The first light of dawn tore through jagged peaks, slicing the sky with gold and rust as it spilled into the chaotic streets below. From his perch atop a half-collapsed rooftop, Lu Mao watched the marketplace come alive. Chaos thrummed through the streets like a living pulse: merchants shouted, carts rattled, children darted between legs with buns and stolen vegetables, stray dogs yipped and fought over scraps, and cats stalked from roof to roof with green eyes like knives. Every creature moved with purpose or desperation.
And there he crouched, small, wiry, and calculating, folded into shadow like a piece of it, waiting.
Perfect.
From this height, he saw every opportunity. A fruit seller struggled with her scales, muttering under her breath as coins clinked to the ground. A portly rice merchant bent under his burdens, sweat streaking his red face. And a guard pompous, arrogant, and utterly blind to the world around him stomped down the aisle, chest high, chin lifted. He was not a threat; he was entertainment.
Lu Mao flexed his fingers, the thrill humming through him. He slid down the rooftop side like water over stone, landing silently.
The first trap went off immediately. Crates toppled toward the guard, flailing arms and a white cloud of flour exploding in the air. Children screamed with delight. The guard flailed, slipping and stumbling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Lu Mao ducked behind a cart, suppressing a laugh. Oops.
By mid-morning, his pile of loot was modest but satisfying: rice cakes, copper coins, a single shiny trinket. Enough to survive, enough to play. The streets were a living gameboard, and he moved through it like a shadow brushing over stone, unseen, untouchable.
A fruit vendor caught sight of him dangling upside down from a beam. "Hey! That's my apple, you little!"
Lu Mao twisted mid-air, landing with fluid grace behind a stack of crates. "Ah… you mean this apple?" he said, flicking it back with a casual hand and catching it again before the man could react. Consider it… a loan with generous interest. The vendor froze, mouth slack. Lu Mao grinned. Always leave them guessing.
The portly rice merchant lumbered toward the fountain. An idea sparked. Silent as smoke, Lu Mao swapped the merchant's sacks with stones he had gathered earlier. The merchant bent, groaned, and toppled into the fountain with a splash, sending rice and water everywhere. Lu Mao rolled behind a barrel, amused. Hilarious. And instructive.
Above the chaos, kites fluttered in the wind, tails dancing like serpents. A single string, snipped at the perfect moment, sent a kite into a guard's face. He cursed, swinging his staff blindly at nothing. The children laughed. Lu Mao clapped quietly. Precision. Artistry. Humor. Stealing is more than survival it is theater.
A patrol guard noticed movement in a narrow alley. Lu Mao froze. Heart racing not with fear, but with excitement he flicked his fingers subtly. His form wavered, shimmered, and vanished. In his place, a burly merchant adjusted his hat innocently. The guard lunged at the wrong target. Chaos ensued. Lu Mao's laughter was quiet, reverent. Doppelgänger: Level One. Subtle. Undetectable. Perfect.
By noon, Lu Mao perched atop a higher rooftop, surveying the city. The Thief Sage appeared from the shadows, a scowl sharp as a knife. "You call that sneaking? I've seen cats with better discipline," he barked.
Lu Mao grinned. "Cats don't dodge guards, master. These sacks didn't see me coming."
The old man pinched his nose. "Unpredictable. One day, you'll either die or become a legend. I cannot tell which yet."
Unpredictable. The word sang inside him. No one could predict him. No one could catch him.
The Sage's lessons were brutal and precise. "Feel the vibrations in the ground. Hear the pulse of danger. If you cannot, run faster than death itself." Lu Mao tilted his head. "Or… steal their shoes while I run," he suggested cheekily. The glare was deadly, but he only chuckled. If I survive long enough, maybe I'll steal his scowl too.
Evening brought the apprentices from a nearby sect. They spotted him dangling from a rooftop. "Return my buns, thief!" they shouted. Lu Mao calculated angles, escape routes, and diversionary tactics. Vaulting a fence, rolling onto the next rooftop, he created a phantom double waving innocently. While the apprentices argued with the illusion, he vanished with both buns and a small coin purse. Consider it… a donation to the Master of Shadows.
The lower streets were a maze of alleys, markets, hidden temples, and twisting corridors. Other thieves nodded as he passed some wary, some impressed. A stray dog barked. He tossed it a rice cake. Watch closely, little one. Stealing is an art.
A faint warmth pulsed in his chest. The God Devouring Vein, dormant for now, whispered of something greater. Instinctively, he twitched away from danger before it arrived. One day, he thought, he would take more than coins he would take the treasures of the world itself. One day… he would steal everything, and no one would see it coming.
The sun bled toward the horizon, casting the city in amber and shadow. Lu Mao climbed to a quiet rooftop, arranging his meager treasures: rice cakes, coins, the shiny trinket. Enough. Freedom. Desire stirred in him like a low, relentless flame.
From the rooftops, he watched the city breathe. Merchants packed up, children chased one another home, guards returned to posts, oblivious to the chaos left in their wake. Shadows lengthened, crawling along stone and timber. The wind whispered secrets of alleys, rooftops, and forgotten passages. He imagined the countless paths, the traps yet to be laid, the coins yet to be stolen.
The night deepened. Lu Mao perched at the edge of the roof, dangling his legs, eyes glinting. He heard the faint murmur of distant factions: the Sect of Silent Blades, the Merchants' Guild, the city guard, even whispers of sorcerers hiding in temples forgotten by time. Each one was a puzzle, a game, a prey in his mind.
A soft footstep behind him. He spun, fingers twitching, ready. Nothing. A shadow in the corner a cat, emerald eyes staring. He tossed it a rice cake. Even allies come in strange forms.
He crouched, watching the horizon, savoring the moment: freedom, mischief, mastery of streets, rooftops, alleys. Laughter rose from the lower streets, faint but alive. His grin widened. Unpredictable. Untouchable. Alive.
Moonlight glinted off rooftops. Lanterns flickered in windows. Shadows shifted like living things. Lu Mao stretched, rolled his shoulders, and tucked his treasures safely in his small bag. One day… he whispered, voice barely more than a shadow. I'll steal this world.
The night swallowed him, a boy among shadows, moving through alleys and rooftops, untouchable, unseen, unstoppable. And the city waited, breathing beneath him, alive and ignorant, for the thief who was just beginning to awaken.