As usual, Lu Mao was spending his morning perched high above Azure Sky City, legs swinging lazily over a cracked rooftop beam. A half-eaten dumpling rested in his hand — plump, greasy, and stolen just moments ago.
Today was dumpling day.
Every few weeks, when luck and timing favored him, he declared one. On dumpling days, the world could wait. He'd eat in peace, admire the city, and pretend he wasn't a thief dodging guards, debt, and destiny.
But today was going to be a little different.
A faint sound cut through the city's usual noise — firm boots, impatient, coming closer.
Lu Mao sighed, taking another bite. "Can't a man eat in peace?"
He glanced down. The marketplace sprawled beneath him in a riot of color and chaos. Stalls were crammed tight along narrow alleys, vendors shouting prices like warriors announcing war cries. Steam rose from pots, and children darted through legs, chasing stolen buns. Above it all, the scent of soy, sweat, and ambition mingled into something that belonged only to Azure City.
Then, a sharp voice: "You there! Stop right now!"
Lu Mao's eyes flicked toward the sound. A boy—barely older than him—pushed through the crowd, his emerald robes shimmering with lotus embroidery. His expression screamed self-righteous fury.
"Great," Lu Mao muttered, mouth still full. "This hero of justice again."
The boy pointed his sword upward, directly at Lu Mao's perch. "Thief! Return what you stole from the Dawn Lotus Sect's stall and surrender!"
Lu Mao blinked, looked at the dumpling in his hand, then at the furious cultivator below. "This?" He held it up innocently. "It was lonely. I gave it purpose."
"You mock me?" the boy barked, face reddening. "You dare insult a disciple of the Lotus Sect?"
Lu Mao chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "You've got dumpling bits on your chin. Maybe wipe that first before threatening people."
The sect boy—Chen Rong, judging by the embroidered tag—drew his sword with a hiss. "I'll teach you respect, street rat!"
Lu Mao groaned. "Here we go again…"
He tossed the half-eaten dumpling aside, stood up, and stretched lazily. "Alright, Lotus Boy. Let's dance."
Chen Rong leapt, blade slicing through the air with sharp, controlled precision. The sword's qi shimmered faintly—nothing lethal, but enough to hurt. Lu Mao dropped from the rooftop just as the blade struck where he'd stood. Tiles shattered in a cloud of dust.
He hit the ground light as a whisper, rolling smoothly through the crowd.
"Sorry, excuse me, coming through—important thief business!"
The market erupted into chaos. Vendors shouted, baskets overturned, and startled ducks flapped into the air. Lu Mao darted between people like smoke, the stolen dumpling still warm on his fingers.
Behind him, Chen Rong gave chase, slashing through hanging banners and knocking over a fruit stand. Oranges exploded across the cobblestone like bright sparks.
"You can't run forever, thief!"
"I don't need forever," Lu Mao called back, vaulting over a stall. "Just long enough for you to trip!"
Right on cue, Chen Rong's foot caught on a rolling orange. He stumbled, arms pinwheeling, before crashing face-first into a pile of fish.
Lu Mao grinned and landed on another roof, shaking his head. "The heavens have a sense of humor after all."
A soft meow answered him.
He turned. The black-and-white alley cat from yesterday sat beside him, tail curling neatly around its paws, staring with that unimpressed, godlike disinterest only cats possessed.
"Don't give me that look," Lu Mao said, tossing it a scrap of dough. "You're no saint either."
The cat sniffed it and looked away.
"Fine, more for me," he muttered, leaning back against a chimney.
He barely had time to relax before something moved on the rooftop opposite him — a blur of motion, graceful and precise.
A girl landed silently, dust swirling around her boots. She wore worn leather gloves, a hood drawn low, and a silver scarf fluttering around her neck. Her eyes glimmered beneath the shadow of her hood — sharp, playful, dangerous.
Before Lu Mao could speak, she tossed something small at his feet.
His stolen coin pouch.
"Looking for this?" she said, her voice lilting with mischief.
Lu Mao blinked. "Wait… what? When did you—"
She smiled faintly. "A real thief wouldn't need to ask."
A splash below drew his attention — Chen Rong, red-faced and dripping with fish water. "You filthy street scum! Come down here and die properly!"
The girl turned toward the voice, then at Lu Mao. "You've made a friend."
"I have a talent for it," Lu Mao said dryly.
She flicked her wrist, and Chen Rong's jade token appeared between her fingers. "You both need better reflexes."
Chen Rong froze. "My sect token! You—how—!"
Lu Mao laughed so hard he almost slipped off the roof. "You're worse than me!"
