Ghost Claw's Base - Recreation Room - Four Hours Later
Tòumíng was sitting in the recreation room, slouched on one of the worn couches, his ridiculously overpowered phone in hand, scrolling through social media with the kind of focused attention usually reserved for important life decisions.
"Hmm... this 67 thing... seems pretty funny," he muttered, his thumb pausing on a particularly absurd meme that was trending. He didn't fully understand it, the reference went over his head, but the image was objectively ridiculous enough to make him exhale slightly harder through his nose, which counted as laughter in his book.
Sometime around two hours ago, Ben had decided to use Tòumíng's lap as a pillow—just flopped down without asking permission, his British accent mumbling something about being "absolutely knackered" before promptly falling asleep.
His boyfriend had apparently dumped him earlier in the day, which explained the uncharacteristic vulnerability.
And about thirty minutes after that, Svetlana had sat down beside Tòumíng, pulled up wrestling videos on her own phone, and draped her massive arm around his shoulders like they were old buddies watching sports together. She was currently absorbed in a compilation of "most brutal WWE finishers," making appreciative sounds every time someone got slammed into a mat.
It was weird. Very weird. But Tòumíng had decided to be weirded out later, right now he was more absorbed in scrolling through increasingly incomprehensible internet humor.
His scrolling was interrupted by a text message notification.
Unknown Number: hiii!! 🥺 its the guy from earlier with the motorcycle!! thank u sooo much again for helping me!! 💕 i wanted to properly thank u by taking u to this AMAZING noodle shop nearby!! 🍜✨ im already on my way there rn and u can come whenever u want!! no pressure tho!! 🥰
The message was accompanied by the address and a cute emoji of a cat eating noodles.
Tòumíng perked up immediately. Free noodles? FUCK YES.
He tapped Ben's shoulder. "Hey. Gotta go. Free food opportunity."
Ben mumbled something incoherent and rolled off Tòumíng's lap onto the couch cushions, immediately resuming sleep.
Svetlana glanced over. "Vhere you going?"
"Noodle place. Some guy I helped earlier is buying me dinner."
"Ah. Have fun. Don't get kidnapped again."
"I'll try." (Famous Last Words)
Tòumíng stood, stretched—his joints popping satisfyingly—and walked out of the building, following the GPS directions on his phone toward the restaurant Yu had mentioned.
Hongyun Noodle House - 8:23 PM
The walk took about fifteen minutes. Tòumíng eventually reached a relatively normal-looking establishment tucked between a convenience store and a closed electronics shop. The sign above the door read Hongyun Noodle House in faded characters, the kind of place that had probably been there for decades serving the same basic menu.
He pushed through the door, a bell chiming to announce his arrival.
The interior was... fine. Normal. Fluorescent lighting. Plastic tables. Vinyl booths along the walls. The smell of cooking broth and spices filled the air.
But something felt slightly off.
The customers, maybe a dozen people scattered across various tables, looked like salarymen at first glance. Button-up shirts. Slacks. The kind of tired, worn-down expressions that came from corporate jobs.
But not quite.
They were too fit. Too alert. Their "tired" expressions didn't match the way their eyes tracked movement. Several of them glanced at Tòumíng when he entered, quick, assessing looks that lasted just a fraction too long.
Tòumíng noticed but dismissed it. Probably just judging my clothes. I do look like shit.
Inside his chest, Cupid's voice cut through immediately. "All of these people look capable."
"Working standards have changed, dude. Salarymen hit the gym now. It's a whole thing. These are probably just regular guys who happen to have fifteen-inch biceps because they do CrossFit or whatever."
"That's not—"
"Look, you can't just profile people based on muscle mass. That's discriminatory."
Cupid tried protesting again but was cut off by Yu Lin waving from a booth near the back.
"Over here!" His voice was high-pitched, cheerful, carrying across the restaurant.
Tòumíng walked over and slid into the booth across from him.
Yu Lin was dressed casually but stylishly, a pastel hoodie, fitted jeans, minimal makeup that somehow made him look even more delicate. His white hair was styled in soft waves, his expression bright and welcoming.
"I'm so glad you came! I was worried you'd be too busy!" Yu's smile was dazzling, seemingly genuine.
"Free food? I'm never too busy for free food."
Yu giggled—a practiced sound that hit exactly the right pitch. "You're so funny! I love that!"
A waitress approached, middle-aged woman, bored expression, the universal demeanor of someone who'd been working food service for too long. "What do you want?"
Tòumíng scanned the menu quickly. "Regular noodle bowl. Beef. Extra spice—wait, no, regular spice. Yeah, regular."
"I'll have the small version!" Yu added. "With chicken! And not too much oil please!"
The waitress wrote it down and walked away without comment.
