The wet microfiber cloth was wrapped so tight around Lu Xingcheng's knuckles that the fabric had turned a ghostly white.
Water dripped from the rag, hitting the 38°C asphalt with a hiss that sounded like a warning.
In his mind, the man in the sweat-stained polo shirt was already a memory. Xingcheng's internal clock was counting down the seconds until he used the high-pressure hose to silence the insult forever.
Behind him, Lao K had his hand slipped inside his bespoke suit jacket, his fingers gripping the cold handle of his sidearm.
He didn't look at the customer. He looked at Xingcheng, waiting for the singular nod that would turn the "Shiny Bucket" into a bloodbath.
"'Cheng'! I got the one with extra pearls! Don't tell the boss, it cost me an extra dollar!"
The cheerful, singing voice cut through the murderous tension like a burst of gold sunlight. Joey slid between them, a blur of mustard-yellow and mismatched laces.
She didn't see the "Shadow Emperor" about to commit a felony; she just saw her "struggling actor" friend looking like he'd spent too much time in the sun.
Before Xingcheng could move, she shoved a cold, sweating cup of orange tea against his burning cheek.
The shock of the ice-cold plastic snapped the "Shadow" back into its cage. Xingcheng exhaled—a slow, dangerous sound of retreating rage.
"Aish! Uncle, please!" Joey chirped, turning to the red-faced customer with a dazzling, practiced smile. "My friend here is a 'method actor.' He's practicing for a role as a silent assassin. He's very dedicated! He hasn't broken character in four hours!"
"What's with the look, 'Bob'?" the customer grumbled, though he stepped back, intimidated by the sudden drop in temperature around the tall man. "You think you're tough because you have a name tag? You're a servant! Get to work!"
"Here, let me give you a 'Premium Shine' for free, on the house!" Joey intervened, pulling a small spray bottle from her apron. "Just don't report Bob. His brain is still in the 'Empire' he's filming."
The customer muttered a few more insults before stomping back to his dented sedan. He didn't realize that the "servant" in the "BOB" shirt could buy his entire neighborhood and turn it into a private garden just to watch the grass grow.
Joey turned back to Xingcheng, her expression shifting into a stern "coach" look. She grabbed his hand—the one still wrapped in the cloth—and began to unwrap it with gentle, firm fingers.
"Cheng… your knuckles are white," she whispered, her brow furrowing. "Are you that hungry? Or is it the heat? You have to stay calm. The world doesn't care about your 'aesthetic' when you're broke."
Xingcheng looked down at her small, warm hands working to free his. He looked over at **Lao K**, who was still standing by the limo, eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror.
"He insulted the work, Peppercorn," Xingcheng's voice was like low-octane honey—smooth but flammable.
"He called me… a nobody."
Joey laughed, handing him his tea. "We're all nobodies, Cheng! That's the secret. If you're a nobody, you can be anything. Now, drink. You're starting to look like a statue again."
Xingcheng took a sip. It was overly sweet. It was cheap. It was, objectively, the worst thing he had ever tasted.
He loved it.
He gave a microscopic shake of his head to Lao K. Abort.
The black limo purred out of the bay, leaving a trail of expensive exhaust in the humid air. Xingcheng stood in the middle of the "Shiny Bucket," a Powerpuff Girl patch on his shoulder and a plastic cup of "dreams" in his hand.
But as Joey turned her back to grab a fresh sponge, a windowless black van pulled into the far end of the lot. Inside, a man in a Ghost Clan ring tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel, his eyes locked onto Joey's neck.
You're wrong, Peppercorn, Xingcheng thought, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the van in the reflection of a car's side mirror. Being a 'nobody' is a luxury I lost a long time ago. And now… the wolves are at your gate.