The girl tilted her head. "Worse? Or better?"
Then she vanished. Just… gone. One moment there, the next replaced by the faint shimmer of qi dispersing into the air.
Lu Mao blinked, still laughing. "Show-off."
He turned to the cat, who was washing its paw with quiet judgment. "You saw that, right? She moves like smoke. I've got to learn that."
The cat didn't answer.
"Yeah," he sighed, "you're right. I probably couldn't afford her lessons anyway."
He stayed there for a while, watching the sun climb higher. The market noise faded into a dull hum. Beneath his skin, he felt it again — that strange pulse, faint but insistent, deep within his chest. The God Devouring Vein. It stirred whenever his blood raced, whenever chaos danced around him.
It felt alive.
He didn't understand it. But it frightened him less these days. Almost like an old friend waking up slowly.
"Maybe I should stop stealing dumplings," he muttered. "Before the heavens really do strike me down."
"Before the heavens strike you, maybe prepare for something else."
Lu Mao turned sharply. The girl — Yan Mei — stood on a nearby rooftop again, hands in her pockets, eyes reflecting the sunlight.
"You move well," she said. "For someone planning to enter the Golden Sparrow Thieves Guild's Entrance Trial."
Lu Mao's smirk faltered. "How do you know about that?"
Her grin widened, faintly teasing. "Let's just say the Guild remembers your master — Jin Wu. The last 'Phantom Hand' of the Sparrow. He trained you, didn't he?"
Lu Mao's chest tightened. The name hit him like a knife drawn too quickly. "You knew him?"
"I knew of him," she said softly. "And I know what he Wants his successor to become." She stepped closer, her tone dropping. "Don't disappoint him, Lu Mao. The Trial isn't just for thieves. It's for survivors."
He studied her face, the way her eyes caught the light — too calm for someone his age. "You talk like you've been there."
Yan Mei smiled faintly. "You'll find out soon enough."
The wind tugged her scarf. She turned to leave, but paused. "Oh, and… next time you steal from the market, at least try not to get caught by a fishmonger."
Before he could answer, she vanished again, melting into the maze of rooftops.
Lu Mao stared after her, heart still racing. Golden Sparrow Guild…
He looked down at the cat, which had somehow curled up beside him again. "You heard her, right? Entrance Trial."
The cat blinked.
Lu Mao sighed. "I'm talking to cats now. Maybe I really am losing it."
Still, a grin tugged at his lips as he gazed toward the horizon, where the city's tallest spire gleamed gold beneath the morning sun — the rumored perch of the Thieves Guild.
"Well then," he whispered, standing up, scarf fluttering behind him. "If they want a thief, I'll give them one."
He flipped a coin, caught it, and tucked it into his sleeve. "After all… what's life without a little risk?"
The cat meowed softly.
Lu Mao winked. "Exactly."
Chen Rong finally hauled himself out of the fish cart, sputtering, drenched from head to boot. Water streamed from his sleeves. Scales clung to his hair like a bad omen. He glowered up at the rooftop where Lu Mao lounged, silver scarf fluttering in the breeze.
"This is the last time you make a fool of me," he spat, each word a thin promise. "Next time — I'm going to get you."
Lu Mao watched him, amusement coiling in his chest. The boy was sixteen, maybe, all sharp lines and sect discipline; the green of his robes still smelled faintly of incense and training halls. A Dawn Lotus disciple through and through — polished, proud, and dangerously sure of himself.
Chen Rong stamped his foot and flung an accusing look that tried to be frightening and only landed at the edge of ridiculous. Even so, Lu Mao felt the small, undeniable flutter of something like respect. Sect kids carried different kinds of weight; they were taught to keep coming back until they broke a stubborn thing.
He slid a coin into the hollow of his palm and watched the youth make his sputtering retreat, shoulders squared, vows muttered beneath his breath. Lu Mao could hear the future in that stubborn stomp: the sound of someone who would not forget a slight, who would hold a grudge like a blade until the right moment.
"Good," Lu Mao said softly to the rooftops, mostly to the wind. "Come find me then."
Chen Rong didn't hear that. He was already marching away, muttering about honor and the humiliation of fish and oranges. But as he disappeared into the market tide, Lu Mao had the curious, quiet certainty that their paths would cross again—sooner than either of them suspected.
The cat twined around his ankle, patient as ever. Above the city the sky bruised into evening; below, the alleys hummed with a thousand small schemes.
He slipped into the night, laughter folding into shadow, leaving Chen Rong to nurse his pride and the memory of a boy who stole dumplings — and laughed while doing it.