Sichuan sprawled across the landscape like a slumbering dragon, its scales glinting in the harsh summer sun. In the distance, to travelers, it appeared a jewel of civilization, with towering pagodas and ornate temples reaching towards the heavens.
However, when you drew closer, the cracks in its facade became apparent, much like the parched earth that surrounded it.
The drought had gripped Sichuan for months, like the rest of Huaxia. It turned what was once a lush paradise into a dustbowl of desperation.
The mighty Jinjiang River, which had nourished the city for centuries, now flowed as a mere trickle, its muddy banks exposed like the ribs of a starving beast. The air hung heavy with the scent of withered crops and unfulfilled promises, a constant reminder of nature's cruel indifference to human suffering.
In the heart of the city, the contrast between wealth and poverty was stark and unyielding. The northern quarter, home to nobles and merchants, boasted wide, clean streets lined with cherry blossom trees. Ornate mansions stood proudly behind high walls, their occupants blissfully insulated from the hardships that plagued their less fortunate neighbors. The sound of tinkling fountains and delicate wind chimes drifted on the breeze, a cruel mockery of the water that had become more precious than jade.
The southern quarter of Sichuan told a different tale. Narrow, winding alleyways snaked between dilapidated buildings, their walls stained with the grime of generations. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and rotting garbage, punctuated by the occasional whiff of spices from street vendors’ carts. Here, the drought’s effects were felt most keenly, as families fought over every drop of water and children with hollow eyes begged for scraps.
The city guards that patrolled the southern quarter, did so with fear and resignation. Crime had surged in the wake of the drought, as desperate citizens turned to theft and violence to survive.
Gangs now roamed unchecked, extorting protection money from struggling merchants and preying on the weak. As the numbers for the city guards dwindled for the southern quarter, so did their loyalties.
Many were bribed to look the other way, making citizens within the southern quadrant…expendable at best, in the eyes of some magistrates.
In cold cruel world such as this, Wei Long was barely six years old but he’d learned to survive and quickly. The boy moved through the crowded streets like a fish through water, his small size and quick reflexes allowing him to slip unnoticed between the legs of adults.
His eyes, were always alert, as he constantly scanned his surroundings, searching for potential marks and escape routes with equal intensity.
Once, he had been the cherished son of a carpenter, living a modest but happy life in the outskirts of Sichuan. But the drought had taken everything – first his fathers work, then their home, and finally his parents themselves, claimed by a fever that swept through the refugee camps.
All of this took place within a year. And now, the city was his home, his hunting ground, and theft was the only skill that kept him fed.
He wasn’t always good, the first beatings he’d received, forced him to adapt. And adapt he did. It was that, or starve. And starving was not something he’d allow.
Even though, Wei Long lived a life of desperation he held to a certain code. One that set him apart from the common cutpurses and pickpockets.
He didn’t choose victims based on the fullness of their purses or the fineness of their clothes. He chose them based on how they treated their peers.
Subtly, it was like revenge for him. He saw how his father was treated, and held the anger that was brewing for him. Stealing from such men, was his way at getting back at such people. He had developed
…and he liked it.
Wei Long even developed an uncanny ability to read people, to see past their outward appearance and into the nature of their hearts.
A richly dressed merchant who casually knocked aside a beggar would find his coinpurse mysteriously lighter. A noble lady who berated her servants for the slightest perceived slight might discover her jade hairpin missing. But a humble farmer who shared his meager lunch with a stray dog, or a shopkeeper who gave free dumplings to hungry children – these, Wei Long left alone, no matter how tempting their possessions might be.
Wei Long crouched in the shadow of a fruit vendor’s stall, his eyes fixed on the bustling street before him. The air was thick with the mingled scents of overripe melons and human sweat. The constant buzz of conversation was punctuated by the occasional shout of a hawker or the clatter of a passing cart.
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A commotion near the end of the street caught his attention. A group of men in the fine robes of government officials was making its way through the crowd, flanked by burly guards who shoved aside anyone who didn't move quickly enough. Wei Long’s eyes narrowed as he watched one of the officials, a portly man with a face like a spoiled dumpling, kick a young woman who hadn't prostrated herself fast enough.
The boy’s decision was made in an instant. He slipped from his hiding place and began to weave through the crowd, timing his movements to coincide with the ebb and flow of bodies around him. As he drew closer to the group of officials, he allowed himself to be jostled by the press of people, stumbling slightly as if pushed off balance.
Wei Long barely stretched out his arms, brushing against the portly official’s robe. To any onlooker, it would have seemed nothing more than an accidental touch as the boy regained his footing.
He gelled into the crowd with such ease, a knowing smile appeared on his face. He gripped the purse he’d just stolen as if it were his last meal.
