Tòumíng was absolutely shitting his pants.
The woman, or person, he was still having trouble determining with certainty, was tall. Really tall. Had to be at least six-foot-four, towering over his five-foot-nine frame. The height difference was made even more intimidating by the way she loomed, using her body positioning to create a physical sense of dominance.
And the scars. Holy shit, the scars.
Now that he was this close, pinned against the bathroom wall with her elbow pressing into his throat, he could see them clearly. Her exposed shoulders and arms were covered in scars—not the kind you got from accidents or surgery, but the kind that came from combat. Knife wounds. What looked like old bullet grazes. Burns. The kind of damage that told a story of violence survived.
Was she some kind of lady gangster? A female enforcer for one of the criminal organizations that operated in the city?
"Are you—" Tòumíng started to ask.
She pressed harder against his throat, cutting off the question. Not enough to choke him, but enough to make speaking difficult and breathing uncomfortable.
"Are you going to answer my questions or not?" Her voice was cold, professional, the tone of someone who'd interrogated people before and knew exactly how much pressure to apply.
Tòumíng nodded frantically, unable to speak with the pressure on his windpipe.
She released him slightly, easing back just enough to let him breathe properly while still keeping him pinned.
Right at that moment, one of the bathroom stalls opened.
A middle-aged man in an expensive suit stepped out, took in the scene, Tòumíng pressed against the wall, the tall masked woman leaning into him, their faces close together, the general positioning that could be interpreted multiple ways, and completely misread the situation.
"Oh! Don't mind me, you two continue." He winked at Tòumíng as he passed, giving him a knowing smirk that clearly communicated 'I see what's happening here, good for you, young man.'
"Wait, no, this isn't—" Tòumíng tried to clarify, but the man was already out the door, probably returning to the ballroom with a story about the young guest getting lucky with one of the companions.
Before Tòumíng could finish his sentence or process the embarrassment, the masked woman pulled out a phone. Not a modern smartphone—an older model, something that looked deliberately basic, the kind of device that was probably harder to track or hack.
She swiped through a few screens and held it up to Tòumíng's face.
The image showed CCTV footage. Black and white, slightly grainy, but clear enough. It showed Tòumíng entering Xuān Láng's pawn shop, the timestamp indicating it was from his very first visit weeks ago when he'd sold the initial rose quartz.
"That fucker sold me out," Tòumíng muttered, anger flaring. Xuān Láng had given him up. Provided surveillance footage to, to whoever this woman was.
"Wrong." Her voice remained flat. "I hacked into his security system. He doesn't know I have this footage. He didn't sell you out, I took it without his knowledge."
Tòumíng blinked, reassessing. "You hacked—"
"I'm not here to harm you." She continued as if he hadn't spoken, her eyes still boring into his with that intense green stare. "I need information. That's all. The fools I hired to follow you last week were incompetent idiots who picked a fight instead of conducting proper surveillance."
Wait.
The realization hit Tòumíng like cold water.
"You sent them." His voice came out hoarse from the earlier throat pressure. "Bob and the other guys. The ones who jumped me in the alley. YOU sent them?"
She sighed, the sound carrying genuine frustration and maybe a hint of regret. "Yes. They were supposed to observe and report. Instead they engaged directly, got into a physical confrontation, and, based on the hospital reports, got their asses thoroughly kicked. One of them ended up with a broken neck. I also know bout the other man you sent to the hospital, still in intensive care with severe testicular trauma."
Pàng Hǔ. She was talking about Pàng Hǔ. Which meant she knew about that fight too.
"I apologize for that," she continued, her tone suggesting the apology was genuine even if her delivery remained cold. "Hiring street thugs was a mistake. I should have conducted the surveillance myself. But I needed to verify certain suspicions before making direct contact."
"Suspicions about what?" Tòumíng's heart was still racing, but curiosity was starting to override fear.
The masked woman, Ghost Claw, though Tòumíng didn't know that name yet, pulled back slightly, giving him a bit more breathing room while still maintaining a position that could quickly become threatening again if needed.
"I'm former military," she said, her voice taking on a different quality, something that carried the weight of authority and experience. "Chinese Navy SEALs, special operations. After that, government intelligence officer working domestic security operations. Five years in that position."
She paused, her green eyes searching his face for a reaction.
"I left the service six months ago after discovering that certain members of the Chinese elite, mining industry executives, gemstone dealers, wealthy collectors, were running trafficking operations. Gem trafficking, yes. But more importantly, human trafficking. Using mining operations and gemstone acquisition as cover for moving people across borders. Women and children primarily. For purposes I won't elaborate on."
Tòumíng's stomach dropped. The Gentlemen's Mining Club. The restricted upper floors. The weird atmosphere of the event. The specialty beverage Cupid had warned him not to drink.
"And the government?" he asked quietly.
"Turns a blind eye." Her voice carried bitterness now, the professional mask cracking slightly. "Either through corruption, willful ignorance, or because some of the participants are government officials themselves. When I tried to report it through official channels, I was shut down. Reassigned. Eventually forced to resign when I wouldn't drop the investigation."
She shifted her weight, her posture relaxing infinitesimally. "So now I work outside official channels. Gathering evidence. Building cases. Trying to expose the network and bring it down through other means."
Tòumíng stared at her, his brain struggling to process this information overload. A former government intelligence officer turned vigilante investigating a human trafficking ring operating through mining industry events.
"And I'm involved in this how?" he asked.