Tòumíng stood outside the pawn shop, the forty-five stacks of one-hundred yuan bills clutched in his hands, and started laughing. Not a polite chuckle or a restrained smile, but full-blown manic laughter that echoed down the street and made passersby give him a wide berth.
"Ehehehehe!" The sound came out slightly unhinged, the kind of laugh that belonged to someone who'd died, come back to life, killed seven people, and made more money in one day than they'd seen in three years combined. "EHEHEHEHE!"
"You sound insane," Cupid observed. "Just so you know."
"I don't care! I'm RICH!" Tòumíng stuffed the bills into his pockets, the bulge almost comical. "Forty-five thousand yuan! Do you know what I can do with forty-five thousand yuan?"
"Pay your debts?"
"Well, yeah, obviously. But also..." Tòumíng's grin widened. "I can get a phone!"
He'd never owned a phone. Not a real one, anyway. His parents had briefly had one when he was younger, an ancient brick of a thing that barely functioned, but it had been sold to pay debts before he turned ten. Since then, communication had been face-to-face or not at all.
But now? Now he could afford one.
The Longhua district might be poor, but poverty bred a thriving black market for electronics. Stolen phones, refurbished devices, knock-offs that looked high-tech but probably had the processing power of a calculator. It was perfect for someone who wanted modern technology without breaking the bank.
Tòumíng walked with purpose through the evening streets, his steps lighter than they'd been in years. He passed the usual vendors, the food stalls, the clusters of workers heading home, all of it familiar but somehow different now that he had money in his pocket.
A storefront caught his eye. "Shou Nil's Electronics" proclaimed the sign in flickering neon, half the letters dark but still readable. The window display showed an array of phones, tablets, and various charging cables arranged in what was probably meant to be an appealing pattern but mostly just looked cluttered.
Tòumíng pushed through the door.
Fluorescent lights assaulted his eyes immediately, the kind of harsh white glare that made everything look slightly sickly. Behind a glass counter stood a man in his thirties, wearing a button-up shirt that might have been professional if it wasn't obviously two sizes too small and straining at the buttons. His hair was gelled back with what looked like half a bottle of product, and he had the desperate air of someone clinging to respectability despite working in what was clearly a front for selling stolen goods.
The man looked up as Tòumíng entered, his eyes immediately assessing, calculating. Taking in the blood-stained clothes, the bruises, the general appearance of someone who'd had a very bad day.
Tòumíng straightened his shoulders, adopted what he hoped was a confident posture, and pitched his voice higher, trying to sound like he imagined rich people sounded. He pulled out five one-hundred yuan bills and slapped them on the counter.
"One of your best, please. I don't have all day."
He had absolutely no idea how much phones cost. The last time he'd even thought about buying one, he'd been twelve and they'd cost maybe a few hundred yuan for the cheapest models. Surely prices hadn't changed that much?
The shopkeeper's expression shifted from assessment to barely concealed amusement. He reached under the counter and pulled out a phone that looked like it had survived several natural disasters and possibly a small war. A Nokia. Ancient, brick-like, with actual physical buttons.
"Here you go. Our best model in your price range."
Tòumíng's fake confidence evaporated instantly. "What? No! Do I look broke to you? Is that what you think? You think I can't afford a real phone?"
The shopkeeper's amusement transformed into irritation. "You're the jackass who thinks you can get anything for five hundred yuan! This isn't 2010! Even the shittiest smartphone costs more than that!"
"Then show me a real phone!" Tòumíng jabbed his finger at a sleek-looking device in the display case, all glass and metal and modern angles. "That one! How much is that?"
The shopkeeper followed his pointing finger and raised an eyebrow. "The Redmi Note 12 Pro? That's three thousand four hundred yuan."
Tòumíng's jaw actually dropped. Three thousand four hundred yuan. For a phone. A single phone. That was more than three months of rent on his miserable room. That was sixty-eight meals of cheap street food. That was...
His inner poverty-stricken self was screaming. This was insane. Wasteful. Irresponsible. He could get by with the Nokia. He'd gotten by with no phone at all for years. Three thousand four hundred yuan could go toward his debts, toward food, toward survival.
Tòumíng turned around, squatted down to face an imaginary camera like he was in some kind of reality show, and whispered urgently. "Cupid. Is this enough? Can I actually afford this?"
"You have forty-five thousand yuan in your pocket and you're worried about a phone?"
"That's three months of rent!"
"That's also less than ten percent of what you're currently holding. And you can always mine more quartz. The vein's still there, you have Ore Sense, and now you have a buyer who'll pay decent prices." Cupid paused. "Plus, you kind of need a phone if you want to function in modern society. How else are you going to coordinate jobs, receive payments, or call for help when the next gang beats you half to death?"
