Tòumíng stuttered, his brain still recovering from the gemstone-induced information overload. "I'm... I'm buying in. First time."
"Wonderful!" The receptionist's smile remained perfectly professional. "And will you be paying by cash or card?"
Tòumíng's hand went to his pocket, where his wallet contained exactly zero credit cards and maybe two hundred yuan in physical bills he'd forgotten about. "Do you take Alipay?"
"Of course." She didn't even blink at the question, pulling out a sleek scanner from beneath the desk and angling it toward him. "Fifty thousand yuan for first-time guest entry with full auction participation privileges."
Fifty thousand yuan. Half his liquid assets. Gone in a single transaction for the privilege of walking through a door.
Tòumíng pulled out his phone with hands that wanted to shake, opened his Alipay app, and scanned the QR code. The confirmation sound chimed.
Transaction Complete: -¥50,000
Remaining Balance: ¥15,242.33
Fuck. Fuckkkk. Fifty thousand yuan just... gone. Down the drain. For a single night's access to an auction that might not even have anything worth buying.
He forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "Great. All set."
"Excellent!" The receptionist's fingers flew across her computer keyboard, entering information into what was probably some kind of guest management system. "Since you're a first-time guest, you'll have access to the ground floor common areas and the basement auction hall. The second and third floors are reserved for members and their registered guests only."
"I'm actually here with someone," Tòumíng said quickly, remembering Háo Héng's invitation. "Háo Héng? He should be on the guest list?"
The receptionist's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes—recognition, maybe concern. "Mr. Háo is indeed registered. Let me call him down to verify your association."
She picked up a phone, spoke quietly into it, and within ten minutes, Háo Héng appeared from a side corridor, looking significantly more put-together than when Tòumíng had last seen him fleeing the villa in terror.
He wore an expensive suit, his hair slicked back, his entire demeanor screaming "legitimate businessman" rather than "blackmailer who got caught." The transformation was remarkable.
"Mr. Stone Crusher!" Háo Héng's voice was cheerful, loud enough to carry but not inappropriately so. He approached with a wide smile and extended his hand for a handshake. "So glad you could make it! I was just telling some associates about our business partnership!"
Tòumíng shook his hand, playing along. "Thanks for the invitation."
"Of course, of course!" Háo turned to the receptionist. "He's with me. Business associate. We're working on some mineral acquisition projects together."
The receptionist nodded, her fingers typing again. A moment later, a keycard emerged from a printer beside her desk. She handed it to Tòumíng along with a small information packet.
"This grants you access to the basement auction hall and the first floor common areas," she explained. "The second and third floors remain restricted. Please keep the card on your person at all times—the elevators and restricted doors are keyed to it."
Tòumíng took the card, noting the subtle holographic security features embedded in the plastic. This was serious security. Whatever was on those upper floors, they really didn't want unauthorized access.
"Would you like a tour?" Háo Héng asked, his smile still plastered in place but his eyes carrying a note of genuine nervousness. "I can show you around, introduce you to some potential contacts—"
"No." Tòumíng cut him off more sharply than intended. "I'm good. You can go do... whatever you were doing."
Háo Héng's relief was almost palpable. "Of course! Well, if you need anything, I'll be around! Enjoy the event!" He practically fled back toward the corridor he'd emerged from.
Tòumíng stood there for a moment, orienting himself. The entrance hall extended in multiple directions, orridors branching off to what were probably different sections of the building. But one direction had noticeably more noise coming from it. Conversation. Laughter. The clinking of glasses.
He followed the sound.
The corridor opened into a massive ballroom that had to take up a significant portion of the first floor. The ceiling soared overhead, another ridiculous chandelier throwing crystalline light across the space. Round tables dotted the room, each with elegant place settings and centerpieces made of—of course—expensive gemstones.
And the people.
Mostly older men, probably in their fifties or sixties, wearing suits that cost more than cars. Their companions were almost exclusively young women in their early twenties, draped in designer dresses and expensive jewelry, laughing at jokes that probably weren't funny and touching arms with practiced affection.
Trophy girlfriends. Or escorts. Probably escorts, based on the sheer number of them and the similar patterns of behavior.
A few scattered young men as well, similarly positioned as companions to some of the older attendees. The distribution was probably seventy percent older-man-with-young-woman, twenty percent older-man-alone, and ten percent everything else.
"This is suspicious," Cupid said quietly.
"It's just rich people being rich people," Tòumíng muttered under his breath, trying not to move his lips too obviously.
"It's rich old men with purchased companionship at a 'gentleman's club' event with restricted floors we can't access. This screams 'things happening that shouldn't be happening.'"
"Or it's just exclusive and we're being paranoid."
But Tòumíng's attention was already diverted to the food.
Long tables lined one wall, covered in dishes that looked like they belonged in fine dining restaurants rather than a buffet setup. Tòumíng hadn't eaten since his rushed breakfast, and his stomach reminded him loudly that gemstone hunting and Breaking Bad marathons weren't adequate nutrition.
He grabbed a plate and started down the line.
Most of the food was weird. Fancy in a way that made it almost unrecognizable as actual food. Little arrangements of things that probably had French names and cost a fortune per bite.
There was some kind of boiled duck thing labeled in both Chinese and English, something that looked like "fall grass" in the stylized font.
"Foie gras," Cupid corrected. "It's duck liver. Force-fed until enlarged. Extremely expensive."
"Fwa... foy... fuck it." Tòumíng put some on his plate anyway. It looked interesting.
Various cheeses arranged artistically. He took some of those too, recognizing nothing but willing to try.
Something labeled "Beef Wellington" that looked like meat wrapped in pastry. That went on the plate.
Then he reached a beverage dispenser at the end of the table. A crystal decanter filled with red liquid, darker than wine, almost brown-red in certain lights. A small placard beside it read "Specialty House Beverage" in elegant script.
Tòumíng grabbed a crystal cup and pressed the dispenser lever. The liquid poured out smoothly, filling the cup halfway.
The smell hit him immediately. Sweet, but with a metallic undertone. Almost like... copper? Iron?
He raised the cup toward his lips, curious about what kind of specialty beverage a mining club event would serve—
"DO NOT DRINK THAT." Cupid's voice was sharp, urgent, completely different from his usual sarcastic tone.
Tòumíng froze, the cup an inch from his mouth. "Why? What is it?"
Cupid's voice dropped lower, serious in a way Tòumíng had rarely heard. "Do. Not. Eat. That."