Shadowwwing
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63. Breaking and Entering
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 22:00:07 +0000 UTCThe lingering chill of the Qinghe night was a different beast entirely from the clean, sharp cold of the mountain passes. Down here, in the maze of narrow streets and leaning tenements, the air was thick and heavy, tasting of coal smoke, salt, and the collective grime of a thousand unwashed bodies. From where he was pressed into the deep shadows of a narrow alleyway, staring across at the Gilded Spool, Jiang scowled in frustration.
Seeing it in the relative bustle of the day had been one thing; a gaudy storefront with obnoxious red-lacquered shutters, nestled between a dingy-looking textile dyer and a shop selling pungent, unfamiliar spices.
Jiang didn’t exactly have any experience as a thief, but then, how hard could it really be? He had carefully noted the iron-strapped front door, the barred lower windows, the solid-looking lock he didn’t have the faintest clue how to get past – and, more importantly, the single, unbarred window on the second floor overlooking the same grimy alley he now stood in.
The fact that it was unbarred made it possible to get in, but that didn’t mean it was easy. For starters, he’d expected the streets to be empty, quiet. He hadn’t counted on the sheer, relentless life of Qinghe, a city that never seemed to truly sleep.
The alleyway he was currently hiding in was empty, but the main thoroughfare, just a street over, was another matter. In the hour he’d been waiting, he’d spotted city guards pass by twice, a man leading a stubborn goat, a small group of sailors, and some very pretty women who were wearing clothing that was not at all suited to a winter evening.
The other problem – perhaps the more pertinent one – was getting up to the window at all. In the full light of day, he’d seen plenty of viable handholds, but staring up at night…
...Well, he wasn’t going to accomplish anything by standing still.
The street fell quiet for a moment, the distant clang of a ship’s bell the only sound. It was as good a chance as he was going to get. With a deep breath, he clambered on top of some barrels he’d dragged over to the wall, using the boost to reach for his first handhold.
The climb was both harder and easier than he had expected. On the one hand, it was different enough from climbing trees – which even that was something he hadn’t done for years – that it should have stymied him. On the other hand, his augmented strength was enough that he felt almost weightless, mainly because while his strength had increased along with his cultivation, he hadn’t actually gotten any heavier.
Still, reaching the window was one thing; getting through it was another. It was a tight fit, the frame narrower than it had looked from the ground. Squeezing himself through the tight opening was an awkward, graceless affair – especially because he was trying to keep quiet.
There was no room to maneuver, no leverage. He scraped his shoulder on the frame and had to contort his body, hooking one leg over the sill and half-falling, half-scrambling into the room beyond. He landed in a clumsy crouch, managing to absorb most of the impact with his knees, his landing muffled by something soft on the floor.
He stayed there for a long moment, every sense straining, listening for any sound of alarm, for the shout of a guard or the stirring of a sleeper. Nothing. Just the faint, rhythmic creak of the building settling and the distant, muffled sounds of the city. He straightened slowly, glancing around the room he now found himself in.
This… wasn’t a storeroom.
The narrow alleyway had made seeing what was on the other side of the window difficult, even in daylight, but he’d been able to catch a glimpse of what looked like a bunch of shelves. Logically, he’d assumed it was a storeroom – what else would it be, sitting above a merchant’s shop?
Except that the soft surface under his feet was a thick, patterned rug, not rough-hewn floorboards. The air smelled faintly of perfume and expensive beeswax, not dust and stored grain. And in the dim light filtering through the window, the shapes against the far wall resolved not into crates and barrels but into the polished gleam of a tall wardrobe and the silhouette of a four-poster bed.
Well. That… wasn’t ideal.
Jiang stood frozen for a long moment, listening to the slow, even breathing of the occupants. Presumably, the merchant and his wife – though Jiang certainly wasn’t going to walk over and check. He felt creepy enough as it was, slinking around someone’s bedroom while they slept. Fortunately, either he’d been quieter than he thought, or, more likely, the merchant and his wife were simply deep sleepers.