The logic was sound. Painfully sound. Tòumíng stood back up, turned to face the shopkeeper who was watching this entire performance with increasing concern, and forced himself to speak without flinching.
"Fine. I'll take it."
He counted out three thousand four hundred yuan, each bill feeling like a small piece of his soul being ripped away. His hand trembled slightly as he handed over the money, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. Rich people didn't flinch at prices. Rich people bought phones that cost more than rent.
The shopkeeper took the money, counted it twice, then looked at Tòumíng like he was certifiably insane. But business was business. He pulled out a box from under the counter, sleek and pristine, with the phone model printed on the front.
"Here you go. Comes with charger, manual, and a one-month warranty that's probably not worth the paper it's printed on." He launched into what was clearly a rehearsed customer service speech. "Thank you for your purchase, please come again, if you have any problems bring it back within thirty days, keep your receipt, don't drop it in water, standard terms and conditions apply."
Tòumíng took the box and immediately tapped on it, frowning. "This is bulky. I thought modern phones were supposed to be thin."
"THE PHONE IS IN THE FUCKING BOX!" Cupid's voice exploded in his head. "You don't carry around the box! The phone is inside! Open it!"
"Oh."
Tòumíng tore open the box right there at the counter, cardboard ripping, and pulled out the actual phone. It was beautiful. Slim, sleek, the screen reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights. He tossed the box aside.
"Hey!" The shopkeeper called out. "Keep the charger at least! The charger's in the box!"
Tòumíng paused mid-throw, retrieved the charging cable from where it had fallen, and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he threw away the box, the manual, and everything else, leaving it in a pile by the counter.
The shopkeeper just shook his head. "Get out of my store."
Tòumíng walked out into the evening air, phone clutched in his hand like a trophy, and did a little victory dance right there on the sidewalk. Spinning, jumping, moving with the kind of unbridled joy that only comes from acquiring something you'd always wanted but never thought you'd have.
He had a phone. A real, modern, high-tech phone. Sure, he had no idea how to set it up, how to make calls, how to download apps or access the internet or do literally anything with it. But who cared! He had it!
"You look like an idiot," Cupid observed.
"I don't care! I have a PHONE!"
The victory dance continued for another full minute before Tòumíng finally composed himself and started walking again. The phone went into his pocket, precious and new and completely non-functional because he hadn't set it up yet.
One thing left on the list. Clothes.
He couldn't keep wearing blood-stained, garbage-covered, stabbed-through coveralls. He needed real clothes. Clean clothes. Maybe even... nice clothes?
Twenty minutes of walking took him out of the slums and into the nicer part of town, where the streets were cleaner, the lights brighter, and the shops actually had glass windows instead of metal grates. And there, gleaming like a beacon of consumer excess, stood "Swag-Shui."
Tòumíng had been here before. Many times, actually. When he was younger, he and the other street kids would press their faces against the windows, pointing at the mannequins in their trendy outfits, imagining what it would be like to own clothes that weren't hand-me-downs or salvaged from donation bins.
But now he wasn't window shopping. Now he was actually going inside.
The automatic doors whooshed open as he approached. Air conditioning washed over him, a luxury he'd almost forgotten existed. The interior was massive, multi-leveled, with racks of clothes stretching in every direction under carefully positioned spotlights.
A sales associate approached immediately, her smile professional but her eyes taking in his appearance with barely concealed distaste. "Can I... help you find something?"
"I need clothes," Tòumíng said, trying to project confidence. "Something practical."
"Of course. What's your budget?"
"I don't have one."
That was a lie, but it sounded good.
The sales associate's demeanor shifted slightly, uncertainty replacing judgment. "Right. Well, let me show you our practical collection."
She led him to a section of the store with jeans, t-shirts, basic button-ups. Simple, functional, affordable. Exactly what Tòumíng had come here for.
Exactly what went completely out the window the moment he saw the other sections.
Baggy jeans with designer labels. Trendy hats with logos he recognized from magazines. Leather jackets that probably cost more than his yearly income used to be. And there, on a raised platform like it was royalty, a suit. Not just any suit. A perfectly tailored, midnight blue, three-piece suit with a price tag that read 2,000 yuan.
Nobody would buy that. That was insane. That was wasteful. That was—
Tòumíng tried it on.
Then he tried on everything else.
The changing room became a blur of fabrics and colors and sizes. Baggy jeans that made him look taller. Slim-fit shirts that actually fit his frame. Hoodies with tech-fabric that supposedly regulated temperature. Sneakers that cost more than his weekly food budget. That hat. Those sunglasses. This jacket.
