The morning sun hung low, bleeding light across the crooked rooftops of Ironwood City. Its rays painted the tiled peaks in streaks of gold and shadow, while the streets below throbbed with the usual chaos of a Lower Realm market.
Vendors shouted like crows competing for scraps, their voices colliding in an endless racket. "Fresh dumplings! Piping hot!" cried one. "Two coppers for the sweetest pears in all the East!" yelled another. Smoke curled from iron pans, mixing with the stink of fish guts, fried dough, and roasted chestnuts. The clang of hammers rose from blacksmith forges, joined by the clatter of donkey carts struggling through tight alleys. Children darted between legs, seizing buns, swiping apples, and laughing as furious vendors chased after them. Dogs barked, beggars whined, gamblers argued, and the whole district pulsed with a hunger that was more than just for food.
Above it all, balanced on a weathered roof beam, sat Lu Mao.
At fifteen, he had the lean frame of a boy who'd grown up scrapping for every meal. Yet his posture was loose, careless, as if the precarious perch two stories above the street was nothing more than a chair at a tea shop. His legs dangled freely, three copper coins dancing between his fingers in a smooth, practiced rhythm.
"Hm." He tossed one coin into the air, caught it neatly, and smirked. "Rice cakes yesterday, but today feels like a dumpling day."
His stomach growled in agreement. Yesterday's spoils hadn't been much: a string of rice cakes, a cracked gourd with half a swallow of wine, and some trinket that might've been a broken talisman. Enough to survive, not enough to satisfy.
Lu Mao flicked his wrist, the coins clinking together in a lazy rhythm as his sharp eyes scanned the chaos below. Purses swung carelessly from belts. A butcher left his coin box open while haggling with a customer. A silk merchant was too busy bragging about his wares to notice the heavy pouch on his hip. So many little opportunities.
He licked his lips, grinning. "Let's see who's careless enough to feed me today."
A stray cat padded along the roof beside him, tail high, meowing as if in approval. Lu Mao chuckled. "See? Even the heavens send me encouragement."
With the grace of a shadow, he dropped from the beam into the throng below. His landing was silent, his presence masked by the natural clamor of the street. As a cart rolled past, his hand brushed a dangling coin purse. The purse was gone before the owner realized it, slipping into Lu Mao's sash.
Easy. Too easy.
But fate was rarely so kind.
"Stop right there, street rat!"
The shout cut across the market, silencing even the vendors for a heartbeat. Lu Mao froze mid-step, the stolen purse warm against his hip. He turned lazily, as if annoyed by the interruption.
Striding through the crowd came a youth perhaps a year older, clad in fresh green robes embroidered with lotus flowers. His sword gleamed at his hip, polished daily. His hair was tied perfectly in a jade clasp. His eyes, however, carried nothing but disdain.
Lu Mao arched a brow. "A sect brat?"
The boy sneered, his voice cold. "You again dare steal in Dawn Lotus Sect territory? You really are vermin."
"Vermin?" Lu Mao tilted his head, grinning. "Maybe. But clever vermin live longer than arrogant lotus blossoms."
Gasps rippled through the bystanders. To insult a sect disciple so openly was courting death.
The youth drew himself taller, fury flickering in his eyes. "Name yourself, thief."
Lu Mao shrugged. "Why? So you can engrave it on my gravestone?"
The boy's face darkened. "Chen Rong of the Dawn Lotus Sect does not need to engrave gravestones. He only breaks legs."
Before the words had finished, Chen Rong lunged. His movement was crisp, every step elegant, his training clear. The Lotus Step carried him forward like a flowing stream. His sword flashed in a practiced arc.
But Lu Mao was already gone.
Sliding between two crates, Lu Mao darted into an alley, his laughter echoing behind him. A faint shimmer trailed his retreat—an afterimage that flickered in the light. Chen Rong's sword slashed through it, only to find nothing.
"What trick is this?!" Chen Rong hissed.
From the roof above, Lu Mao's voice rang out. "Timing, lotus boy! It's all about timing!"
The crowd burst into laughter.
