On the night Guowei was on duty, a male customer came into the private room. After a few rounds of drinks, the man half-jokingly asked, "Hey, can you help me take down America?"
"It's that kind of question again," Guowei thought. He didn't even need to bother his sister with the back-end assessment. He smiled slightly and swiped open his tablet.
"Sure. We'll sign a twenty-year contract: seven quadrillion in the first year, and four hundred billion every year thereafter. US dollars." He looked up, his tone as cold as quoting a glass of ice water. "Want it?"
The customer's smile froze instantly. He opened his mouth, but only managed a short, breathy sound. He then staggered to his feet, almost falling out of the room.
The door closed softly.
On the bill lay a single item: 77,000 yuan for the conversation.
77,000 yuan, for a wild fantasy he dared not realize, and a night of utter humiliation.
Here, even jokes have a price tag.