Jiang let out a slow, relieved breath. He had no idea what he would have done if they’d woken up. With a flicker of intent, Jiang focused and activated his stealth technique. He’d spent a large portion of the afternoon working on it in preparation for this evening’s heist – the time he wasn’t scoping out the shop, that was – and the practice showed.
In truth, no small part of his progress was thanks to the unknown cultivator in the Broker’s employ – the way his previous attempt at the technique had been brushed through like it wasn’t even there had highlighted the many areas he could improve. Really, it was a minor miracle the technique – such as it was – had served him well enough until now.
He reached for it now, weaving his now-denser Qi into the lattice-like structure he’d found worked best. Or rather, the best he could manage – even this was a bit of a stretch, forcing him to focus intently on keeping the thread of Qi as even as possible. While the properties of his new, denser Qi were helpful in many ways, he did miss the finer control he’d apparently traded it for. Maybe that was something he could work on in the future.
Still, even the minor progress he’d made was notable. The effect was still subtle, but it was there. The shadows in the room seemed to respond, pulling inward, clinging to his leathers and blurring the sharp lines of his form. It wouldn’t make him invisible – not even close – but it might make a sleepy eye mistake him for a trick of the light.
Better than nothing.
As it was, his plan was in need of some sudden refinement. He’d intended to leave the same way he came in, but getting back out the window was out of the question. Jiang had been extraordinarily lucky to avoid waking them so far, but every minute he spent in their room was another chance for the merchant to wake. To think his whole plan could be ruined by someone getting up in the night to get a drink of water… Jiang winced.
Apparently, thieving was more difficult than he’d given it credit for.
His first priority, then, was to find another way out. Leaving via the front door was… possible but very much not ideal – the shop opened out onto the main street, and Qinghe was busy enough at night for there to be a not-insignificant chance he would walk out right into a patrol of city guards.
Back door it was, then.
He rose from the crouch, the thick rug muffling the movement. The floorboards beneath it, he knew, would not be so forgiving. He moved with a deliberate weightlessness, testing each spot with the toe of his boot before committing his weight. One board groaned softly. He froze, listening. The breathing from the bed didn’t change. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and continued, his hand trailing along the cool, slightly grimy wall for balance.
His eyes – boosted by his cultivation – were sharp enough to make out the larger obstacles, even in the dark, so at least he didn’t have to worry about stumbling into something and waking the merchant up. He found the door at the far end of the small landing, a simple plank affair with a latch, not a lock. He eased it open, wincing as the hinges gave a low, protesting groan. The sound seemed deafening in the silence, but the rhythmic breathing from the bedroom didn’t falter.
Navigating the staircase in the dark was mostly an exercise in patience, setting his weight carefully to avoid creaks and keeping one hand on the rough plaster wall to maintain his balance. The shop floor was a sea of deeper shadows, the faint moonlight from the street-facing windows doing little to pierce the gloom.
His gaze swept the room, landing on a narrower door tucked away behind the main counter. The back exit. Moving with a little more certainty now that he was treading on the stone floor of the shop, he quickly made his way over to it. The back door was simpler than the one at the front, secured by a heavy wooden bar slotted into two iron brackets and a smaller, more conventional lock.
He lifted the bar first, the wood scraping softly against the iron. Then he turned his attention to the lock. It was a simple tumbler mechanism, the kind you could probably pick with a bent wire if you knew what you were doing. Jiang did not. He spared a moment to consider trying to smash it but quickly discarded the idea. Too much noise. Glancing around, he was lucky enough to spot the key hanging from a hook right beside the frame. It appeared the merchant’s desire for convenience was to Jiang’s advantage.
As he eased the door open just a crack to test it, a faint, high-pitched ting echoed in the small space. Jiang froze, his heart leaping into his throat. A tiny brass bell, no bigger than his thumb, was tied to the top of the door with a piece of twine, positioned to ring against the frame. A simple, effective alarm. He carefully pushed the door shut again, the bell making another soft noise.
Well. That complicated things.
He could try to cut the string, but fumbling in the dark with a knife was a good way to make even more noise. The other option was to just run, hoping that he would be able to make his escape before the merchant awoke and figured out what was going on. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he had an escape route.
