Měi Nán's expression shifted from playful to concerned. "Speaking of the creditors... how long has it been since you paid your debt?"
Tòumíng paused, his brain trying to access that information. He started counting on his fingers—one finger per week, trying to reconstruct the timeline of the past month.
"About a month? Maybe a little more?"
Inside his chest, Cupid suddenly went silent. Then his voice came through with dawning horror. "Tòumíng. You need to pay EVERY month. As in, once per month. Thirty days. That's the agreement."
Tòumíng's fingers kept counting. "Yeah, so?"
"When was your last payment?"
More finger counting. One week. Two weeks. Three weeks. Four weeks. A few extra days...
"Thirty-two days ago."
"YOU'RE LATE!" Cupid's voice rose to a shout. "YOU'RE TWO DAYS LATE ON YOUR DEBT PAYMENT!"
The realization hit Tòumíng like a truck. His eyes went wide. "OH SHIT!"
He jumped up from the chair and ran toward the door, calling back over his shoulder: "MEI! I'LL BE RIGHT BACK! EMERGENCY!"
"What kind of emergency?!" Měi Nán called after him, but Tòumíng was already gone.
He sprinted to the Toyota SUV, fumbled with the keys for a few seconds, got the door open, climbed in, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway with slightly more urgency than his usual driving style.
"HURRY UP!" Cupid yelled from inside his chest. "DRIVE FASTER! YOU'RE GOING TO BE KILLED!"
"Everything is alllllright," Tòumíng said with forced calmness, maintaining exactly the speed limit as he drove through the villa district toward the main road. "Just calm down. Panicking doesn't help."
"IF THERE'S A TIME TO HURRY, IT'S NOW! THEY KILL PEOPLE FOR BEING LATE! YOU KNOW THIS!"
"I've come to terms with it," Tòumíng said with the kind of fatalistic acceptance that came from being in too many near-death situations in too short a time. "They're going to shoot at me. I'm going to have to beat their asses. It's fine. I've done it before."
"NO! There has to be another way! Can't you call them?! Explain you were busy?! Maybe they give second chances?!"
Tòumíng actually laughed—a genuine, slightly unhinged sound. "Second chances? FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK no! It's a GANG! If they gave second chances, debt collection wouldn't work! Nobody would pay on time! The whole system relies on immediate, brutal consequences!"
He turned onto the main road, still maintaining the speed limit despite Cupid's protests, driving with the kind of calm that was either Zen mastery or complete dissociation from reality.
"Besides," Tòumíng continued, "I'm on my fifth warning anyway. That's how the system works. You get five strikes total. Miss a payment? Strike one. Late on a payment? Strike two. Can't make the full amount? Strike three. And so on. After five strikes, you die. That's the rule."
"HOW MANY STRIKES DO YOU HAVE?!" Cupid's voice was frantic now.
Tòumíng thought about it, counting on his fingers again while driving—which was definitely not safe but he was doing it anyway. "Let's see... I was three days late about six months ago. That was strike one. Then I was short by 2,000 yuan eight months ago and had to negotiate. That was strike two. Then there was that time I completely forgot and missed a payment entirely because I was in the hospital after the mine collapse. That was strike three. Then I was late by a week four months ago. Strike four."
"And this is strike FIVE?!"
"Yeah. Which means according to the rules, they're supposed to kill me." Tòumíng said this with the same casual tone someone might use to discuss the weather. "So I'm ready to kick some ass. Better to go down fighting than just accept execution, right?"
Cupid was silent for a long moment. Then his voice came through, quieter, almost resigned. "Good luck, man. Good luck."
"Thanks. I'll probably need it."
Tòumíng continued driving toward the boat rental shop at Guanlan Lake—the place where Razor collected payments, where debtors lined up monthly to hand over their hard-earned money, where people begged for mercy and extensions that never came.
The place where, according to the rules, he was about to be executed for his fifth strike.
He turned on the radio—some pop song was playing, cheerful and upbeat, completely at odds with the situation.
"You know," Tòumíng said conversationally, "if I die today, make sure Měi Nán gets the villa. And tell Ghost Claw she can have the car back. And tell Xuān Láng he still owes me 5% off market value forever even in death."
"You're not going to die," Cupid said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Probably not. But just in case."
The boat rental shop came into view ahead—a small building on the lakefront, with Razor's usual collection table visible outside.
Tòumíng pulled into the parking area, turned off the engine, and sat for a moment, gathering himself.
"Ready?" Cupid asked.
"Nope. But when has that ever stopped us?"
Tòumíng climbed out of the SUV and started walking toward what was very likely his own execution.