"Lu Yuan," Liu Weiwei stirred her peach oolong tea, ice cubes clinking like a jailer's keys. "Mom says the original 100,000 yuan bride price needs another 50,000."
The condensation from his lemonade dripped onto the chipped stone table. Lu Yuan stared at the county park's peeling pavilion columns and plastic chrysanthemum arrangements. Wasn't I negotiating with Tencent's executives in Shenzhen an hour ago? His Audemars Piguet Royal Oak had morphed into a cracked Casio F-91W.
"Fifteen thousand is practically charity!" Her jade bracelet clinked—the same trinket he'd pawned his motorcycle to buy last Spring Festival. "Cousin Meili got 300,000 and a BMW X5!"
Memories flooded his synapses:
July afternoons hauling chicken feed sacks under 40°C sun while her brother live-streamed Douyin dances
WeChat Pay transfers of 28,000 yuan "education funds" under her mother's sausage-fingered supervision
Last month's "family vacation" where he funded five relatives' five-star hotel suites
"Liu Weiwei." His knuckles whitened around the sweating glass. "We're done."
Her Maybelline "Ruby Puppet" lipstick cracked. "You're dumping me?" The counterfeit Louis Vuitton Neverfull spilled receipts from her brother's failed e-sports café. "Mom warned me! Orphan trash like you—"
"Tell your mother," Lu Yuan stood, his shadow stretching across graffiti-stained concrete, "her discount-Tang Wei lookalike can keep extorting village fools. I'd rather light cash on fire than fund your brother's Valorant addiction."
As stray cats gathered to witness her meltdown, a digital chime vibrated his mastoid bone:
System Notification: Host detected! Activate God of Wealth Protocol?
"Activate." The park's wilted roses suddenly smelled of gunpowder and ambition. His thumb brushed the Casio's cracked screen—a phantom memory of checking stock prices on his iPhone 15 Pro Max. "Let the reckoning begin."