Unma watched his money-grubbing expression, and only four words remained in her assessment of this man.
Lowborn commoner.
She leaned back in her chair, resuming her lofty posture as though she had not been the one who had slammed the table moments ago.
"Sit."
Bai Zhu readily sat down, looking completely relaxed.
He raised one finger.
"Let's get this straight first. My blood is expensive. No discounts, no free shipping, no returns or exchanges."
He paused and curled his finger.
"Most importantly—payment on delivery. A hundred million per milliliter, money first, goods after. If you use it for anything immoral, that's your line of business and has nothing to do with me."
Unma did not even raise her eyelids as she signaled to the guard behind her.
The guard immediately took out a medical case from the side, containing a complete set of blood-drawing equipment.
"What's the rush?"
Bai Zhu raised a hand to stop the guard who was about to approach.
"Where's the contract? Where are the terms? It's not like I'm standing on the street handing out charity donations. Is this how your royal family handles business? So rough around the edges?"
Unma's expression darkened for a moment.
A lowborn commoner, a blood seller, actually dared to ask her for a contract.
Bai Zhu did not care what she thought. He fished a ballpoint pen from the pocket of his pajamas—who knew where he had swiped it from—then pulled over a thick napkin from the table.
He began scrawling across it with flamboyant strokes, his handwriting crooked and uneven.
"Blood draw amount: no more than 50 milliliters per day."
"Payment: must be settled on the same day in cash or instant transfer. No arrears."
"Use of blood: restricted to the scope of 'medical research.' Hmm, better make that