Chen Rong's face turned crimson. He leapt to the roof, his Lotus Step carrying him smoothly upward. His sword slashed again, quick and precise. Lu Mao flipped backward, landing on a clothesline stretched between houses. The line swayed dangerously, but his balance never faltered.
"Careful," Lu Mao taunted, "you don't want to dirty that pretty robe."
Chen Rong roared and lunged again.
What followed was chaos given form.
Lu Mao darted left and right, every movement laced with phantom doubles—faint illusions born from the strange flicker of his qi. Chen Rong's blade cut through afterimages, striking only air. Lu Mao threw coins behind him, their clinking tricking Chen Rong's ear. He snatched a rice cake from a passing vendor and hurled it back. It splattered across Chen Rong's face.
"Breakfast, courtesy of Lu Mao!" he shouted, laughing.
The market roared with delight. Vendors cheered, children clapped, even beggars cackled at the sight of a sect disciple slipping and stumbling after a ragged street thief.
But the game changed when a third shadow joined the rooftop chase.
"You two are pathetic," came a girl's mocking voice.
Both boys turned. From a roof to their right, a figure appeared—a girl, perhaps fifteen. Her clothes were patched and worn, her black hair tied in a messy braid, but her movements carried an uncanny grace. A silver scarf fluttered from her neck as she twirled a small pouch in her hand.
Lu Mao's eyes widened. Wait… that's—
"Looking for this?" she teased, dangling the pouch.
Chen Rong froze. His jade sect token, which had been secured at his belt, was gone.
Lu Mao patted his sash—two of his own coins had vanished.
His jaw dropped. "You stole from me too?!"
The girl smirked. "Cute thief. But still too slow."
Chen Rong's fury boiled over. He drew his sword in earnest. "You dare humiliate me?!"
But the girl moved like mist. One moment she stood before them, the next she blurred, reappearing behind Chen Rong with the token dangling between her fingers.
"Lotus boy, you're too stiff. Street rat, you're too cocky. Both of you? Amateur thieves."
Lu Mao stared, his grin returning. "Heh. Someone finally out-thieved me. What's your name, scarf girl?"
She winked. "Yan Mei. Remember it—since you'll never catch me."
The chase reignited with three players now: Chen Rong flailing with his sword, Lu Mao darting with phantom flickers, and Yan Mei weaving between them like a dancer. Stalls toppled, oranges rolled across the street, laundry lines snapped, undergarments rained down on furious vendors.
At one point, Chen Rong lunged too hard and crashed into a fish stall, emerging soaked in scales and slime. The market howled with laughter.
"Nice roll!" Lu Mao called, barely keeping his balance on a beam. "Do it again!"
Yan Mei nearly doubled over laughing.
Finally, with one last mocking salute, Yan Mei vanished into the alleyways, her laughter trailing behind. In Lu Mao's hand remained only her silver scarf—left behind like a calling card.
Panting, Lu Mao held it up, smirking. "Not bad. But one day, scarf girl, I'll out-thief you."
Chen Rong, dripping fish guts, pointed his trembling sword. "This… this isn't over! The Dawn Lotus Sect will remember your face!"
Lu Mao sprawled on a roof beam, waving lazily. "Can't wait. Should be fun."
Far above, unnoticed by all, a figure stood on a distant roof. Robes plain, arms folded, expression hidden behind a wide hat. The Thief Sage.
His gaze lingered on Lu Mao, eyes gleaming with interest. "Still too reckless. But clever. He learns faster than most. Hmph. Let's see how far you run, boy."
Then, like mist, he was gone.
Lu Mao leaned back, scarf clutched in one hand, coins in the other. The city roared on beneath him, but up here, on his rooftop kingdom, he felt untouchable.
"Brains, speed, mischief," he whispered. "That's how a thief survives."
Deep within his chest, the God Devouring Vein stirred faintly, its pulse almost imperceptible. Lu Mao didn't notice, but something old and hungry within him had begun to awaken.
The Lower Realm's streets bustled on. Tomorrow would bring new schemes, new chases, new rivals. And Lu Mao would be ready. After all, a thief never rests for long.