Chapter Fourteen: The Young Thief

The two boys tumbled about in the crowd, brawling like fighting dogs. Their bodies rolled in the mud, and in no time, both had turned into little mud monkeys. Mud and water smeared their faces and clothes, trickling down in rivulets, but still, they bared their white teeth, hurling curses at one another without pause.

Both seemed about two or three years old, and with mud streaked across their faces, their true features were unrecognizable. Yet Yun Hao found it odd. Though they fought, their blows were always restrained, never going all out. Nor did they strike at the face or groin—one boy jabbed below the other’s chest, the other grabbed a shoulder. In an age where even children knew a bit of martial play, this was out of the ordinary.

The cattle and horse market was already bustling, and their scuffle instantly threw it into even greater chaos. Many people abandoned their animals to find the best spots for watching, crowding around to enjoy the commotion. It seemed the love of spectacle had long been written into the nation’s bones. Yun Hao, small as he was, quickly found his view blocked.

Within moments, people pressed in three and four deep, some even climbing trees for a better vantage, peering into the fray like the Monkey King himself.

Yun Hao noticed a wall nearby and was about to climb up for a better look when he saw someone weaving through the crowd, hands repeatedly reaching into people’s clothes for money—only, he wasn’t taking money from his own pockets.

Having lived two lifetimes, Yun Hao understood at once: the two boys fighting were decoys, drawing the crowd’s attention while this fellow worked the pockets of distracted onlookers. Such tricks were common in later marketplaces, but he hadn’t expected to see them already practiced more than two thousand years ago.

Of course, such tactics couldn’t fool Qin Qiong. Lounging against the wall, basking in the sun, Qin Qiong stood up. As a constable of Jizhou Prefecture, his professional instincts surged. He strode purposefully toward the young pickpocket, just as the thief slipped a hand into a man’s money pouch. With a resounding “bang,” Qin Qiong seized his hand in an iron grip.

The youth felt as if his hand were caught in steel pincers—no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t break free. Looking up, he saw a burly, sallow-faced man looming over him like Mount Tai. In a panic, the boy lashed out, aiming a vicious kick at Qin Qiong’s groin. It was sudden and fierce—had it landed, Old Qin might have spent the rest of his days in the palace as a eunuch.

Qin Qiong’s eyes flashed. This thief was no ordinary cutpurse. An average person, to throw such a kick, would need to twist their hips, losing speed and power. But this thief, without any hip movement, launched a sweeping side kick. If Qin Qiong kept hold of his arm, his balance would be lost; a follow-up sweep would have sent him crashing to the ground.

Qin Qiong, renowned for trampling both banks of the Yellow River and wielding his iron mace across all 108 counties of Shandong—if he were floored by a petty thief, his reputation would be ruined. But with martial skills passed down through generations, how could he be so easily outmaneuvered? Instantly, he clamped his legs, trapping the thief’s leg between his thighs.

The young thief twisted and yanked, but couldn’t break free, as if caught between two massive wooden pillars. Now he truly panicked: his arm was seized, his leg pinned, and worst of all, he still clutched the stolen purse. If he were caught now, his fate would be bleak.

In Luzhou, the people were fierce—if caught thieving, a man might be beaten to death on the spot, or at the very least, have his limbs broken. The thought of capture sent cold sweat streaming down the boy’s face.

Qin Qiong gazed at him with a cold, indifferent smile, saying nothing, simply holding him fast. The thief’s face pleaded for mercy; to avoid attracting more attention, he mouthed silent pleas for Qin Qiong to let him go.

Their struggle, though intense, was over in a few moves—so quick that even the man whose purse was being stolen hadn’t noticed a thing.

Qin Qiong felt a twinge of pity for the pitiful thief, but just as he softened, the boy’s eyes flashed fiercely and he lunged forward, aiming a headbutt straight at Qin Qiong’s face.

Qin Qiong hadn’t expected such ferocity. If the blow landed, his face would be battered—his nose likely shattered. With his hands and feet occupied, Qin Qiong saw the thief’s desperation and, with a helpless sigh, released his grip, shoving the boy away. Yet before the thief could make his escape, he realized his arm was still held fast. Before he could react, Qin Qiong yanked him close and threw him over his back.

With a loud smack, the thief crashed to the ground, finally drawing the crowd’s attention. Realizing a real fight was underway, the throng scattered, leaving space for the confrontation.

The thief, dazed and battered, saw stars as though his bones were coming apart, every joint feeling dislocated.

Qin Qiong planted a foot on the boy’s back, nearly crushing the breath from him. Seeing a grown man thrashing a youth, the bystanders began to protest, some even rolling up their sleeves to intervene. But most, cowed by Qin Qiong’s fierce presence, limited themselves to shouting from the sidelines.

Just as Qin Qiong was about to explain the thief’s identity, Yun Hao darted over, picked up the purse from the ground, and handed it to its owner: “Uncle, you dropped your money purse.”

Only then did the man realize his purse was missing. He nodded his thanks, pulling out a couple dozen copper coins by way of reward.

Yun Hao approached Qin Qiong. “Uncle Qin, let mercy have its place. For my sake, could you let him go?” he said, bowing with the gravity of an adult in miniature.

The crowd, charmed by Yun Hao’s precocious speech and endearing appearance, joined in, urging Qin Qiong to show leniency. For a moment, he was at a loss for words, as if he were the villain bullying the weak.

Qin Qiong was puzzled—just yesterday, he had dealt ruthlessly with the “Four Tigers of the East City,” but today, everyone pleaded for this thief. Was there more to the story? Reluctantly, Qin Qiong took his foot off the boy’s back. After all, Yun Hao and his mother had helped him settle his inn bill and offered him lodging for the night; this debt of kindness could not be forgotten.

“Thank you, Uncle Qin. You must be wondering why I’m asking you to spare this boy. Uncle Qin, look over there.” Yun Hao pointed to a spot not far off.

Following Yun Hao’s gaze, Qin Qiong’s heart gave a sudden lurch. Could it be? He glanced down at the boy sprawled on the ground, and his expression softened considerably.