He turned his attention to the shop itself and was suddenly struck with the magnitude of his task. He had to find a comb. A comb. In an entire shop. It wasn’t just any comb, either; he needed to find a specific comb. In the dark.
Jiang briefly considered what he would do if he found a comb, took it to the Broker, and was then informed it was the wrong comb.
Violence sprung to mind.
Still, he had to imagine jade combs were not terribly common, and the way the Broker hadn’t bothered to give it any other description at least implied it was distinctive enough to be unmistakable. Either way, there wasn’t much Jiang could do about it now.
He scanned the shelves. Where would a man hide something small and valuable? Not out in the open, surely. Bolts of silk and linen were stacked neatly, their colours muted to shades of grey in the dark. Spools of thread, sacks of raw wool, and a few finished garments hanging on wooden pegs. Nothing that looked like a display case for expensive trinkets.
He moved behind the counter, running his hands along the underside, trying to feel for a hidden drawer or compartment. Nothing. He opened the cash box – it was empty, save for a few stray copper coins that weren’t worth pocketing. Besides, the irony of him being here to steal something aside, stealing like this would feel… wrong.
He found a ledger, its pages filled with neat columns of figures, but no hidden comb tucked between the pages.
Frustration began to prickle at him. He was a hunter, not a thief. He knew how to track a trail, not how to suss out the hiding places of a greedy merchant. He moved to the small office at the back of the shop, a cramped space with a single desk and a stool. He rifled through the drawers. More ledgers, bundles of receipts tied with string, a half-empty inkwell. No comb.
He leaned against the desk, exhaling slowly, forcing himself to think. The Broker said the merchant was using the comb for extortion. Which meant he wouldn’t sell or display it. He’d want to keep it somewhere safe, somewhere close. Somewhere he could get to it easily if he needed to prove he had it, but where it wouldn’t be found by a casual thief.
Somewhere like... the bedroom.
Of course. It had to be in the bedroom. Jiang felt a spike of foolishness. He’d wasted all this time down here when the prize was right where he’d started. He made his way back up the stairs, each step now filled with a renewed sense of urgency and a healthy dose of self-recrimination.
Back in the sleeping chamber, the air felt thicker, the slow, steady breathing from the bed a constant, nerve-wracking rhythm. He moved to the tall wardrobe first, easing the door open. The scent of lavender and cedar drifted out. Robes, tunics, a few formal-looking garments. He ran his hands through the pockets. Nothing.
Next, the small chest at the foot of the bed. It was unlocked. He lifted the lid with infinite care. Inside, folded blankets and spare linens. He felt through them, his fingers brushing against the soft wool, searching for any hard, unyielding shape. Still nothing.
That left the bedside table. Or underneath the mattress itself, or under a pillow or something, but if it was in one of those locations, he would… be very sad, probably. And need to come back in the day to try again, which wouldn’t be ideal for a multitude of reasons.
Jiang crept over to the bedside table, trying not to breathe too loudly and doing his best to ignore the merchant’s snoring form, not two feet away. He eased the drawer open as slowly as he could, wincing at the scrape of wood. His eyes lit up a moment later as he saw the dark silhouette of a comb inside the drawer. Of course, it could just be a random comb, but he was willing to bet it was made of jade.
That’s when the faint, high-pitched ting-a-ling echoed up from downstairs.
Jiang froze, his blood turning to ice. The bell. Someone had opened the back door.
In the bed, the rhythmic snoring faltered, hitched, and then stopped entirely.
There was a rustle of heavy blankets, a thick, sleep-clogged grunt. Jiang didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. His hand was still half inside the open drawer, fingers brushing the cool, smooth surface of the comb.
A large, shadowy figure sat up in the bed, broad shoulders silhouetted against the faint light from the window. The merchant scrubbed a hand over his face, gaze drifting around the room, unfocused, until it landed on the dark shape kneeling beside his bed. For a long, silent moment, he just stared, his mind clearly struggling to process the impossible sight.
The man’s eyes widened in dawning comprehension.
Jiang swore.
Comments
Hikingmum
The tension builds....
Raymond Mouton
Thanks for the chapter. The best laid plans…
