Tòumíng stared at the Ice Queen, his brow furrowed, his head tilted like a confused puppy trying to understand a magic trick. She was fanning herself with her hand, her cheeks flushed, her breathing uneven, her eyes darting around the room like she was looking for somewhere to hide. The most dangerous woman in the criminal underworld was blushing.
"Ummm," Tòumíng said slowly, drawing the word out like he was approaching a wounded animal. "Are you... okay?"
The Ice Queen's head snapped toward him. Her eyes widened. Her blush deepened. She waved her hand in front of her face, a gesture that was almost frantic, almost embarrassed, almost—dare he think it—cute.
"YEAYEA! I'm fine! Totally fine! One hundred percent completely fine!" Her voice was too high, too fast, cracking on the last word like a teenager caught staring at their crush. Her leg was bouncing. Actually bouncing. The Ice Queen's leg was bouncing.
"You're shaking," Tòumíng pointed out.
"I'm NOT shaking! I'm just... cold! Yes! Cold! This room is freezing! Someone should really adjust the thermostat! I'll have words with my staff about this!" She crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her elbows, trying to still the tremor in her hands. It didn't work.
Tòumíng decided not to push it. He had bigger problems. He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and launched into his explanation.
"Okay, so, here's the situation. Ghost Claw—she's the gas mask lady who runs the vigilante operation I'm sort of involved with—she told me that Ào Shǔ is dead. Killed by his own guy, Jin Chan. And now Jin Chan has taken over all of Ào Shǔ's operations, including the debt collection. He's increased payments by eighty percent across the board. Eighty percent. I owe eighteen thousand yuan a month now instead of ten. And I'm not the only one. Seventeen people were executed this morning at the boat rental shop because they couldn't pay the new rates. Their bodies are still on the street. The police are investigating, which means more patrols, more scrutiny, less work for Ghost Claw's team. No job offers in a week. Revenue is drying up. And the power vacuum is getting worse because every time someone tries to fill the gap, Jin Chan kills them, which brings more police, which makes the vacuum bigger. Ghost Claw thinks the only way to stop the cycle is to stop Jin Chan. But she doesn't have enough intel. And she thinks I'm the only one who can get it because of my connection to you."
He took a breath, realizing he'd said all of that in one rush, his words tumbling over each other like they were trying to escape. The Ice Queen had stopped shaking. Her expression had shifted from flustered to focused, her eyes sharp and calculating, her blush fading as her professional mask slid back into place.
"I see," she said, her voice steady now, controlled. She crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in the armchair, her fingers steepled in front of her chin. "Unfortunately, I don't have much intel on Ào Shǔ's operation. The last time he came to my hotel was about a month ago. He was nervous, paranoid, kept looking over his shoulder. I assumed it was just his usual demeanor, the man was a coward despite his reputation, but in hindsight, he might have known something was coming."
She uncrossed her legs, stood up, and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights below. "Jin Chan, on the other hand, is a different beast entirely. He's refused every invitation I've sent him. Every non-aggression pact I've proposed. Every attempt at establishing a working relationship. He's a hermit, a paranoid, secretive hermit who doesn't trust anyone and won't let anyone get close. I have no intelligence on his operations, his routines, his weaknesses. Nothing."
Tòumíng sighed, running his hand through his hair. "So this was a waste of time."
"I didn't say that."
He looked up. She was still facing the window, but her reflection in the glass showed a small smile playing at her lips.
"One of my political toys," she said, turning to face him, "Chesqo Dong, knows the main cocaine importers in the region. He's been... cultivating relationships with them for years, hoping to expand his father's business into new markets. If anyone knows how to reach Jin Chan, it's the people Chesqo associates with. Which means your best course of action is to talk to him."
Tòumíng blinked. "Chesqo Dong? Your boyfriend? The guy who's been buying ice jade to impress you?"
The Ice Queen's expression flickered—something between annoyance and amusement. "He's not my boyfriend. He's a toy. A useful one, but a toy nonetheless. And yes, that Chesqo Dong."
"Okay. Where can I find him?"
The Ice Queen walked to a small desk in the corner of the room, picked up an ornate phone, and held it out to him. "I could tell you his address. Or I could just call him down here. He's in the building. He stays in one of the suites when he's in town."
Tòumíng took the phone, his fingers wrapping around the receiver, his brain already preparing for an awkward conversation. The Ice Queen pressed a button on the desk, put the call on speaker, and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed.
The phone rang once. Twice. A voice answered on the third ring—breathless, eager, almost desperate.
"Mistress! You called! I was just thinking about you! I was—"
"Chesqo," the Ice Queen interrupted, her voice flat, bored, completely devoid of warmth. "I need you to come downstairs. Right now."
"DOWNSTAIRS?! You want me to come DOWNSTAIRS?! To see you?! In PERSON?!"
