Chapter Five: Among All Thieves, the Master of Deception Holds the Throne

The voice was not loud, but I could tell it came from just a step or two beyond the door.

"Give me back my head."

A chill shot down my spine, and I sprang up from the chair. I could feel cold air crawling up my back, reaching the crown of my head, as my eyes fixed unblinkingly on the door. I dared not move.

"Who's there!"

Hearing no sound from outside after a moment, I mustered the courage to shout again.

At that moment, it seemed the wind had risen outside. Especially here on the banks of the Haihe River, the wind howled mournfully, rattling the door on its hinges as if someone were pounding on it with desperate force. The thuds echoed directly in my chest. I stood behind the counter for ages, my mind a tangled mess.

Had Niu Erpao come looking for me?

But I had already handed the head over to the police. If he wanted it, he should go to the station—why come here?

The river wind blew for a long while, then began to subside. I crept forward on tiptoe, pressed my ear against the door, and listened. Hearing no footsteps outside, I relaxed a little.

"Where’s my head?"

The voice drifted in through the crack beneath the door and my scalp prickled instantly—I collapsed to the floor, legs trembling, staring at the gap and cursing out loud.

"To hell with you! Your head’s at the police station. If you’ve got the nerve, go get it from them. If you don’t leave, I’ll bring Buddha himself down upon you, Heaven’s thunder to smite you from the clouds, and drag you through eighteen levels of hell’s frying pots. Tonight, it’s either you or me!"

When fear reaches its peak, it turns to rage.

I sat on the floor, shouting curses at whatever was outside until my throat was hoarse. No sound came in response.

After half an hour of this standoff, sensing that whoever—or whatever—was out there had left, I took a few deep breaths, got up, and shakily opened the door a crack. A gust of cold wind swept into the shop. The street outside was deserted, silent as the grave. Only a solitary streetlamp stood before the shop, its dim yellow glow casting lonely light on the bleak riverside.

I was scared half to death.

Exhaling heavily, I wiped the sweat from my neck, poked my head out to look both ways, then quickly shut and locked the door. I hurried back to the counter and called Jin Yitiao.

Though our line of work required us to pay respects to spirits and gods, that didn't mean I had to accept the possibility that the one knocking at my door was the beheaded Niu Erpao from this morning.

What is a ghost? Bodhisattvas are carved from wood, ghosts are conjured from the mind. As the saying goes, "Where there are no gods, there are no ghosts." In all these years, with all the idols and sacred beasts I’ve enshrined in this shop, not once have I found a single bill over fifty yuan. So why do ghosts seem so much more effective?

I sat trembling in my chair, lit a cigarette, and waited anxiously for Jin Yitiao to come and give me some advice.

When it came to such matters, Jin Yitiao was always more far-sighted than I. At noon he’d picked up a car at the west market and gone straight to Nankou Lane in the Western City to see some people from the “Chazi” line and dig up information on Niu Erpao.

Speaking of the “Chazi” line brings us to the Thieves’ Guild. Every business without capital in this world can be traced back to the Thieves’ Guild—a major underworld organization among the Eight Outer Trades of old society, subdivided into four branches: “Grave,” “Treasure,” “Sneak,” and “Wind.”

“Grave” refers to tombs and mausoleums—grave robbers, called “Shovel Line,” whose trade is opening tombs and coffins for dead men’s wealth.

“Treasure” refers to hidden treasures, ownerless valuables. These operatives are called “Rake Line.” In the south, they’re known as “Treasure Suppressors,” in the north as “Spirit Trackers” or “Shepherds.” They call themselves “Earth Rakes” or “Goat Herders,” and their dealings are most mysterious.

“Sneak” means thieves—breaking into homes to steal valuables. In the Guild, they’re called “Swindle Line,” and refer to themselves as “Old Glory” or “Little Strands”—plainly, pickpockets. Their methods are manifold. The commonest are “Opening the Orchard” (digging tunnels) or “Scaling the Ridge” (climbing rooftops). Those who dig tunnels are “Earth Mice,” those who climb are “Flying Thieves.”

