Midnight.
When Xuan Yuan Rancang pried open the back window of the antique shop, his fingers were still trembling. Not from fear, but from hunger. He hadn't eaten his fill in three days, and the meager wages from the acrobat troupe had all gone toward covering his loan-shark debt.
“Pay up soon, or I'll take a leg.” The scar-faced man's threat still rang in his ears.
He slipped inside, light as a cat. Years of tightrope walking had taught him how to move like this. Moonlight streamed through the display window, illuminating rows of vases and jars: Tang sancai, blue-and-white porcelain, bronze ritual cups... He knew nothing about them. He only knew that taking any one of them would clear his debt.
But they were all locked in glass cases.
Only a soot-black pottery jug sat on a wooden stand in the corner. Its body was crooked, and a piece was missing from its spout. It was so ugly it stood out. The shopkeeper probably thought this piece of junk was worthless and hadn't even bothered to lock it up.
Xuan Yuan Rancang spat. Just his luck.
But he was running out of time. He reached for the chamber pot. The instant his fingertips touched its cold ceramic surface
“Crack!”
A fissure suddenly split across the jug.
He flinched in fright, and it slipped from his hands. It hit the floor with a crash and shattered into seven or eight pieces. One shard flew up and sliced his palm. Blood welled up at once.
“Damn...” he muttered, hurriedly crouching to clean up the mess.
