The bell above the door chimed weakly as Tòumíng pushed into the pawn shop, the sound barely audible over the groan of a chair that seemed to be engaged in a life-or-death struggle against physics itself.
Behind the counter sat the largest man Tòumíng had ever seen. Massive didn't quite cover it. The guy was sprawled back in an office chair that creaked and protested with every slight movement, his bulk testing the absolute limits of the metal frame. Rolls of fat pressed against a shirt that might have fit him two sizes and several years ago, buttons straining, fabric pulled taut across his considerable stomach.
He was counting cash. Stack after stack of yuan bills, his thick fingers moving with surprising dexterity as he sorted them into neat piles. On the desk beside him sat a bucket of fried chicken, the kind you got from cheap fast food places, mostly empty now. The table around it was a graveyard of bones, grease-stained napkins, and what looked like at least three meals worth of debris.
The man's hair was slicked back in what was probably meant to be a professional style, but the sheer amount of product holding it in place made it shine under the fluorescent lights like he'd dunked his head in a deep fryer. Oil glistened at his temples, dripped slightly near his ears.
He didn't look up when Tòumíng entered. Didn't acknowledge his presence at all beyond a dismissive wave of one greasy hand.
"Place whatever trash you got on the counter."
The words came out flat, bored, like he'd said them a thousand times before and expected to say them a thousand times more. He finished counting the first stack, rubber-banded it, and immediately picked up the next one.
Tòumíng felt his jaw clench, the broken bone sending a spike of pain through his face. Trash. This asshole thought whatever he brought was trash before even looking at it.
He pulled out the four-hundred-gram chunk of rose quartz and set it on the counter with more force than necessary. The crystal made a solid thunk against the wood.
The man's eyes flicked toward it. Paused. His hand reached out, surprisingly nimble for its size, and grabbed a magnifying glass from the cluttered desk. He held the quartz up to the light, examining it with the practiced eye of someone who'd seen thousands of stolen goods pass through his shop.
"This stolen."
It wasn't a question. Just a statement of fact, delivered with the same bored tone he'd used for everything else.
"No," Tòumíng lied immediately.
The sleazy shopkeeper snorted, setting the quartz down and returning to his cash counting. "Makes no difference to me." He looked Tòumíng up and down, taking in the blood-stained clothes, the bruises, the obvious signs of someone who'd had a very bad day. "Four thousand five hundred yuan."
"WHAT?" The word exploded out of Tòumíng before he could stop it. "That's highway robbery! It's worth over ten thousand!"
The man shrugged, his multiple chins wobbling with the motion. "Then take it somewhere that'll give you ten thousand. I got overhead. Risk. Storage costs." He waved vaguely at the shop around them, which was clearly just him, this counter, and a back room probably filled with stolen merchandise.
"That's less than half what it's worth!"
"Forty-five percent, actually. I'm being generous." The shopkeeper went back to counting cash, clearly done with the conversation.
Cupid's voice cut through Tòumíng's rising anger. "There's more pawn shops around here. I saw at least three on the walk over. Take your business elsewhere. This guy's lowballing you hard."
Tòumíng grabbed the quartz off the counter. "Fine. I'll find someone who isn't trying to screw me over."
He was halfway to the door when the shopkeeper groaned, a sound like a walrus being inconvenienced. "Six thousand. Last chance."
Tòumíng stopped. Turned. The man was still counting cash, not even looking at him, but there was a calculation in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Nine thousand five hundred."
"Six thousand two hundred."
"Eight thousand nine hundred."
"Seven thousand. Final offer." The shopkeeper set down his cash stack and leveled a stare at Tòumíng. "And that's me being stupid generous because I feel bad you look like someone beat you with your own shoes."
Tòumíng hesitated, his hand tightening on the quartz. "Cupid? Is that a good deal?"
"Seventy percent of market value? Yeah, actually. That's better than you'll get at most places, especially this late at night when you're desperate and everyone knows it."
Tòumíng grinned, trying not to let his relief show too obviously. "Deal."
The shopkeeper grunted and reached under the counter, pulling out a lockbox. He opened it with a key from around his neck and started counting out bills. One hundred. Two hundred. Five hundred. One thousand.
He counted methodically, his lips moving slightly, stacking the bills in neat piles. When he reached six thousand, he counted out five one-hundred-yuan bills and stopped.
"There you go. Six thousand five hundred."
"It's supposed to be seven thousand."
"Six hundred was a bargaining fee. Five hundred is a consolation prize for making me work for it." The man started to close the lockbox.
"Stop fucking around." Tòumíng's voice went cold. "Seven thousand. That was the deal. Or I take my quartz and walk, and you can explain to your next customer why there's a perfect piece of facet-grade rose quartz being sold two shops down for the same price."
The shopkeeper stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind the layers of fat and grease. Then he sighed, a sound like air escaping a tire, and counted out another five hundred yuan.
"There. Seven thousand. Happy?"
"Thrilled."
Tòumíng scooped up the money, counting it quickly to make sure it was all there, and pocketed it. Seven thousand yuan. Combined with the five hundred seventy he already had, he now had seven thousand five hundred seventy yuan.
More than enough for Hǔtān. More than enough with plenty to spare.