“Wind” means gathering information or secrets, or stealing certain tokens. In the Guild, this is the “Chazi Line.” These people call themselves “Old Zhou,” often posing as wandering doctors or fortune-tellers, hired to ferret out confidential news or spy on secrets—similar to special agents.

With the times, many of these side trades have faded from view, but the Thieves’ Guild is still active, though its business is all underground and shady. Even we only know scraps and rumors.

Jin Yitiao, after years of roaming the underworld, knew many such people. According to him, he considered himself half a “Chazi Line” man—eyes and ears everywhere. Even if he fell into a latrine pit in the northwest desert, he’d run into someone to pull him out.

I never bothered to verify this claim. For all his mercenary ways, Jin’s efficiency was always reliable.

When Jin Yitiao arrived, his thinking matched mine. No matter whether the one knocking had been man or ghost, someone had clearly set their sights on our little shop.

Immortals don’t usually bicker with petty ghosts—unless the ghost barges into the temple and snatches their incense.

Niu Erpao had been dead less than a day. Jin hadn’t found much useful information from Chazi Line contacts. The only noteworthy detail was that the client who had bought two baskets’ worth of Niu Erpao’s goods at the ghost market yesterday morning was a middle-aged man surnamed Liu—not a local, but sounding like he was from the capital.

That could be good, or bad.

What we desperately needed to know was whether Niu Erpao’s death—and the severed head forced into my hands—were part of that man’s plan. If not, we’d chalk it up to bad luck—drinking cold water and choking, wearing a Daoist robe and running into a ghost. We’d have to accept it.

But if they were, then things would get very complicated. Even in today’s society, the Haihe still yields countless unidentified corpses every year. If three out of ten are ever claimed by relatives, it’s considered lucky. The rest become unsolved headless cases—no one ever knows what really happened.

The two of us sat in the shop, pondering. Finally, Jin turned and looked at me.

“There’s no one else here. Level with me—did you take something that doesn’t belong to you?”

I shook my head. “No. All my stock comes from you. You know the goods and the prices better than I do. What earth-shattering treasure could there possibly be?”

Jin eyed me suspiciously, then said, “Don’t forget—even though Niu Erpao’s head is at the police station, the rest of his body is still missing. If someone came for the head tonight, who knows what might come pounding at your door tomorrow?”

My hand shook so badly I nearly dropped my teacup.

“Tell me the truth. I’m meeting a Chazi master in two hours. If you don’t come clean, I have a feeling you won’t get a peaceful night’s sleep for the next few days.”

Seeing the rare seriousness on Jin’s face, I hesitated, then recounted everything about the old treasure suppressor who’d shown up in my shop last night.

“That book—is it still here?” Jin asked.

I nodded. “I hid it in the secret compartment; it wasn’t stolen.”

“Let me see it.”

“Are you sure you want to look?” I stared at him.

Jin paused, then shook his head with a sigh. “Forget it. The fewer who see it, the less danger. But we need to figure out whether the immortal is after the book or that toad.”

Jin had hit the nail on the head. I’d thought of it, too. Such a strange toad—I’d never even heard of such a thing. Considering the old man’s words and behavior when he came in, it wasn’t impossible he’d stashed the promised treasure here and, unable to find it, blamed me for everything. After all, when Buddha sweeps clean, it’s not really thievery—it’s searching for something.

“What if that thing comes for the head tonight—and comes for your body tomorrow?” After a long pause, I figured I should warn Jin.

He shot me a look, stood up, and said, “I’m done chatting. I have to go.”

After he left, I stared blankly at the ancient treasure-suppressing manual under the counter, a single thought turning in my mind: Could this book contain something truly extraordinary…?

In the deepest part of the night, after locking the door and checking every window, I turned off the lights, grabbed a flashlight, and sat behind the counter. Taking a deep breath, I opened the first page of the old book:

Master of All Thieves, Supreme Among Tricksters.