Heavy footsteps approached from behind. Slow, deliberate, each one making the floorboards creak. Tòumíng could feel the displacement of air as Hǔtān's massive frame moved closer, could smell cigarette smoke and something metallic, like old blood that never quite washed away.
The footsteps stopped directly behind him.
"Did you borrow this money?" Hǔtān's voice was still quiet, but there was an edge to it now. "From another gang? Another loan shark?"
"No." The word came out barely above a whisper.
"Look at me when you speak."
Tòumíng turned slowly, forcing himself to meet those cold, dead eyes. Up close, Hǔtān was even more terrifying. Over six feet of muscle (more like 6=7 feet ehhe) and scar tissue, his face expressionless, the tiger tattoo seeming to ripple with each breath.
"Did you steal it?"
"No."
"Then where did a dead boy get two thousand yuan in less than twenty-four hours?"
Tòumíng's mouth went dry. "I worked for it."
Hǔtān stared at him for a long moment, then gestured with one finger. Immediately, his men moved in. Scarface grabbed Tòumíng's left arm, the muscular one with neck tattoos took his right. Two more positioned themselves behind him, blocking any escape.
"Search him," Hǔtān said simply.
Hands patted him down, rough and invasive. They found the remaining five thousand yuan in his pocket immediately. Scarface held it up, eyes wide.
"Boss, he's got another five thousand on him."
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The casual cruelty transformed into something sharper, more focused. Hǔtān's eyes narrowed fractionally.
"Five thousand yuan." He said each word precisely, letting them hang in the air. "A boy who sold everything he owned yesterday. A boy who was beaten nearly to death and thrown in a dumpster. Somehow has seven thousand yuan today."
Scarface grabbed Tòumíng's collar and shook him. "Who'd you borrow from? The Zhao family? The Red Poles? Tell us!"
Tòumíng stayed silent, his jaw clenched shut.
"Maybe he robbed someone," the woman suggested, circling around to his front. "Maybe our little brother here grew some balls and decided to take what he needed."
"Or maybe," the thin man with yellow teeth leaned in close, his breath reeking, "he's working with the cops. Wearing a wire. Trying to set us up."
They started searching more aggressively. Hands pulled at his clothes, checked his waistband, ran along his legs looking for hidden devices or weapons. One of them yanked his shirt up, checking for recording equipment taped to his torso.
"Nothing, boss," Scarface reported. "No wire, no phone, no nothing. Just the money."
"Then where did it come from?" The neck tattoo guy slapped Tòumíng across the face, not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to make his point. "Talk!"
More slaps. A punch to the stomach that drove the air from his lungs. They were roughing him up, testing him, trying to break his silence through escalating violence.
"Did the Zhao family give you this money?" Slap. "Are you running drugs for someone?" Punch. "Did you sell information about us?" Kick to the shin. (they gon kill t hat boy again damnnn)
Tòumíng kept his mouth shut, taking each hit, his mind racing. If he told them about the quartz, they'd want to know where he got it. If he told them about the mine, they'd want more. If he told them about the vein, they'd take everything and probably kill him anyway for holding out.
"He's not talking, boss," Scarface said, breathing hard from the exertion of the beating. "Stubborn little shit."
The men parted as Hǔtān stepped forward again. His hand shot out with surprising speed, grabbing Tòumíng by the head, fingers splaying across his skull like a basketball. He lifted.
Tòumíng's feet left the ground. Just lifted clean off the floor, his entire body weight suspended by Hǔtān's grip on his head. The pressure was immense, like his skull was in a vice. He could feel his neck straining, his vision starting to blur from the compression.
They were face to face now, Tòumíng's eyes level with Hǔtān's, close enough to see the complete absence of humanity in them. Close enough to understand that this man would crush his head like an egg without a second thought.
"Speak, boy."
Two words. Quiet. Final.
Every survival instinct Tòumíng possessed screamed at him to talk, to confess, to tell this monster everything he wanted to know. His mouth started to open, words forming on his tongue.
Then he saw it. In Hǔtān's eyes. Not anger or curiosity or even threat. Just... boredom. This was a test. A game. And the moment Tòumíng broke, the moment he showed weakness, he'd become just another debtor to squeeze dry. Another scared kid who could be controlled through fear.
Cupid's voice whispered in his chest. "Don't. Whatever you do, don't give him anything."
Tòumíng forced his eyes open wider, staring back into that void, and kept his mouth shut. His lips pressed together so hard they turned white, his jaw clenched despite the broken bone sending spikes of agony through his face.
The silence stretched. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
Something flickered in Hǔtān's eyes. Not respect exactly, but acknowledgment. Recognition that this particular prey had more spine than expected.
He dropped Tòumíng.
The impact with the floor sent pain radiating through his legs, his damaged knees nearly buckling. But he stayed upright, swaying slightly, still not speaking.
Hǔtān turned and walked back to the bar. He picked up his cigarette from where it had been resting in an ashtray, took a long drag, and gestured with two fingers.
"Get him out."
The gang members grabbed Tòumíng roughly, dragging him toward the door. Scarface opened it and they literally threw him out, his body hitting the sidewalk and rolling. The five thousand yuan in remaining bills fluttered down around him, scattered by the motion.
"Your payment's accepted," Scarface called from the doorway, that mocking grin back on his face. "See you next month, brother. Try not to die before then."
The door slammed shut.
Tòumíng lay on the sidewalk, bruised and battered but somehow, impossibly, still alive. Still with five thousand yuan scattered around him. Still with his secrets intact.