Chapter Text
For those untempted by the prospect of honest work, palanquins heading to and from Daguanyuan were tempting targets. The vehicles were so luxurious many described them as inviting theft — twinkling gold or silver decorations hung from all sides, jingling and swaying in the wind as they traversed the backstreets. Their contents varied; some carried high-ranking officials or members of the Nest families, whose clothes sold for millions of Ahn even when torn or muddied and whose wallets always contained more money — or were simply worth more thanks to the material — than even the yearly salary of the most hardworking backstreets resident. Some palanquins transported items ranging from medicine to weapons to food, all of which could be used or sold or simply destroyed to spite those that dared flaunt their wealth without proper protection from guards.
Such guards, of course, were practically a given; swords gleamed and kept prospective thieves at bay. It made it difficult to ransack the palanquins — the only way such a thing ever truly succeeded was with the help of a group, the most successful of which was the Tri-Axe Office, though they’d never admit to such a thing. The Fixers would swarm their target and strip it of its decorations and goods like vultures descending on a corpse, leaving the guards overwhelmed with targets to chase. It was really quite a spectacle to observe, all things considered.
Zigong, though, didn’t care to join an official group (though she did technically hang around a couple other thieves on the regular), and a Fixer Office wouldn’t hire a fifteen-year-old anyway. She stuck to pickpocketing the guards, who were quite attractive targets themselves — they were usually ignored in favor of the palanquins, lucky for her. Sometimes she’d dart in and snag what she could for herself if she happened to catch one of the larger raids, but she didn’t enjoy the feeling of competing with the Fixers for scraps.
Another thing one had to worry about was immediately following any successful theft, especially from palanquins or their escorts: some people much preferred to stand back and allow others to take on the risk of pickpocketing; once that succeeded, these people would follow the thieves and try to take whatever had been stolen for themselves. After all, it was far less risky to rob a backstreets resident. An escort from the Nest would kill a careless pickpocket; the local jailer could be paid off.
So, Zigong did what she could to ensure her own safety: she sewed extra pockets into her robes to hide things away, did her best to blend into crowds when she left, never went directly home, and always kept a knife on her. It had worked fairly well thus far; only a few times had she found herself forced to hand over the things she’d worked so hard to lift from a guard’s pockets (one time including the most valuable things she’d ever managed to steal to date, of course).
Less lucrative but far easier was stealing from her neighbors; residents of the backstreets couldn’t afford hired protection, nor could they pay for good safes for what valuables they had. When pickpocketing palanquin escorts became too unreliable, she’d stalk some poor family for a few days, finding herself a time to slip inside and rummage through their home. More often than not, it wasn’t worth the trouble — a few thousand Ahn here, a nice necklace there — but it was better than nothing. She was expected to contribute to the rent payments made to the apothecary that owned the apartment Zigong and her father lived in, so she did what she could.
It wasn’t hard for the other residents of the backstreets to know she was a thief, though — they saw her near the escorts, and even when she squirreled away anything extra she made in her own safe without spending it, people didn’t go near the escorts for nothing. When someone complained about finding their belongings ransacked, suspicious eyes turned to her — but they had no proof.
At least, such was the case until she was caught.
She’d travelled quite a ways to this person’s house, thankfully, so they didn’t know her or any of her friends or family; she wasn’t necessarily ashamed of what she did, but her father would surely give her an earful if he found out. She’d seen her latest victim by chance on the street, taken note of his slightly-too-nice clothing, and promptly stopped what she was doing to follow him home. She spent a good few days stalking him before selecting a time to break in, but while routines are predictable, breaks in routine are not.
She’d only been there about a quarter of an hour when she heard the front door open and heavy steps from the main room. She was in the middle of picking the lock to a safe (he wasn’t rich enough for a lock from J Corp., it seemed), and while she was more than happy to abandon her attempt, there wasn’t really anywhere for her to go. It was one of those tiny little places without many windows, and the room she was in — some sort of washroom — lacked them entirely. There was a closet, but the numerous shelves meant she couldn’t hide within it. The cupboards overhead, which had contained the safe she was breaking into, were similarly too small, even for her. She removed the tension wrench and hook pick from the lock, dropping them in her pocket before lifting the safe back into the cupboard. She nearly dropped the damn thing due to its weight, but managed to get it back in and shut the cupboard door without making any noise. Unfortunately, she could hear the homeowner walking around; it didn’t seem like he’d just forgotten his keys and would be heading right back out to work.
