Through a faint crackle of static, Shiu Kong's raspy voice came over the phone, carrying his usual hint of teasing and probing.
"Didn't you say you'd found yourself a permanent meal ticket and were off to enjoy the good life? Why do you still sound half-dead answering the phone? Don't tell me you got the itch, went to the racetrack, and handed every last penny you earned straight back to the bookies?"
Shiu Kong was naturally referring to the perfect cover story Li Shunchen had deliberately fabricated for his identity as "Toji Fushiguro": being secretly employed by a wealthy tycoon from the University of Tokyo.
Li Shunchen's deep eyes remained utterly unruffled by Shiu Kong's probing. He had no intention of following that conversational lead into idle chatter.
After all, the more he said, the more likely he was to slip up. Many details of that fictional background would not withstand repeated scrutiny from a seasoned black-market broker. The longer they talked, the easier it would be for an old fox like Shiu Kong to sniff out a flaw.
So Li Shunchen narrowed his eyes slightly and instantly slipped into the persona of the "Heavenly Tyrant," a gambling addict with a vicious temper.
Lowering his voice, he let out an intensely impatient snort and barked in a nasty tone that perfectly conveyed, "I'm in a damn foul mood."
"Shut the hell up and mind your own business! If you've got something to say, spit it out! If you've got a job, tell me! If there's no money in it, hang up!"
The experienced Shiu Kong took little offense at the explosive temper on the other end of the line.
On the contrary, this was exactly how the Toji Fushiguro he knew behaved. To him, the truly bizarre thing would be