The Pickpocket Parade in Dingzhou

Dingzhou City was a bustling commercial hub, lively from the break of dawn until just before midnight. No matter the hour, its streets teemed with people, and shops stayed open late, ready to serve even the most forgetful of shoppers.

But to wander Dingzhou's streets was to step into a dance with danger. One had to remember a golden rule: never push too deep into a crowd. For the moment you emerged, you might find your purse gone, your valuables missing—perhaps even the hidden silver notes tucked inside your underclothes stolen clean.

The pickpockets of Dingzhou were infamous across the empire. There was once a wealthy merchant who, upon noticing a commotion in the crowd, squeezed in for a look. By the time the crowd dispersed, he stood dazed in the middle of the street, stripped of everything—even the undergarment that held his silver notes. All that remained was his outer robe. He hadn't even noticed it happen.

At present, Qin Ren was leisurely strolling through Dingzhou with Du Xiaoyan on his arm. Behind them trailed a group of nine servants and guards, including Qiao Wei and Tu Hong.

Du Xiaoyan played the part of a noble lady to perfection—her steps graceful, head resting lightly against Qin Ren's shoulder. Qin Ren himself wore a gentle smile, folding fan in hand, swaying it twice every three steps like a carefree scholar out for a romantic promenade.

Qiao Wei carried several bags of purchased goods, his eyes scanning the crowd with quiet curiosity. Tu Hong and the others, though empty-handed, were sharp-eyed and alert, watching the passersby like hawks, ready to react to any threat.

It was at that moment that Uncle Li set his sights on them. He was seated on the second floor of a nearby tavern, a cup of wine in hand, and cast a discreet gesture toward a plain-looking vegetable seller down below.

The girl appeared no more than sixteen or seventeen. Her face was dull, hair tangled and flaky with dandruff. But her eyes—those bright, mischievous eyes—told a different story.

She caught Uncle Li's signal and gave the faintest of nods. Using a customer's body as cover, she subtly gestured to a ragged little beggar seated across the street.

The beggar responded by tapping his grimy bamboo stick rhythmically against the cobblestone. At the signal, more than forty rag-clad urchins poured out from alleys in all directions, swarming toward Qin Ren and Du Xiaoyan like a rising tide.

"Kind sirs and ladies! Spare a coin, we're starving!" they cried, thrusting their cracked bowls toward the couple.

Tu Hong's instincts screamed danger. He immediately signaled the guards, and they rushed to shield Qin Ren and Du Xiaoyan. Assassins often disguised themselves as beggars, slipping in blades during moments of charity.

Still, unwilling to beat children in the open street, the guards instead pulled out handfuls of copper coins to placate the mob.

Fortunately, none of the beggars were killers—just skilled thieves. They eagerly grabbed the coins, but in doing so, each guard found himself suddenly overwhelmed—five or six beggars pressing in at once, grabbing, pulling, jostling. Within moments, they dispersed like startled birds.

Tu Hong frowned. Something felt... off.

Qin Ren and Du Xiaoyan watched with barely suppressed laughter. Qin Ren patted Tu Hong's shoulder. "Captain Tu," he said with a smirk, "perhaps you should take your men back to dress."

Tu Hong blinked. Something felt wrong. He looked down—and froze.

Their robes were gone. Every single one of the eight guards stood in the middle of the street wearing nothing but colorful underwear. Around them, the watching crowd burst into peals of laughter.

Tu Hong's face turned crimson. "Damn those little devils! If I ever catch them, I'll skin them alive!"

But as he looked around, there wasn't a single beggar in sight. Even the one tapping the bamboo stick had vanished.

Fear crept into Tu Hong's heart. The urchins had stripped them bare with such speed and precision—if any of them had carried a blade, the guards could have been stabbed before realizing what happened. Tu Hong himself, with his near-impervious body, might have survived—but the others would not have been so lucky.

Du Xiaoyan stifled her laughter. "Uncle Tu, vengeance can come later. For now, perhaps retreat with dignity?"

The guards apologized and fled in embarrassment, their half-naked figures vanishing into the distance.

Curiously, Qiao Wei had remained untouched. The beggars had tried—desperately—but couldn't get near him. Some invisible force seemed to repel their hands the moment they reached for him.

Sensing something strange, they backed off wisely. After all, Qiao Wei was carrying tens of thousands of taels in silver and a few priceless trinkets gifted by Qin Ren. There was no way he would allow anyone to touch him.

"The thieves of Dingzhou," Qin Ren remarked with a sigh, "truly live up to their reputation. Even Tu Hong and the others were helpless against their nimble fingers."

He paused. "Still, a few of those 'urchins' moved like seasoned martial artists."

Meanwhile, in the tavern above, a youth in a green tunic approached Uncle Li and respectfully bowed.

"Uncle," the youth reported, "we gathered a rich haul—twelve hundred taels in notes, one hundred twenty-seven taels in silver, over five hundred copper coins, five jade pendants, and six snuff bottles. The value of the latter remains unknown until appraisal."

Uncle Li nodded. "Good work. But it's a pity—if the servants carried so much, their masters must have even more. Now that those two are on guard, it'll be difficult to strike again."

He glanced at Qiao Wei and frowned. "Why didn't we go after that servant?"

The youth replied, "We tried, but it was strange. Even with our best sleight-of-hand, even 'Thousand Phantom Hands' couldn't touch him. I suspect he's no ordinary servant."

"What? Not even 'Thousand Phantom Hands' worked?" Uncle Li paled and looked again—only to meet Qiao Wei's amused gaze from below.

A chill ran down Uncle Li's spine. He looked away—only to find Qin Ren and Du Xiaoyan smiling up at him too.

"Damn. We've been made," he muttered. He moved to signal the vegetable seller again—but Qin Ren had already stepped forward, blocking her from view.

"Yun, get Little Leaf out of there," he whispered to the youth.

Yun nodded and dashed downstairs. As he reached the entrance and turned to signal the vegetable girl, he saw a fan-wielding young master grinning wickedly at him, with the noble lady beside him watching closely.

The moment Uncle Li had signaled the girl, Qin Ren had noticed. Of course he had—he never walked without letting his eyes wander. He'd spotted the odd glance, the vegetable girl, the beggar, the bamboo tapping—all of it.

As for Qiao Wei, it would've been embarrassing if a grand elder of the Demonic Sect failed to catch such a petty ploy.

Qin Ren winked. "Brother Wei, time to catch some rats."

Qiao Wei nodded, flashed an exaggerated wink at Uncle Li, and strode toward Yun at the tavern door.

Qin Ren, meanwhile, sauntered toward the vegetable girl, Du Xiaoyan still on his arm.

The girl smiled calmly as they approached. "Sir, would you like to buy some greens? These scallions were picked fresh this morning, very crisp. And these cabba—"

"Shopping is for servants," Qin Ren cut her off, snapping his fan shut and staring into her eyes. "Tell me, wearing a human-skin mask must feel uncomfortable, yes? Shall I help you remove it, or would you rather do it yourself?"