At the entrance of an old residential area in Lijin District.
The faded signboard of a shop called "Old Wang's Appliance Repair" had been bleached by the rain.
The owner, Cripple Wang, was wearing reading glasses as he repaired an electric kettle. His calloused fingers deftly removed the base, inspected it, and said to the customer, "The coupler's broken. Just needs a replacement."
Less than a minute later, the repair was done.
After seeing the customer off, he finally looked up at a lean man in his thirties standing in the shadows—nicknamed "Rat."
Cripple Wang stood up, limped over to the seating area, poured two cups of tea, and handed one to Rat before leisurely settling into a recliner with the other. He stretched out his slightly disabled right leg and only then asked, "What’s the matter?"
The young man called Rat lowered his voice. "Uncle Ghost, two new recruits got sent back to the factory today."
"That’s nothing unusual. You can’t walk by the river without getting your feet wet," Cripple Wang replied, unsurprised. This kind of thing had happened more than once.
The underworld had many rules, and pickpockets had their own code and territories.
Only one faction could operate in a given area—no poaching allowed. Newcomers had to join the group, ranked by skill, with those below paying tribute to those above.
Upon joining, everyone swore an oath: if caught, they wouldn’t rat out others or betray the trade. Break these rules, and as long as the gang remained intact, retribution was guaranteed—at the very least, a severed finger. This was how loyalty was maintained.
Thanks to these traditions, many gangs survived for years without being wiped out.
Cripple Wang was the godfather of Lijin District’s pickpocketing world, known as "Uncle Ghost." Anyone working in his territory had to pay their dues. Newcomers had to seek his approval to enter, and even those leaving the trade had to go through him.
"Uncle Ghost, those two were new to our area. They hadn’t passed the initiation yet, but since they got caught, we can’t just ignore it," Rat said.
"If you can’t handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Kick them out once they’re released. That’s the rule—don’t you know it?"
The initiation test was an old tradition: either steal a set amount or hit a specific target.
Getting caught meant they weren’t cut out for this line of work.
"Of course I know the rules, Uncle Ghost," Rat hurriedly replied. "But this time, they got caught because some outsiders interfered."
"Outsiders? Our people?" Cripple Wang frowned slightly.
"No, not ours. From what I’ve heard, it was a bunch of kids. I suspect they’re under Li Dayong’s crew from the train station. He’s the only one with that many young recruits," Rat said.
Li Dayong was infamous in their circles as the "Child King," specializing in trafficking children and training them as pickpockets. He divided them into two groups:
Those with clumsy hands were maimed and sent to beg. The skilled ones were groomed as thieves.
If they survived to adulthood with limbs intact and proved obedient, they’d be absorbed into the gang, continuing the cycle.
Cripple Wang suddenly slammed his teacup onto the table. "Breaking the rules comes with a price—no matter whose people they are! Handle this yourself!"
"Yes, Uncle Ghost!" Rat responded immediately.
After Rat left, Cripple Wang squinted at the sky outside and muttered, "Kids these days have no respect for the old ways… Maybe it’s time to remind them."
---------------
Wanlong Supermarket had been unusually quiet lately. After catching two pickpockets a few days ago, no more goods had gone missing. But a new problem arose: their "7-day no-questions-asked return policy" was too generous, and opportunists were exploiting it.
"I don’t want this dress—it doesn’t fit my granddaughter."
"These apples aren’t sweet at all! Give me my money back!"
"..........."
Every day, a few elderly customers would show up with outrageous demands—clothes worn for days with yellowed collars, fruits eaten down to the core—yet they’d still demand full refunds.
When staff explained that used items couldn’t be returned under the policy, they’d throw tantrums until the supermarket gave in.
Yao Qianshan found it frustrating. Her previous supermarket had the same policy—even if a customer ate most of a pound of fruit, they could still return the scraps if "unsatisfied."
Cheapskates existed in every business. As long as most customers were honest, a few bad apples could be written off as operational losses.
Besides, such losses were usually within budget.
But Wanlong’s losses had recently spiked beyond projections, as if someone was deliberately targeting them.
Before they could solve the return fraud, thefts resumed—and this time, on a larger scale.
Even after upgrading cameras and disguising them, they couldn’t catch the thieves red-handed.
Yang Xin had no choice but to call in Xiao Hu and his crew again, hoping their expertise could identify the pickpockets.
The moment the kids stepped into the supermarket, a gaunt young man lurking near the entrance narrowed his eyes.
He didn’t need a second glance to recognize them as former thieves.
Pickpockets working for outsiders—especially the police—was the ultimate taboo in their world.
The young man immediately pulled out his phone to summon backup. After closing time, they’d teach these brats a lesson.
By the rules, losing a finger was the minimum penalty. A decade ago, traitors lost entire hands.
They’d also take photos and send them to Li Dayong—if these were his boys, he’d have to answer for it.
Their territories had always been respected. But if someone played dirty, all bets were off.
