Tòumíng didn't get the reason for why he should go to Yu's house, so he responded with genuine confusion. "Why?"
Yu's expression shifted, becoming more suggestive, more deliberate. He leaned across the table slightly and reached over, his hand landing on Tòumíng's thigh, caressing it gently through his sweatpants.
"To... get to know each other better..." His voice dropped to a more sultry register, his eyes locked on Tòumíng's face, waiting for the realization to click.
Tòumíng blinked. "Well, we just had a thirty-minute conversation getting to know each other. What else is there to know? I told you about my job, my living situation, my dead parents, my movie preferences—"
Inside Tòumíng's chest, Cupid breathed a massive sigh of relief. "HA! Sorry, honey trapper! Tòumíng is TOO FUCKING STUPID to get sexual hints unless they're spelled out letter by letter! Dodged that bullet through sheer obliviousness! Hehehehe!"
Cupid felt genuinely victorious. At least Tòumíng wasn't going. Now all he had to do was tell Tòumíng he needed to go home, thank Yu for dinner, and get out of this obviously dangerous situation—
Yu's earpiece—hidden behind his white hair, completely invisible to Tòumíng's casual observation—transmitted a message from his handler.
"Target is hyper-gullible but doesn't respond to sexual advances. Try more innocent strategies. Adjust approach."
Yu removed his hand from Tòumíng's thigh, cleared his throat, and recalibrated his entire strategy in approximately two seconds.
His expression shifted to something genuinely enthusiastic, no longer trying to be seductive, just... excited.
"I have nine cats! Do you want to see them?"
Cupid was still holding out hope, still confident this situation was salvageable. "There's no way you're actually going to—"
Tòumíng's entire face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "WELL WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU START WITH THAT?!"
He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over his empty bowl. "Where are these little buggers?! What breeds?! Can I pet them?! Do they do tricks?!"
Yu grinned, a genuine expression of satisfaction at the hook finally landing. Jackpot.
"NO!" Cupid yelled internally. "NO NO NO! TÒUMÍNG, THIS IS STILL A TRAP! CATS ARE JUST BAIT! DON'T—"
"Yeah! Yeah! They're at my place! It's not far from here!" Yu stood up, gesturing toward the door with practiced enthusiasm.
They left the noodle restaurant—Tòumíng practically bouncing with excitement, Yu maintaining his cheerful persona—and entered the parking lot behind the building.
Yu walked toward an expensive-looking car that stood out dramatically among the beaten-up sedans and delivery scooters surrounding it. A Porsche 911 GT3. Sleek. Black. Probably worth more than Tòumíng's inherited debt.
Tòumíng whistled appreciatively. "NICE car!"
Yu giggled—that same practiced, high-pitched sound—and waved dismissively.
"It's nothing! My parents got it for me! I don't even know how to drive it half the time!"
He climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, which roared with the kind of power that made pedestrians turn their heads—and immediately swerved slightly as he pulled out of the parking space.
"Oops! See what I mean?! So clumsy!"
Tòumíng climbed into the passenger seat, buckled his seatbelt—one of the few smart decisions he'd made all evening, and watched as Yu drove with the kind of nervous, overcorrecting style that suggested genuine inexperience.
Or very good acting. Hard to tell.
The drive took about fifteen minutes. They navigated through increasingly upscale neighborhoods—the kind where buildings had actual security, where street lighting actually worked, where the cars parked on the street were worth six figures.
Eventually they reached a high-rise apartment building. Modern architecture. Glass and steel. A doorman standing at the entrance. The kind of place that screamed "wealth."
They entered the lobby, marble floors, contemporary art on the walls, a reception desk staffed by two people in professional attire.
Tòumíng was looking around, his eyes wide, taking in the expensive surroundings. "Nice place!"
Yu did a quick hand sign to one of the front desk people, a subtle gesture, easily missed if you weren't paying attention.
Tòumíng was absolutely not paying attention. He was too busy staring at a massive abstract sculpture in the corner that probably cost more than his entire year's income.
They entered the elevator. Yu pressed the button for the 19th floor.
The elevator rose smoothly, no creaking or stuttering like the cheap ones Tòumíng was used to. Soft music played—some generic instrumental that was trying very hard to be classy.
"Your parents must be loaded," Tòumíng observed.
Yu laughed and grabbed Tòumíng's arm, pulling him slightly closer in the confined elevator space. "It's nothing! They just like spoiling me! This apartment, the car, my allowance—it's all their money! I barely do anything!"
The practiced humility was designed to seem endearing. Look how modest he is despite being wealthy. Look how he doesn't take it for granted.
The elevator dinged. Nineteenth floor.
They exited into a hallway with only four doors—meaning each apartment on this floor was massive, taking up a quarter of the building's footprint.
Yu led Tòumíng to apartment 19C, unlocked the door with a key card, and pushed it open.
"Welcome to my humble home!"
The moment the door opened, nine cats swarmed toward them.
A mass of fur and meowing and curiosity. Different breeds, different colors, different sizes. They immediately started investigating Tòumíng—sniffing his shoes, rubbing against his legs, trying to climb up his pants.
Tòumíng's face split into the biggest, most genuine smile he'd had all day. "OH MY GOD THEY'RE SO CUTE!"
He crouched down immediately, his hands reaching for the nearest cat—a fat orange tabby that looked like it had never missed a meal.
Yu giggled, closing the door behind them. "They must really like you! They're usually shy with strangers!"
"What are their names?! Can I hold them?! Which one is the friendliest?!"
Tòumíng was completely absorbed, his attention entirely on the cats, his guard completely down.
He looked around the apartment—or tried to—but kept getting distracted by cats. The place was huge. Open floor plan. Modern furniture. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Easily a several-million-yuan apartment.
"Where can I si—"
Before he could finish the sentence, Yu pulled something from his hoodie pocket, a small canister, maybe the size of a lip balm tube.
He stepped closer to Tòumíng, who was still crouched down petting cats, completely vulnerable.
And sprayed directly into Tòumíng's face.
A fine mist hit his nose and mouth. Sweet-smelling. Chemical.
Tòumíng's eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, surprise, confusion, the beginning of panic—
Then his entire body went limp.
He collapsed forward, the orange tabby jumping away with an indignant meow as Tòumíng's unconscious form hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Black.