Fifty minutes later, a knock on the door interrupted Tòumíng's attempts to figure out which box contained his clothes versus his kitchen supplies, everything looked the same when hastily packed.
He groaned, pushing himself up from where he'd been sitting cross-legged on the pristine hardwood floor, and walked to the front door. He yanked it open with more force than necessary, his expression unwelcoming.
"What is it?"
Two men stood on his doorstep, both chubby, both in their early thirties, both visibly shaking. They wore matching polo shirts with "Háo Property Services" embroidered on the chest, their faces pale and sweaty despite the pleasant weather.
One of them lifted his glasses with a trembling hand and stammered, "M-Mr. Tòumíng? Mr. Háo sent us to... to remove some things? From the property? He said you'd be expecting us?"
The camera removal. Right. Tòumíng's expression immediately softened.
"Oh yeah, come in. The cameras. Sorry, I forgot—"
"Remember," Cupid's voice cut through his thoughts sharply, "Háo thinks you're a gangster. That's the only reason he's complying. That's the only reason these guys are here removing evidence of his crimes instead of him calling the police on you. You need to maintain the act."
Tòumíng's welcoming expression froze mid-formation. Right. The intimidation. The threat. The whole "connected gang member who kills people" persona they'd established.
He cleared his throat and let his face settle into something harder, colder. His posture shifted, shoulders squaring, stance widening slightly. He'd seen enough crime dramas in the past two weeks to know the basics.
"Right," he said, his voice dropping an octave, trying to channel that same energy from earlier. "The cameras. Get to work. And make it quick."
The two men practically jumped, nodding frantically and scurrying inside with their toolboxes and equipment bags. They kept their eyes down, avoiding direct contact with Tòumíng, their hands shaking as they pulled out screwdrivers and small ladders.
Tòumíng followed them through the house, watching as they worked. They moved with practiced efficiency despite their obvious fear, going directly to locations Měi Nán hadn't found during his initial sweep. A camera hidden in a decorative plant pot in the living room. Another in the crown molding of the dining room. A microphone embedded in a light switch panel in the hallway.
"You guys really think you could blackmail me?" Tòumíng said, improvising, trying to sound menacing. The men flinched. "Tòumíng the... uhh..."
He needed a gangster name. Something intimidating. Something that made sense.
"Tòumíng the Stone Crusher," he finished, the name coming from his actual job. "Yeah. You are no danger to me because I AM the danger."
The Breaking Bad reference was probably lost on them, but the delivery worked. Both men started working faster, their movements becoming almost frantic as they unscrewed another camera from the bathroom ceiling fixture.
"We're so sorry, Mr. Stone Crusher, sir," one of them babbled, not looking up from his work. "We just work for Mr. Háo, we didn't know about any of this, we're just technicians, we install security systems, we had no idea he was using them for—"
"Save it," Tòumíng cut him off, channeling every intimidating character he'd seen on screen. "Just get them out. All of them. If I find even one camera left when you're done..." He let the threat hang in the air, unfinished, which somehow made it more effective.
"Yes sir! Of course sir! We'll check everything three times!"
They moved through the villa systematically, pulling devices from places Tòumíng would never have thought to check. A camera in the garage, positioned to see luxury cars. A microphone in the outdoor entertainment area near the pool. Another camera disguised as a poolside speaker.
The master bedroom had even more than Měi Nán had found—additional microphones in the bedside tables, a camera hidden in the ceiling fan, another in the closet's light fixture.
"Seventeen total in the master bedroom," one technician reported nervously, counting the devices they'd removed and placed in a plastic bag. "Eight cameras, nine microphones."
"And the rest of the house?"
"Thirty-two total devices across all rooms. We've removed all of them. We can provide you with a full inventory list if you'd like, sir."
Tòumíng nodded, trying to look like someone who regularly received inventory lists of surveillance equipment removed from properties. "Do that. Email it to me."
"Yes sir, right away sir!"
They packed up their equipment quickly, their movements still nervous and hurried, clearly eager to leave. At the door, both men turned and bowed deeply, the gesture formal and submissive.
"We're very sorry for any troubles this caused, Mr. Stone Crusher," the one with glasses said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. Háo has been... dealt with appropriately. He won't be causing you any further issues. We've been instructed to be available for any future needs you might have. Any needs at all."
The implication was clear—Háo had told them to cooperate fully, to treat Tòumíng as someone dangerous, someone connected, someone you didn't cross.
"Good," Tòumíng said simply. "Now get out."
They practically ran to their van, throwing their equipment in the back and peeling out of the driveway with enough speed to leave tire marks.
Tòumíng closed the door and immediately slumped against it, the intimidating persona dropping instantly.
"Stone Crusher?" Cupid's voice was incredulous. "STONE CRUSHER? That's what you went with?"
"It made sense! I crush stones! I mine them! It's thematic!"
"It sounds like a pro wrestling name. Like you should be wearing a sequined jacket and cutting promos about your opponents."
"The Breaking Bad quote worked though—"
"Barely! And you stumbled through half of it! 'I AM the danger'—you said it like you were reading off a teleprompter!"
"They believed it! They ran away scared!"
"They would have been scared if you'd just stood there silently! You have bullet holes! Any threat you make is automatically credible!"
Tòumíng pushed off the door and walked back toward his boxes, trying to ignore Cupid's continued commentary about his "terrible criminal persona" and "embarrassing movie references."
At least the cameras were gone. That was something. The villa was actually secure now, actually private, actually safe to use as a base for his gem operation without worrying about being recorded and blackmailed.
He pulled open a box at random—kitchen supplies, not clothes—and started unpacking, trying to figure out where anything went in the massive chef's kitchen with its two ovens and professional-grade equipment he had no idea how to use.
This was his life now. Free luxury villa obtained through threats and movie dialogue. A property owner turned into an unwilling accomplice. A growing criminal empire based on smuggled gems and supernatural healing abilities.
And apparently, a new gangster identity as "Tòumíng the Stone Crusher."
He really needed to watch better movies.