Ghost Claw's mouth opened, trying to formulate a response, some explanation for why they'd been having an intense conversation that wouldn't raise more suspicion.
But Tòumíng's extensive experience in the art of bullshitting, combined with watching far too many mafia movies during his week-long Breaking Bad binge, kicked in automatically.
"What's the matter with you?" He shifted his posture, leaning back in his seat with the kind of casual arrogance he'd seen in countless mob films. His voice dropped into what he hoped sounded like a threatening growl. "I'm hanging with mah wife and you're asking about our private business?"
Ghost Claw's head whipped toward him. "Wife? I'm not your wif—"
"Fiancée, whatever!" Tòumíng cut her off smoothly, riding the momentum of the lie. "We're tying the knot at this event—making it official, you know—and now you think it's prime time to intrude on our personal moment? That's real disrespectful."
The staff member took a half-step back, his professional smile faltering. "I apologize, sir, I didn't mean to—"
"You disrespect me, you disrespect my family," Tòumíng continued, channeling every Godfather scene he'd absorbed. "And that's all I get? A half-assed 'I didn't mean to'? That's how you treat paying guests at an exclusive event?"
"I'm terribly sorry, sir, truly—" The man was visibly sweating now, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I meant no offense whatsoever. Please accept my sincerest apologies for the interruption. I'll leave you to your evening immediately."
"Now get out of my sight," Tòumíng said, waving his hand dismissively like he was shooing away a particularly annoying insect.
The staff member nodded frantically and practically ran back up the aisle toward the entrance, clearly wanting to put as much distance between himself and the angry young guest as possible.
The moment he was gone, Ghost Claw turned to stare at Tòumíng with an expression somewhere between shock and grudging respect.
"What the hell was that?" she whispered. "Are you a spy? Undercover operative? Where did that come from?"
"No, just a guy with god-level bullshitting skills," Tòumíng replied, his heart still racing from the adrenaline of pulling off the act.
"You can say that again," Cupid chimed in, clearly impressed despite himself.
Ghost Claw shook her head, still processing, then physically grabbed Tòumíng's face and turned it toward the stage. "Put your eyes on the stage. The auction is starting. We need to see who bids on what."
Tòumíng was about to respond when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw Měi Nán's name on the screen, and immediately stood up, moving to a corner of the back row where he could take the call without disturbing other attendees who were starting to settle into their seats.
"Hello?"
"Tòumíiiing!" Měi Nán's voice came through slurred, definitely drunk, with that particular cheerfulness that only came from expensive alcohol. "Guess what! I'm at this amaaazing party and I just—hic—picked up a client who's paying TOP dollar!"
"Měi, are you drunk?"
"Maybe a litttttle bit! But listen, this guy—hic—he wants to book me for an orgy situation. Not exactly my usual thing, you know, I prefer one-on-one intimacy, but he's offering—hic—eight hundred thousand yuan! EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND! For one night! Can you believe it?"
Tòumíng's blood ran cold. An orgy. At this event. With these people.
"NO!" His voice came out sharper than intended, loud enough that a few nearby attendees turned to look at him with annoyance.
"Whaaaat? Why not?" Měi Nán sounded genuinely confused, the alcohol making him miss the urgency in Tòumíng's tone. "It's really good money and—hic—I've done group situations before, it's fine—"
"Listen to me very carefully," Tòumíng said, trying to keep his voice low but firm. "You need to say no. You need to turn down that client and leave the event right now."
"Are you—hic—jealous?" Měi Nán's voice turned playful, teasing. "Is my fake boyfriend getting possessive? That's actually kind of cute—"
"It's not that! These people—" Tòumíng's brain scrambled for an excuse that would work, that would make Měi Nán leave without revealing the trafficking situation that Cupid had specifically warned him not to disclose. "The people here are Ped—"
"Don't tell him!" Cupid's voice cut through urgently. "Don't say it! You can't reveal what's happening here!"
"—Peed. P.E.D. They take performance-enhancing drugs because they can't get it up naturally," Tòumíng finished lamely, hoping the pivot made sense. "Yeah. Lots of pharmaceutical assistance. Very weird scene."
"Okay?" Měi Nán didn't sound convinced or particularly concerned. "I mean, that's not uncommon with older clients. As long as everything works eventually, I don't really care how—hic—how they make it happen. Eight hundred thousand yuan, Tòumíng!"
"NO! That's not all!" Tòumíng was fully panicking now, trying to think of something that would actually scare Měi Nán away from accepting. "They uhh... they uhh..."
His mind raced through every possible health scare that would be convincing.
"THEY HAVE STDs!" he blurted out. "Gonorrhea! Crabs! Syphilis! The works! All of them! It's like a petri dish in there! Super infectious! You'd need a hazmat suit!"
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"EW!" Měi Nán's voice had lost all of its drunk cheerfulness, replaced by genuine horror. "EW EW EWWWWW! Oh my god, thank you for the warning! I was literally about to go upstairs with this guy! That's disgusting! That's a health nightmare!"
"Exactly!" Tòumíng seized on the reaction. "So you need to leave. Right now. This whole event is just... it's bad. It's a bad scene. You misunderstood what kind of event this was. It's filled with old guys with diseases and weird pharmaceutical dependencies and you do NOT want to be here."
"Oh my god, I'm leaving immediately," Měi Nán said, the sound of movement coming through the phone—probably him gathering his things. "This is so gross. I thought this was going to be a classy networking thing with actually wealthy, actually clean clients. Not a biohazard orgy situation!"
"Good. Leave. Go home."
"Actually, I think I'm going to crash at your place instead, if that's okay? I'm too drunk to deal with my own apartment right now and your villa is closer from here—hic—and I want to tell you about this weird guy who tried to hire me in person so you can appreciate how dodged a bullet I just did."
Tòumíng's brain was still processing the trafficking information, the blood rubies, the fact that he was standing in a building where human beings were being bought and sold like merchandise. The idea of Měi Nán going to the villa and waiting for him there actually sounded good—it meant he'd be safe, away from this nightmare.
"Okay, okay! Thanks for the STD warning, seriously. You're a lifesaver—hic—literally saved me from gonorrhea!" Měi Nán hung up, presumably already making his way to the exit.
Tòumíng lowered his phone and turned back toward Ghost Claw and the stage.
Just as he did, a microphone blared to life, the feedback briefly ear-piercing before settling into clarity.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the thirty-second annual Gentlemen's Mining Club auction!" A voice boomed through the theater, polished and professional. "We'll be starting with our more accessible pieces this evening, working our way up to our premium selections. Please have your bidding paddles ready!"
Immediately—before Tòumíng could even register what was happening—Ghost Claw's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist with iron strength. She pulled him out of his seat and toward the back exit, moving with urgent purpose.
"Wait, what—" Tòumíng stumbled after her.
"We're not staying for the cheap stuff," she hissed, dragging him through the door and back into the corridor. "The blood ruby won't come up until the end. Premium selections. And we can't afford to be seen sitting there the entire time—people will remember us, ask questions about why we're not bidding on anything."
She pulled him down a side hallway, away from the theater.