Měi Nán hugged even tighter, his arms wrapping around Tòumíng's torso with enough force that ribs creaked in protest. The embrace was desperate, possessive, the kind of hold that said "I'm never letting you get shot again."
Ghost Claw, still standing awkwardly to the side in her tactical gear, tried to lighten the mood. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you two were dating."
Měi Nán's head snapped up, his tear-stained face shifting from relief to something sharp and dangerous. He gave Ghost Claw a glare that could have melted steel, his eyes communicating very clearly: "You almost got him killed and now you're making jokes about our relationship status?"
"Mei, hey, it's okay—" Tòumíng's hand came up to pat Měi Nán's back, his voice gentle and calming. "She was just trying to be funny. It's fine."
The glare softened slightly, transitioning from "I will murder you" to "I am deeply upset and fussy," Měi Nán's bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout that would have been comical if not for the genuine distress still visible in his eyes.
Tòumíng chuckled, a real laugh despite the lingering ache in his head, and carefully extracted himself from Měi Nán's grip. He stood up slowly, testing his balance, checking that his legs would support his weight.
Ghost Claw immediately moved forward, her hand outstretched.
"You should rest. Your brain just underwent massive reconstruction. You need time to—"
"I'm fine," Tòumíng brushed off her concern, rolling his shoulders experimentally. The bullet wounds were gone, fully healed during the eight-hour reconstruction process. The skull fractures had sealed. Even the superficial damage had vanished, leaving only faint scars where the bullets had entered.
He looked down at his chest and patted it gently, right over where his heart beat. "You still here, buddy?"
"Yeah." Cupid's voice emerged, exhausted but present. "But I swear to whatever deity will listen, if I have to go first-person again, if I have to manually operate your body one more time, I might just let you die. The emotional trauma of experiencing your childhood memories while rebuilding your temporal lobe was NOT on my bucket list for this millennium."
Tòumíng faked being offended, pressing his hand to his chest dramatically. "You're saying my childhood memories were traumatic for YOU? I'm the one who lived through them!"
"And now I have secondhand PTSD from rebuilding them neuron by neuron. We're even."
Ghost Claw's confusion was visible on her face, her eyes darting between Tòumíng and his chest. "What exactly is going on? I understand you have some kind of entity living in your heart, but the mechanics of—how does any of this work? The glowing eyes earlier, the inability to die, the healing from catastrophic brain damage—"
Tòumíng grinned and activated Ore Sense deliberately, letting his eyes shift from brown to brilliant glowing blue, the light casting an eerie illumination across the living room.
Ghost Claw took an involuntary step back, her military training warring with the supernatural impossibility of what she was witnessing.
"Long story short," Tòumíng said, his voice carrying that casual tone of someone explaining something mundane rather than reality-breaking, "I can mine really, really good. Plus I can't die. Well, I CAN die, but I don't STAY dead. Quantum superposition thing. It's complicated. Oh, and I have a snarky ancient entity named Cupid living in my heart who can possess my body in emergencies and knows seventeen thousand years' worth of martial arts."
He deactivated Ore Sense, his eyes returning to normal brown.
Ghost Claw stared at him for ten straight seconds. No blinking. No movement. Just absolute, processing silence as her analytical mind tried to reconcile the evidence with any kind of rational framework and failed completely.
Finally, she sighed—a long, exhausted exhalation that carried the weight of someone giving up on understanding.
"Sure. Whatever." Her voice was flat, defeated. "Glowing eyes. Immortality. Ancient heart entity. At this point I've seen enough tonight that nothing surprises me anymore. Reality is clearly more flexible than I was trained to believe."
She started moving toward the door, gathering her tactical gear, clearly ready to leave before any more impossible things happened.
"I don't want to overstay my welcome," she continued, pulling her gas mask back on—still not explaining why she needed it. "You've got... whatever this situation is... to deal with. Recovery. Explaining bullet holes to your boyfriend—"
"Not my boyfriend," both Tòumíng and Měi Nán said simultaneously, then looked at each other awkwardly.
"Right. Sure." Ghost Claw didn't sound convinced. "Anyway, I've already hacked into your phone and added my contact information. We'll be in touch. I still need to analyze that blood ruby, and you're the only person I know who can see through walls to identify valuable targets. This partnership isn't over."
Tòumíng nodded. "Fair enough. Thanks for... well, for trying to expose the trafficking. Even if it went sideways."
"It didn't go completely sideways. We disrupted their auction, prevented purchases, created enough chaos that they'll be paranoid and careful for months. Small victories." She paused at the door. "And Tòumíng? I'm sorry. For dragging you into this. For getting you shot. For almost getting you killed."
"I'm already dead, remember?" Tòumíng grinned. "Can't kill what's already deceased."
"That's not reassuring."
"Wasn't meant to be."
Ghost Claw shook her head, pulled open the door, and left without another word. The sound of her footsteps faded down the driveway, then the distinctive rumble of the Ford F-350 starting up and driving away.
The villa fell silent.
Tòumíng stood in the middle of his living room, Měi Nán hovering nearby with that worried expression still plastered on his face, the early dawn light beginning to filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
His body still ached, not from injury, but from the residual strain of eight hours of intensive healing. His muscles felt like he'd run a marathon. His head had a dull throb that suggested partial reconstruction wasn't quite the same as full healing.
But he was alive. Functional. Standing.
He stretched, raising his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders, testing his range of motion—
Mid-stretch, a notification chimed.
Not from his phone. From inside his head. The M.I.N.E. system interface lighting up in his vision with information.
COMBAT EXPERIENCE GAINED
EXTREME SURVIVAL SCENARIO COMPLETED
NEW SKILLS UNLOCKED: 3
NEW TITLE ACQUIRED: 1
Tòumíng froze, his arms still raised above his head, his eyes going slightly unfocused as he read the notification.
Three skills. And a new title.
"Oh shit," he whispered.