What was her explanation going to be? She hoped that the owner of this place simply wouldn’t come into the room, that she could just wait it out until night and perhaps still get into the safe, but if the worst came to light, she needed some sort of plan. She could —
“What the…” she heard the man say from the neighboring room. Shit. He must’ve discovered something was missing; what had she taken from his room? There hadn’t been much there, but…
She grimaced as the realization came to her: there had been a nice picture framed on the nightstand, with little gems embedded in the corners. She’d mined them from the wood with her lockpicking tools, leaving empty little craters behind. She didn’t often do such obvious things, but she’d hoped they might be worth something.
“Hey,” the man greeted, sounding as though he’d just answered the phone. “I think my place got robbed.” She heard a closet door on the opposite wall open. “Don’t know yet. I just got home.” Footsteps as he left the room. Shit. The washroom was next. If he was on the phone, he had one hand tied up; she could rush him as soon as he opened the door and try to get past and out the door. She wasn’t all that familiar with this area, but she could get a little closer to home and escape him there.
“No, I definitely locked the door…” the man said, sounding as though he was approaching the room she was in. “I still haven’t—”
The door swung open, and Zigong ran at him. He cried out in shock, clearly not expecting her to still be there. Unfortunately for Zigong, though, he didn’t just jump out of her way and let her escape; instead, he grabbed her arm, nearly sending her to the floor when she couldn’t maintain her momentum. She did what she could to wrestle her arm from his grip, but he kept a firm hold on her, his nails digging into her skin. She went for her knife next, but by the time she’d pulled it from its sheath, the homeowner had fully engaged in their little scrap, tossing his phone aside in favor of preventing her escape. He knocked the knife from her hand and pushed her head to the ground, pinning her in place until she gave up on struggling.
“Let me go,” she snarled, breathing hard from the exertion. Even with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she wasn’t having any luck freeing herself.
“Hell no,” he replied, seemingly not anywhere near as exhausted as she was from the struggle. “Not ‘til someone comes to arrest you!” Careful to keep her down, he reached for his phone. He apologized to the person he’d left hanging on the other end of the line, hung up, and then called for help.
Zigong was forced to stay on the floor until a knock sounded at the front door. As uncomfortable as it was, she wasn’t going to be caught complaining; it was more annoying than anything after a few minutes.
“We got a call for help at this address,” a man shouted through the door; probably some Office Fixer, if she had to guess. If it weren’t for the unopened safe, she’d have hazarded a guess that the cost of calling such a Fixer would be more than she was able to steal. Maybe, if she wasn’t locked up for the rest of her life, she’d come back here and find out just how much was in that safe.
“Yes! Come in, please!” The homeowner responded, unwilling to give her a chance to escape by getting up and opening the door for the Fixer; how rude. Zigong made one last attempt to struggle free, to no avail. The Fixer at the door let himself in, and Zigong heaved a noisy sigh as he came over and promptly bound her hands before helping her to her feet, keeping a nearly painful hold on her arm to prevent her from running off. She wanted to pull away and regain at least some of her dignity, but she knew there was no chance of that.
“Now, what happened?”
“I came home,” the homeowner said, “and realized stuff was missing, and had been gone through. There was — I’ve got a picture on my bedside table. The little fake gems in the frame were gone. And then I went to go check in there…” he pointed to the washing room. “...and she jumped out at me, trying to escape!”
The Fixer pulled out a small notebook, jotting a few things down. Once he’d put the notebook away, he looked over at Zigong. “Turn out your pockets.”
“With what hands?” She grumbled. “Turn them out yourself.”
“Ah, right. Very well.” The Fixer wasted no time searching her visible pockets; he did find the stupid fake gems — she couldn’t believe she’d stolen something so worthless and gotten his attention — but thankfully, he seemed reluctant to pat her down and thus didn’t discover any of her numerous tools, which would’ve been fairly expensive to replace. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Nope.” She knew better than to work herself into an even deeper hole here; there was no way she could talk her way out of this. Her best option was probably to accept whatever punishment she was given, beg for forgiveness, and not get caught in the future.
“Alright. In that case, I’ll be taking you directly to the town hall — he’ll decide your punishment.”
