
"But the money—"
"Is bait. You think Hǔtān just let you walk out with five thousand yuan? He's testing you. Watching to see what you do. If you go back for that money, if you show how much you need it, you're done. Leave it and RUN."
Tòumíng's hand hovered over the nearest bill. A fortune. Enough to make a real dent in his debts. But Cupid was right. The way Hǔtān had looked at him, the way he'd been thrown out so suddenly after that silent standoff... this was a test.
He pulled his hand back and ran.
Into the alley, past the dumpster where his real fortune waited. He yanked open the lid, digging through garbage bags with frantic hands until his fingers closed on the smooth surface of rose quartz. The five-pound chunk came free, bits of rotting lettuce and unidentifiable sludge clinging to its surface.
Tòumíng wiped it on his already filthy pants and kept running.
His legs screamed at him, the stab wounds from last night protesting every impact with the pavement. His broken rib ground against something with each breath. But fear was an excellent motivator, and the weight of fifty-six thousand yuan in crystal form kept him moving.
He didn't look back. Didn't slow down until he'd put three blocks between himself and that restaurant. Only then did he risk a glance over his shoulder.
No one was following. The street behind him was empty, just the usual evening traffic of workers and vendors going about their business.
"Good," Cupid said, and Tòumíng could hear relief in his voice. "You passed. You showed him you're not desperate enough to grovel for scraps. That matters to men like him."
"I just left five thousand yuan on the street."
"You just kept your life. And your secrets. Now get to that pawn shop and convert the rest of this quartz before something else goes wrong."
The walk back took fifteen minutes, Tòumíng moving at a brisk pace but not running anymore. Running drew attention. Running made you look like prey. He forced himself to adopt a casual stride, just another worker heading home after a long day, never mind the blood stains and bruises and the fortune hidden under his arm.
The Golden Fortune Pawn shop's neon sign flickered in the distance. Still open, lights still on. Tòumíng pushed through the door, the bell chiming weakly.
The greasy shopkeeper was exactly where he'd left him twenty minutes ago, still sitting in that protesting chair, but now he was examining something under his magnifying glass with intense focus.
The rose quartz. The four-hundred-gram piece Tòumíng had sold him.
The man looked up as the bell chimed, his expression shifting from concentration to mild surprise. "Back already? What, you rob someone and need to offload more stolen goods?"
Tòumíng ignored the jab and pulled out the five-pound chunk, setting it on the counter with a heavy thunk. Garbage debris rained off it, bits of lettuce and something that might have been noodles splattering across the wood.
The shopkeeper's eyes went wide. He set down the smaller piece and leaned forward, his chair groaning in protest. His magnifying glass came up immediately, examining the larger chunk with professional intensity.
"Well, well, well." He turned it over in his hands, surprisingly gentle for someone so rough around the edges. "This is from the same vein as the other piece, isn't it? Look at the color saturation, the crystal structure. These were connected."
He looked up at Tòumíng, calculation in his small eyes. "Where'd you get this? And don't say you found it. Nobody just finds five pounds of facet-grade rose quartz."
"Does it matter?"
The shopkeeper grinned, showing teeth that needed serious dental work. "Not particularly. Just curious." He weighed the chunk in his hands, estimating. "This is, what, two and a quarter kilos? Maybe two point three?"
"Two point two six eight," Tòumíng said, the number from True Price still fresh in his mind.
"Specific." The shopkeeper pulled out his own scale, a professional-grade one that probably cost more than everything else in the shop combined. He placed the quartz on it carefully. "Two point two six seven (HEHHEHEHEHEHEHEH). Close enough."
He did mental math, his lips moving slightly. "Given what I paid for the smaller piece, and accounting for the fact that I'm taking on significant risk buying this much premium quartz from someone who looks like they got in a fight with a meat grinder... twenty thousand yuan."
Tòumíng didn't even hesitate. "No."
"Twenty-five."
"The market value is over fifty-six thousand. I'm not accepting less than fifty."
The shopkeeper laughed, a wet, phlegmy sound. "Market value assumes legal sale to a certified dealer with proper documentation and authenticity guarantees. You're selling to me, in a pawn shop, at nine o'clock at night, covered in blood and garbage. Twenty-eight thousand, final offer."
"Fifty thousand yuan." Tòumíng leaned forward, ignoring the way his ribs protested. "And I bring every piece of quartz I find exclusively to you. No other shops. No other dealers. You become my only buyer."
That made the shopkeeper pause. His eyes narrowed, reassessing. "You planning to find more of this?"
"Maybe."
"How much more?"
"Enough that you'll want exclusive rights."
The silence stretched as the shopkeeper studied him. Studied the quartz. Ran calculations that only he could see.
"Forty thousand," he finally said. "Forty thousand for this piece, and you sign an agreement that all rose quartz, or any other precious stones you acquire, come to me first. I get right of first refusal on everything."
"Forty-five thousand."
"Forty-two."
"Forty-five, and I'll throw in advanced notice when I'm bringing in a particularly large haul so you can have cash ready."
The shopkeeper drummed his fingers on the desk, making the stacks of money jump slightly. "You drive a hard bargain for someone who looks like they should be in a hospital." He paused. "Forty-five thousand. But the exclusivity agreement is binding. You sell to anyone else, I find out, and we have problems. Understood?"
"Understood."
"And just so we're clear..." The shopkeeper leaned back, his chair screaming. "When I say problems, I mean I have friends who make your current injuries look like papercuts. This is a business relationship. Honor it or suffer the consequences." (ooooo im quivering in my boots)
Tòumíng nodded. "Fifty thousand would have been better."
"Fifty thousand for trash that smells like dumpster? I'm already being generous." The shopkeeper pulled out his lockbox again, counting out bills with practiced efficiency. "But I like you, kid. You've got balls. Stupid balls, probably going to get you killed, but balls nonetheless."
He counted out forty-five thousand yuan in neat stacks, then pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. "Sign this. It's our agreement. Nothing fancy, just says you sell to me exclusively."
Tòumíng read it quickly. The terms were simple, straightforward, exactly what they'd discussed. He signed with a pen the shopkeeper provided, his signature shaky but legible.
The shopkeeper signed as well, then pushed the money across the counter. "Pleasure doing business. Now get out of here before someone sees you carrying that much cash and decides to rob you."
Tòumíng scooped up the bills, counting them quickly to verify the amount, then stuffed them in his pockets. Forty-five thousand yuan. Combined with what he'd lost at the restaurant, he'd had over fifty thousand in his possession tonight.
He'd be damned if he ever went back to Hǔtān's restaurant to retrieve that scattered five thousand. Survival first. Money second. That was the new priority.
The shopkeeper extended a greasy hand across the counter. "Partners?"
Tòumíng looked at the offered hand, at the grime under the fingernails, at the shine of chicken grease on the palm. Then he looked at the money in his pockets, at the empty space on the counter where his fortune in quartz had been.
He reached out and shook.
"Partners."
(Timeskip Incoming)