"Yes."
"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! I'LL BE RIGHT THERE! I'LL—I need to—my hair—my suit—I'm not—"
"You're fine. Just come."
"I'M NOT FINE! I'M NEVER FINE WHEN IT COMES TO YOU! YOU'RE PERFECT! YOU'RE EVERYTHING! I'D DO ANYTHING FOR YOU! ANYTHING! I'D KILL FOR YOU! I'D DIE FOR YOU! I'D—"
"Chesqo."
"YES, MISTRESS?!"
"Shut up and come downstairs."
There was a pause, a sharp intake of breath, and then, Tòumíng's eyes went wide, an actual bark. A dog bark. From a human being.
"WOOF! Yes, mistress! RIGHT AWAY! I'll be there before you can count to ten! I'll—I'll crawl if I have to! I'll bark the whole way! Whatever you want! I'm yours! Completely yours! I—"
The Ice Queen ended the call.
Tòumíng stood there, the phone still in his hand, his mouth hanging open, his brain struggling to process what he'd just heard. Chesqo Dong, the suave, charismatic billionaire from Měi Nán's fancams, the man with the sharp jawline and the designer suits and the effortless confidence, had just barked. Like a dog. On the phone. In front of him.
"Cupid," Tòumíng thought, his internal voice flat and hollow. "Did that just happen?"
"Yep," Cupid replied, and Tòumíng could hear the grin in his voice. "That definitely just happened."
"Měi Nán is never going to believe me."
"Nope."
"He's going to think I'm lying to make Chesqo look bad."
"Probably."
"I have video evidence. I should have recorded it."
"You really should have."
The Ice Queen was watching him, her expression unreadable. "Is there a problem?"
"No," Tòumíng said quickly, setting the phone back on the desk. "No problem. No problem at all. Everything is fine. Totally normal. People bark all the time. It's a thing. A normal thing."
The Ice Queen's lip twitched. "He's... enthusiastic."
"That's one word for it."
Footsteps thundered in the hallway—running, urgent, desperate. The door burst open and Chesqo Dong stood there, chest heaving, hair disheveled, wearing what looked like a hastily thrown-on suit jacket over what might have been pajama pants. His eyes locked onto the Ice Queen and his entire face transformed—lit up like a child on Christmas morning, like a pilgrim seeing salvation, like a starving man offered a feast.
"Mistress," he breathed, his voice reverent. "I'm here."
The Ice Queen didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge him. Just gestured vaguely toward Tòumíng. "This is Tòumíng. He needs to talk to you about cocaine importers. Answer his questions."
Chesqo's gaze shifted to Tòumíng, and for a moment—just a moment—there was something sharp in his eyes, something calculating and dangerous. Then it was gone, replaced by the same eager, desperate devotion he'd shown the Ice Queen.
"Of course, mistress. Anything for you. ANYTHING."
Tòumíng felt a shudder run down his spine. He looked at Chesqo, really looked at him, and saw the polished social media persona crumbling away to reveal something else underneath.
Something needy.
Something obsessive.
Something that made Měi Nán's celebrity crush seem suddenly, profoundly pathetic.
"Chesqo," Tòumíng said, forcing his voice to stay steady. "I need to know who your cocaine contacts are. The main importers. The ones who might have access to Jin Chan."
Chesqo's head tilted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And why should I tell you?"
"Because she asked you to," Tòumíng said, jerking his thumb toward the Ice Queen.
Chesqo's expression shifted immediately—the sharpness vanishing, replaced by that same desperate eagerness.
"Of course! Of course, anything for mistress! I'll tell you everything! I have a list! Names, locations, everything! I'll—I'll write it down for you! I'll draw a map! I'll—"
"That won't be necessary," Tòumíng interrupted. "Just... just tell me where I can find them."
Chesqo nodded eagerly, his hands clasped in front of him, his body practically vibrating with the need to please. "There's a warehouse. On the east side of the city. Near the old railway yards. They meet there every Thursday night. I can take you! I can introduce you! I can—"
"I'll find it myself."
"But—"
"I'll find it myself," Tòumíng repeated, firmer this time.
Chesqo's face fell, but he didn't argue. He just nodded, his eyes darting toward the Ice Queen, looking for approval, looking for any scrap of attention she might throw his way.
She gave him nothing. Just stood there, arms crossed, expression bored, not even looking in his direction.
Tòumíng felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment crash over him. This was the man Měi Nán had been fangirling over? The man with the jawline and the cheekbones and the body? The man who posted thirst traps on social media and had millions of followers swooning over his every move?
This desperate, barking, "mistress"-calling simp?
"Cupid," Tòumíng thought as he turned to leave, "Měi Nán is absolutely never going to believe this."
"I know," Cupid replied.