Wonderful. Just what she needed. Hopefully, she’d get off easy, given her age; punishments for teenagers tended to be lighter. She didn’t need to ask who he was that the man referred to, as there was only one person it could be: Chao Gai, the leader of their small portion of the backstreets. He played judge, jury, and executioner for any criminals; he was known for harsh punishments, meaning she’d be lucky to escape with just a beating.
“Do you mind if I take these little gems for evidence?” the Fixer asked, showing them to the homeowner. “And — is that your knife? If not, do you mind me taking that as well?”
“Not at all.” The homeowner picked up the knife, handing it over to the Fixer.
“Very well. Let’s go.” Readjusting his hold on Zigong’s arm, the Fixer began moving her towards the door.
Her temporary captor — who introduced himself as Zhu Tong, a Grade One Fixer, after forcing her to identify herself — walked her all the way to the main hall and straight to Chao Gai’s office without any further chitchat, which Zigong appreciated. It was humiliating enough to be paraded down the street with her hands bound for all to see; she didn’t need him reprimanding her for stealing. She kept her chin up, though, refusing to look pathetic and cowardly even when caught red-handed.
Once she entered the town hall and was freed from the prying eyes of her community, Zhu Tong brought her into Chao Gai’s office. He shut the door behind them as Chao Gai straightened up from what appeared to be paperwork, giving the two of them his full attention.
“Good morning,” Chao Gai greeted. “What have we here?”
“We’ve got a petty thief by the name of Zigong,” Zhu Tong announced. “Caught in the act, with stolen goods on her, not to mention a knife.” He produced the stupid little gems and the knife he’d confiscated on Chao Gai’s desk, and the man picked one of the gems up to inspect it briefly.
“I see. Anything to say for yourself?” Chao Gai asked once he’d set the fake gem down, looking over at Zigong.
“I’m sorry,” Zigong said, casting her eyes downwards; maybe trying to seem as though she’d learned her lesson was safest. After all, there was no way she’d be able to convince the two of them she was innocent. “I know it was wrong, and I regret it.”
Chao Gai nodded vaguely, as though he heard this sort of pleading every day and couldn’t care less about her remorse. “I see,” he said plainly. “Zhu Tong, thank you for bringing her here. I’ll deal with her myself. You’re excused.”
“Very well.” Zhu Tong bowed to him, quickly making himself scarce. Chao Gai was quiet for a few moments once they were alone, and then he hummed, sitting back in his chair.
“I’ve seen you around,” he finally said. “You’re quite an adept thief, aren’t you?”
“I’m not going to incriminate myself, if that’s your goal,” Zigong replied coolly. Chao Gai only laughed at her, and she had to work to keep her expression neutral.
“Of course not,” he said. “I just want to know if my guess is right — you’ve never been caught before, but I’m fairly certain I’ve seen you hang around the main strip, where all those palanquins travel. I’ve got to say, you’re brave if you dare to go after them.”
Zigong only stared, but this appeared to give Chao Gai the answer he wanted. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
“The typical punishment for petty thievery is ten blows with bamboo. Nothing too serious, especially for someone younger.”
She nodded; that sounded like what she’d been preparing herself for. Ten blows would be rough, sure, but it ought not take her more than a few days to make a full recovery. She could probably even get away with hiding this whole ordeal from her father, assuming he didn’t try to pull her record for some unforeseen reason.
“But… I was thinking we could strike a deal,” Chao Gai continued. At this, Zigong felt her mouth go dry; nothing good could come of this request, could it? Now she truly did regret her actions. Why had she tried robbing that house? Why had she let herself be caught? She shouldn’t have messed with the picture frame. She shouldn’t have let the homeowner grab her arm. She’d been so stupid and now she was going to suffer for it. She was fairly certain the door behind her wasn’t locked, but her hands were still bound, not to mention Zhu Tong would probably be able to catch her if she ran for it.
“What deal?” She asked through gritted teeth. Her knife was on the desk, but Chao Gai didn’t seem the sort of man to be caught off-guard by someone lunging across the desk at him, even if she somehow freed up a hand.
“This is the first time you’ve been caught; it’s a shame to mar someone’s record, especially a child’s,” Chao Gai began, and Zigong felt downright nauseous. “So… how about I let you go with a warning? I won’t put a mark on your record. In return, anything you steal? I want a cut.”