The sales associate kept bringing him more items, her initial skepticism replaced by the gleeful enthusiasm of someone watching a commission grow exponentially.
"This would look great with those pants."
"We just got this in, very popular."
"Oh, you have to try this jacket."
Forty-two items later, Tòumíng stood at the register wearing his new sunglasses, the pile of selected clothes forming a small mountain on the counter. The associate scanned each item with practiced efficiency, the register beeping in a rhythm that probably should have been alarming.
"Your total comes to eight thousand eight hundred and nine yuan."
The number hit Tòumíng like a physical force. Eight thousand. Eight hundred. And nine yuan. For clothes. For CLOTHES.
That was... that was...
"That's fine," he heard himself saying, pulling out the money with hands that definitely weren't shaking. "Not a problem at all."
The associate's eyes widened as he counted out the cash. Actual, physical cash, in a store that probably dealt mostly with mobile payments and credit cards. But money was money.
She bagged everything carefully, multiple large bags with the Swag-Shui logo printed on the sides, and handed them over with a smile that had gone from professional to genuine.
"Thank you so much for your purchase! Please come again!"
Tòumíng walked out of that store like he owned the world. Four massive bags in his hands, new sunglasses perched on his face despite the sun having set an hour ago, wearing one of his new jackets over his blood-stained coveralls in what was probably the strangest fashion choice anyone had made that day.
LIKE A BOSS. LIKE A BOSS. LIKE A BOSSSSSSSS.
The phrase repeated in his head like a mantra as he strutted down the street, bags swinging, completely ignoring the looks from passersby who couldn't decide if he was eccentric or just insane.
"So," he said quietly, the edge of mania starting to fade as reality crept back in. "How much do I have left?"
Cupid was silent for a moment, presumably doing math. "Thirty-two thousand, seven hundred ninety-one yuan."
Thirty-two thousand. Out of forty-five thousand. In less than an hour.
Tòumíng's step faltered slightly. "That's... that's not bad. That's still a lot. I can survive the month on that. More than a month. And besides, I have the Ore Sense skill now. I can mine way more efficiently. Find the best deposits. Make back what I spent in like, a week, probably."
"You just spent over twelve thousand yuan on clothes and a phone."
"Necessary expenses! I needed those!"
"You bought a two-thousand yuan suit."
"I might need to look professional someday!"
"You're a miner."
"A well-dressed miner!"
The rationalization continued as he walked, Tòumíng's internal voice and Cupid's external one engaging in a debate about fiscal responsibility that neither of them was particularly qualified to have.
It was fine. Everything was fine. He had money, he had new skills, he had a plan. The spending was just... initial investment. Getting set up properly. You had to spend money to make money, right?
His stomach growled, interrupting the internal debate with a reminder that he hadn't eaten since... when? Yesterday? The day before?
The smell hit him before he saw the vendor. Curry and rice, the kind of cheap but delicious street food that had sustained him through countless hungry nights. A small cart parked on a corner, the vendor stirring a massive pot of golden curry while perfectly white rice steamed in containers beside it.
"Twenty yuan per plate!" the vendor called out, seeing Tòumíng approach.
Twenty yuan. That was nothing. That was barely anything at all.
"Four plates," Tòumíng said immediately.
"Four? You eating with friends?"
"Just really hungry."
The vendor laughed and started packing up four plastic tupperware containers, generous portions of rice topped with ladles of curry, vegetables, and what looked like actual chunks of meat. Luxury.
"One hundred yuan with tax."
Tòumíng handed over the money without flinching this time. Food was essential. Food was survival. This was a completely reasonable expense.
He walked the rest of the way home carrying his four bags of new clothes, his new phone in his pocket, and four containers of curry and rice stacked precariously in his arms. The evening had fully settled into night now, street lights flickering on, the usual sounds of the district surrounding him.
His building came into view, as run-down and depressing as ever. But somehow, tonight, it looked different. Like it was just temporary. Just a starting point.
Tòumíng climbed the stairs slowly, mindful of his injuries, careful not to drop anything. Second floor. Unit 207. The door that had been ransacked this morning.
He pushed it open with his shoulder.
The room was still bare. Still empty except for the mattress on the floor. But now he had bags of clothes to fill it. A phone to connect him to the world outside. Food to eat. Money in his pocket.
Tòumíng set everything down carefully, arranged the curry containers on the floor, and sat cross-legged in front of them. He opened the first one, steam rising, the smell making his mouth water.
He took a bite. It was perfect.
Looking around his cramped, bare room, with his new clothes piled beside him, his phone sitting on the floor, thirty-two thousand yuan hidden in his pockets, and Cupid literally keeping his heart beating...
It seemed... life had changed.
For the better.