Tòumíng didn't feel like sleeping. His brain was still buzzing from the partial reconstruction, his thoughts racing with possibilities about the new skills, his body restless despite the eight-hour healing ordeal.
So he did what he always did when he needed to decompress: he settled onto the couch and pulled up Breaking Bad on the pirated streaming site, complete with its aggressive pop-up ads and questionable redirects.
Měi Nán had gone upstairs to the master bedroom sometime around 6 AM, exhausted from the all-night vigil. Tòumíng could hear faint snoring drifting down from the second floor, a strangely comforting sound that indicated someone else was actually living in this massive villa with him.
He watched episode after episode, letting the familiar drama of Walter White's criminal empire wash over him, occasionally getting up to grab water or stretch but otherwise completely absorbed.
At 1 PM, Měi Nán came downstairs looking significantly more put-together than he had hours earlier. His hair was styled, his makeup carefully applied, wearing designer clothes that probably cost more than Tòumíng's monthly mine salary.
"I'm hanging with some girlfriends today," Měi Nán announced, checking his phone and responding to what looked like group chat messages.
"We're doing brunch, shopping, the usual."
Tòumíng looked up from the TV, confused. "I thought you were gay? Since when do you have a girlfriend?"
Měi Nán paused, then laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. "Girl-friend. Two words. Just girls I'm friends with. Female friends. Platonic relationships with women. Not romantic girlfriends."
"Ohhhhh." Tòumíng felt his face heat up with embarrassment at the misunderstanding. "Right. That makes sense. Have fun."
"I will. Try not to get shot while I'm gone." Měi Nán grabbed his designer bag and headed for the door.
"And actually rest instead of watching TV for eight straight hours."
"No promises!"
The door closed, leaving Tòumíng alone again with Walter White and his increasingly terrible decisions.
At 2 PM, mid-episode, Tòumíng's brain finally registered what time it was.
His shift at the mine started at 9 AM.
He was five hours late.
"FUCK!" He jumped off the couch, paused the episode, and looked down at what he was wearing. White t-shirt and cargo pants, not his usual work clothes, but they'd do. No time to change.
He ran for the door, threw it open, and stopped dead.
Parked in his driveway, massive and unmistakable, was Ghost Claw's Ford F-350.
She sat in the driver's seat, gas mask still covering her face, scrolling through her phone like she'd been waiting there for a while.
"Perfect timing!" Tòumíng ran to the passenger side and climbed in. "Thanks for being here! I need a ride to the mine, I'm super late—"
Ghost Claw looked at him through those dark gas mask lenses, her expression unreadable. "I'm here to take you to my site. We need to discuss the blood ruby analysis and next steps for the trafficking investigation."
"Can't right now! I'm already five hours late for work! My boss is probably furious!" Tòumíng was already buckling his seatbelt. "Please? Just drive me to the mine? It's only an hour away!"
"Do I look like an Uber to you?"
"Please! I'm begging! I'll help with whatever investigation stuff you need after work, I promise, but I can't lose this job! It's my cover! If I get fired, people will ask questions about how I afford the villa!"
Ghost Claw stared at him for a long moment, clearly weighing whether she cared enough about his employment status to deviate from her plans.
Finally, she sighed. "Fine. But you owe me. And we're having a serious conversation about your priorities when this is over."
"Deal! Thank you!" Tòumíng settled into his seat with relief.
Ghost Claw started the truck and began backing out of the driveway. As she shifted into drive, she reached for the radio controls.
"Mind if I turn on some music?" she asked.
"Sure, go ahead."
Tòumíng expected something intense. Death metal maybe, given her military background and current tactical lifestyle. Maybe something like Slipknot or—
"~CAL-I-FORNIA GIRLS WE'RE UNFORGETTABLE~"
Katy Perry's voice exploded through the truck's sound system at high volume, the pop beat bouncing cheerfully off the interior.
Tòumíng's head whipped toward Ghost Claw so fast his neck cracked audibly, his eyes wide with absolute shock.
This was NOT what he expected. Not even remotely close. This woman, this former Navy SEAL turned vigilante who'd just helped him shoot up a trafficking auction, was listening to bubblegum pop?
"~Sun-kissed skin so hot, we'll melt your popsicle~" Ghost Claw sang along, completely oblivious to Tòumíng's stunned expression. Her head bobbed to the beat, her shoulders moving in what could generously be called dancing, her fingers tapping the steering wheel in rhythm.
"~Ooh oh oh, ooh oh oh~"
She knew all the words. ALL the words. And was singing them with genuine enthusiasm through the gas mask, the sound slightly muffled but clearly audible.
Tòumíng sat in complete silence, his brain struggling to reconcile the image of this scarred, tactical, gas-mask-wearing warrior with the reality of her humming along to Katy Perry like a teenage girl on a road trip.
The song continued. Ghost Claw continued singing. The truck rolled down the road toward the mine.
"~California girls, we're undeniable~"
Eventually, an hour later—an hour of Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Ariana Grande, and other pop hits that absolutely did not match Ghost Claw's aesthetic—they reached the mining complex.
Tòumíng unbuckled and grabbed the door handle. "Thanks for the ride. I owe you one. Actually, I probably owe you like five at this point."
"We'll settle accounts later. Go explain to your boss why you're six hours late."
Tòumíng climbed out of the truck and jogged toward the mine entrance, mentally preparing his excuse for Zhāng Wěi's inevitable fury.
But as he approached the main office building, he noticed something odd.
The lights were off. The usual bustle of workers changing shifts, equipment being moved, the constant background noise of industrial activity—all of it was absent.
And taped to the front door was a piece of paper.
Tòumíng walked closer and read:
NOTICE OF TEMPORARY CLOSURE
To All Employees and Stakeholders:
Due to unforeseen internal circumstances requiring immediate attention, Longhua Mining Complex will be temporarily closed for operations effective immediately. All scheduled shifts are cancelled until further notice.
The nature of these circumstances involves regulatory compliance issues and internal investigations that must be resolved before mining activities can safely resume. We apologize for any inconvenience this causes.
Employees will be contacted individually regarding compensation for lost shifts and the expected timeline for reopening. Do not report to work until you receive direct communication from management.
For urgent inquiries, contact Zhāng Wěi directly at:155-5678-9012 (don't call this number I made it up)
Expected Closure Duration: 3-7 days minimum
We appreciate your patience and understanding during this difficult time.
- Management
Tòumíng stared at the notice, his brain processing the words slowly.
Closed. The mine was closed. Internal investigations. Regulatory compliance issues.
He'd rushed here six hours late, stressed about being fired, and the whole operation was shut down anyway.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."