Yu turned his full attention back to Tòumíng, leaning forward slightly, his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his hands. "So! Tell me about yourself! I barely know anything except that you're really helpful and good with motorcycles!"
"I'm not actually good with motorcycles. I just knew yours was out of gas."
"Still! That's more than I knew! You're so smart!" Yu's hand reached across the table briefly, touching Tòumíng's forearm for emphasis before pulling back. "So what do you do? For work?"
"I'm a miner. Well, was a miner. The mine is closed right now for investigations or whatever. So I'm kinda unemployed."
"A miner! That's so cool! So rugged!" Yu's eyes widened with what looked like genuine interest. "What's that like? Is it dangerous?"
"Yeah, pretty dangerous. Cave-ins, gas leaks, equipment failures. But the pay is decent when you don't die."
Yu laughed—a genuine-sounding laugh that made his whole face light up. "You're SO funny! The way you just casually mention dying! That's such a dark sense of humor! I love it!"
His hand touched Tòumíng's arm again, lingering slightly longer this time.
Tòumíng barely noticed. "I mean, it's true though. Three people died last year. One from a ceiling collapse, two from methane exposure."
"That's so scary! You must be really brave to work there!"
"Not really. More like broke with limited options."
Another laugh. "See, there you go again! So self-deprecating! But I bet you're really capable! You seem like the kind of person who can handle anything!"
The conversation continued as they waited for food. Yu asked more questions—small talk that gradually became more invasive, but framed in such a quirky, lighthearted way that it didn't register as suspicious.
"So do you live alone? Or with roommates?"
"I live with a friend. Well, kinda friend. It's complicated. We have a fake boyfriend arrangement for appearances but we're not actually dating."
"Ooh, fake dating! That's so romantic! Like a drama!" Yu's eyes sparkled. "So you're single then?"
"I guess? Yeah."
"What's your type? Like, what kind of person are you attracted to?"
Tòumíng thought about this for way too long. "I don't really know. I've never thought about it much."
"Come on! Everyone has a type! Tall? Short? Masculine? Feminine?"
"Uh... I mean, I guess I like people who are... nice? And don't try to kill me?"
Yu laughed again, his hand touching Tòumíng's arm for the third time. "The bar is SO low! 'Don't try to kill me'! You're hilarious!"
The food arrived. Two steaming bowls of noodles—Tòumíng's was massive, Yu's was notably smaller, almost dainty in comparison.
They ate while continuing to talk. Yu asked about Tòumíng's family.
"What about your parents? Are they around?"
"Dead. Died when I was sixteen."
Yu's expression shifted to exaggerated sympathy, his hand reaching across again. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! That must have been so hard!"
"It was what it was. Can't change it now."
"You're so strong for dealing with that! I can't even imagine!"
More questions. About his friends. His hobbies. His daily routine.
"What do you do for fun?"
"Watch movies. Breaking Bad. Some other stuff."
"Ooh, what kind of movies?"
"Action movies mostly. Some comedy. Whatever's on."
"Do you go out much? Like to bars or clubs?"
"Not really. I'm usually broke so going out isn't really an option."
Every time Tòumíng made even a mildly amusing comment, whether intentional or not—Yu would laugh, touch his arm, call him funny or clever or interesting. The pattern was consistent, methodical, carefully designed to build rapport and attraction.
And Tòumíng, being stupid and oblivious, answered every question truthfully, not recognizing the interrogation happening under the guise of friendly conversation.
Inside his chest, Cupid was screaming. "THIS IS A HONEY TRAP! THIS IS SUCH AN OBVIOUS HONEY TRAP! THE TOUCHING! THE COMPLIMENTS! THE INVASIVE QUESTIONS FRAMED AS FLIRTING! THIS IS TEXTBOOK SEDUCTION INTELLIGENCE GATHERING!"
Tòumíng thought back: You're being paranoid. He's just friendly and grateful.
"FRIENDLY PEOPLE DON'T ASK ABOUT YOUR DAILY ROUTINE AND LIVING SITUATION WITHIN THE FIRST THIRTY MINUTES OF KNOWING YOU!"
Maybe he's just interested in me?
"YES! INTERESTED IN CAPTURING YOU FOR BLACK HAWK!"
That's a reach.
"IT'S NOT A REACH! IT'S THE MOST OBVIOUS THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED!"
But Tòumíng continued eating his noodles, continued answering questions, completely missing every single red flag.
Eventually they finished eating. The bowls were empty except for residual broth. Yu pulled out his wallet and paid the bill—120 yuan total—with a bright smile.
"My treat! Like I promised!"
"Thanks. The noodles were really good."
"I'm so glad you liked them!" Yu stood up from the booth, adjusting his hoodie. "So... I was wondering..."
He paused, his expression shifting to something slightly more vulnerable, slightly more shy—a calculated adjustment designed to lower defenses.
"Do you want to come back to my place?"