His heart thumped within his chest as if a blacksmith was making a sword. The problem was, with each beat of his heart, they echoed excitement, but mostly fear.
Wei Long slithered into a narrow alley, his bare feet tapping on the worn cobblestones. He slowed his walk first, trying not to make himself seem important. Once he turned a corner, increased his pace, then ran without stopping until he had put several twisting streets.
The purse was heavy with silver taels, more money than Wei Long had ever seen in in his entire life. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the possibilities it represented – weeks of full bellies, maybe even a real bed to sleep in.
Wei Long was reminded quickly of where he stood in society. A dead carpenter’s son, if he was seen spending lasciviously…he’d be questioned, even worst.
He’d lose his hand, like all the thieves.
Keeping the taels would attract too much attention, make him a target for older and more dangerous thieves. Instead, he would do what he always did-- keep to himself, and get what he needed to survive.
*
The weight of the silver taels felt alien in Wei’s hands. Each tael represented fortune he’d never dream of possessing. He was speechless, his hands trembling hands. He sat there for an hour, thinking.
I can’t keep these taels…it’ll attract too much attention, Long thought ruefully.
He glanced around the alley, his ears attuned to any hint of approaching footsteps. Once he was satisfied that he was alone. He ripped a small lining of his threadbare shirt, creating a hidden pocket next to his skin. He wrapped the five taels in a scrap of cloth torn from his sleeve and tucked them into this secret compartment, feeling their comforting weight against his ribs.
The remaining coins - a mixture of bronze and a few lesser silver pieces. Wei Long divided into small piles. Each represented a potential act of kindness, a moment of relief for someone even less fortunate than himself. The irony wasn’t lost on the young thief; he who took from the wealthy would now play at being a benevolent spirit to the poor.
As Wei Long emerged from the alley, the setting sun painted Sichuan in hues of fire. Long shadows stretched across the streets, offering new hiding places and dangers alike. The boy moved with purpose, his bare feet silent on the worn cobblestones. He knew the rhythm of the city intimately - which streets would be crowded with the desperate and hungry, and which would be patrolled by guards or claimed by rival gangs.
He made a stop in a narrow lane where the old and infirm often gathered, seeking shelter from the merciless sun. Wei Long approached a blind man he recognized, an elder whose mournful songs often echoed through the quarter. Without a word, he dropped a handful of coins into the man’s cracked bowl. The sudden weight made the old singer pause mid-verse, his milky eyes widening in surprise.
“Blessings upon you, little lad!” The man called out, Wei Long heard him, but didn’t want to say so he slipped between the shadows like a spirit.
He then sought out a young mother he’d seen earlier, her face gaunt with hunger as she clutched a wailing infant to her breast. Wei Long’s heart clenched, remembering his own mother’s final days in the refugee camp. He crept close, timing his movements with the baby's cries, and slipped several coins into the woman’s pocket. As he darted away, he heard her gasp of surprise, followed by a choked sob of relief.
Those small acts of charity warmed Wei Long. The feeling was strange, but familiar. It hadn’t felt that way since his mother forced him to share his own bread with a beggars, last year. The pride he felt when his father praised his carpentry efforts, despite his lack of his skill at the very young age of five.
As the last light faded from the sky, Wei Long made his way towards the river. He knew of a group of orphans around his age. He didn’t need to speak with directly. He just needed to drop the coins randomly.
The night air grew cool, carrying the scent of the sluggish water and the ever-present undercurrent of decay that plagued the poorer quarters. His senses, honed by months of street survival, suddenly prickled with unease. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he felt the weight of unseen eyes upon him. He quickened his pace, no longer the confident shadow-walker, but a scared child fleeing unseen danger.
He ducked into a narrow alley, hoping to lose his pursuer in the labyrinthine backstreets. But as he rounded a corner, his heart nearly stopped. There, blocking his path, stood a tall figure wreathed in shadows. The last rays of sunset glinted off silver embroidery on blue robes, and the unmistakable shape of a sword hilt protruded from the man’s sash.
Wei Long tried to run, but his body froze, betraying his mind as whirled with panic as he tried to calculate a way to escape. If my body would let me!
Wei Long encountered city guards before, even outrun a few of the lazier ones. But this man was different. There was a fluid grace to his stance, a predatory stillness that spoke of years of training. This was no mere guard, but a true master.
One who had been hunting him specifically.
His eyes darted left and right, seeking any possible escape route. But the alley was narrow, with high walls on either side. The only way out was through the swordsman or back the way he'd come. And somehow, Wei Long knew with dreadful certainty that running would only make things worse.
“It’s taken me all day to find you, little thief.”