Zigong looked up at Chao Gai, somewhat baffled; it took her a second to fully process his request. That wasn’t what she’d anticipated him asking her for at all. She almost expected him to speak up again, to add on to the conditions proposed, but he just stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“What… how much?” She finally asked when she’d recovered somewhat.
“I’m no villain; how about… forty percent?”
Zigong felt trapped; that felt far too high, but… if she tried to negotiate, what stopped him from changing his mind entirely, or asking for something else? A mark on her record could keep her from working any good jobs. She was certainly a thief, but she didn’t want to spend her whole life doing such a thing. She had bigger dreams than that.
“Thirty,” she said, scarcely believing her own nerve. Did she really dare to jeopardize this deal?
Thankfully, mercifully, Chao Gai nodded. “Thirty it is,” he agreed. “Now, I certainly don’t expect myself to keep an eye on your activities, and I’m not so foolish as to force you to come in for meetings. I’m not going to be asking Zhu Tong to watch you, either. How can I be sure you’ll hold up your end of the deal?”
Zigong hesitated; it was a good question. She was getting the feeling that this wasn’t the only time Chao Gai had let a criminal go free, but what methods would someone like him use to get his share? Did he expect her to keep records of who she robbed? Surely not.
“You can trust me,” she finally said, deciding to lean into a more grateful sort of response. “I may be a thief, but I have honor; I only do this to feed myself and my family. I’m indebted to you for your mercy.”
Chao Gai’s smile reassured her; clearly, that was the answer he’d wanted. He brought his hands together and sat back once again, and she felt herself relax ever so slightly. “Very well. I trust you, Zigong. You can always find me here.”
“Thank you, sir.” Zigong bowed to him, heart still pounding.
“Of course.” Chao Gai got to his feet, pulling out a keychain. He came around the desk and unlocked the handcuffs, tossing them on the desk. “You’re free to go,” he said. As he headed back to his seat, she picked up her knife and slipped in into her pocket; he probably didn’t have any problem with her taking it, but she figured being subtle about it was for the best.
He waved as she let herself out of his office, and she made it to the entrance of the town hall before running into Zhu Tong, who appeared to be standing guard at the front door. She felt a spike of fear at the sight of him — she had to pass him to leave the building, but it was fairly obvious she’d received no punishment, right? She’d left Chao Gai’s office all too quickly, and sported no injuries. Should she fake it? She’d never suffered even a single blow from the bamboo, so she had no reference to mimic.
Then, Zhu Tong turned and saw her, robbing her of any chance to sneak away. He nodded casually at her, as though he’d expected her to suffer no consequence.
“Good choice,” he called; so, he was in on the whole operation, then. In fact, it was probably how Chao Gai paid him for his services, wasn’t it? Hiring a Fixer like Zhu Tong full-time wasn’t a cheap affair. Zigong gave him an awkward smile and nodded at him as she passed him by. He said nothing more as she headed outside, and soon enough, she was home free.
She felt a bit too scattered to go straight home and lie to her father’s face about where she’d been, so she made a beeline for the only place she could truly recollect: the apothecary underneath their apartment.
The bell on the door chimed as she pushed it open, and predictably, her landlord — Shanyi — was nowhere in sight. Zigong took a deep breath; the apothecary always smelled like how she imagined a forest might. There weren’t that many trees or the like in the backstreets of H Corp., so this was about as close as one could get to nature. Zigong found great comfort in settling into some secluded spot in Shanyi’s massive greenhouse, where she had only the plants for company. It was always nice and warm, too; good for her, since she tended to run cold.
“Just a moment,” came a voice from the back.
“It’s just me,” Zigong replied.
“Oh! Zigong?” A woman finally appeared behind the counter, smiling at her. “How are you?”
“I’m alright.” She hoped that her demeanor backed her up, and if it didn’t, that Shanyi wouldn’t question her. “Do you mind if I go sit in the greenhouse?”
“Not at all,” Shanyi said, unlocking the little gate that separated the main storefront from behind-the-counter and allowing Zigong through. “If you want some tea or anything, you know where to find the kettle. And the hose,” she added with a joking tone.
“Thank you,” Zigong said before making her way into the greenhouse. There was a long hallway connected to the front of the store, with parallel sets of doors on each side; within each room was either a collection of species with synchronized growth cycles, or a farm for just one plant. Beside each door was a keypad, ready to deliver an entire growing season’s worth of time to the room and enable the harvest of large amounts of product. In all honesty, Shanyi was probably one of the richest people in their region of the backstreets — not that anyone aside from Zigong knew that. She’d found such a thing out when she was just an overly curious child, having snuck into the greenhouse without permission. In exchange for keeping her mouth shut, she was allowed to visit the greenhouses, and occasionally help out with a harvest if she felt like it. Helping out in the greenhouses didn’t get her and her father a discount on rent or anything, but it was a good way to get her mind off other things.
Today, she stopped in front of a door labeled Ricinus communis, one of the rooms containing just a single species. A sticker by the doorknob told her to avoid touching any of the plants, warning of possible skin irritation.
Since the room wasn’t currently frozen in time or speeding through a growing cycle, she was free to go in. The heat hit her like a wall, but that didn’t stop her from heading inside and settling down on the floor, careful not to brush against any of the leaves.
The thick, warm air quickly made her sleepy, sapping the tension from her muscles. It was a shame this was the closest to a sauna she could get; a real one at home would be nice. Maybe, she thought idly, if she ever made it big, she’d get one installed and pray her father didn’t ask where she’d gotten the money.
An hour or so later, Shanyi opened the door and stepped inside, pulling on a pair of long gloves. She caught sight of Zigong, and seemingly surprised to see her, waved.
“Sorry to bother you,” Shanyi apologized, making her way over to look at one of the plants. “Though, I was going to have to look for you anyway… I need to give this room a few weeks.”
“No worries,” Zigong replied, getting to her feet. Shanyi always had to make sure she knew precisely where Zigong was before injecting a room with time or freezing it; if she accidentally did so with Zigong inside, there was no telling what the damage might be. The two of them headed out into the cold hallway, and Shanyi typed 21 into the little keypad by the door and then pressed Enter, subjecting the little room to three weeks of time all at once. When the keypad beeped, Shanyi opened the door back up.
“Would you like some help harvesting?” Zigong offered, not quite ready to go home and feeling awkward about walking off to find another room.
“Sure, if you don’t mind it. You know where the gloves are.”
Zigong nodded, and hurried back to the storefront to grab a pair. When she rejoined Shanyi, the woman was already collecting the little brown seed pods, tossing them into a bucket on the floor. Zigong joined her, careful not to let the leaves brush even her clothes. She’d been in this room before — it was usually available for her to sit in, unlike some that were nearly always frozen in time — and had been told that every bit of the plant was coated in allergenic compounds that could cause rashes if she was careless.
“We’ll be harvesting all of it,” Shanyi told her as they worked. “I’ll make castor oil out of most of it and sell that to the shop down the street.”
“And the client?” Zigong asked; she’d gotten more comfortable simply asking what she wanted to ask after so many years of hanging around the apothecary. Once she was old enough to realize Shanyi wasn’t growing all these dangerous plants to make something as simple as oil or pretty displays for vases, it wasn’t hard to figure out what sort of business she was running.
“The client wants to build up their tolerance to ricin, allegedly,” Shanyi said. “This many beans will make me enough ricin to sell for months, I’m sure. Good crop this time around.”
Most of Shanyi’s money-making came in the form of selling various poisons; ricin, datura, even arsenic… each had their uses as legitimate medicines, but with boluses as competition, being an ethical pharmacist who only handed out such things for genuine medical purposes would leave her desolate. Every once in a while, Zigong considered using poisons in her thefts — perhaps she could’ve used some to make her most recent attempt a success — but it always felt like too much, not to mention it would really cut into her earnings if she had to pay Shanyi for whatever she decided to use.
“I think that’s the last of them on this side,” Shanyi announced after a few minutes. Zigong pulled the last few seed pods off a plant on her side of the row and carried them over to the bucket, dropping them in.
“We should be done, then.”
“Great.” Shanyi picked up the bucket, and the two of them headed out into the hallway. Zigong followed her to the little kitchen-lab, but stopped at the doorway as she peeled her gloves off.
“I ought to head home,” she said as Shanyi dumped the seed pods out on the counter. “Thank you for letting me visit.”
“Thank you for helping me harvest,” Shanyi replied. “Have a good day, kid. Don’t forget, rent’s due in a week.”
“I’ll bring it down in a few days,” she promised. “You have a good day, too.” Zigong placed the gloves in the sink to be washed before heading out, finally feeling as though she’d shaken off the feeling of agitation from being caught.