"Shh! Not a word from you. If anyone finds you here, my sister will never be able to hold her head up in her husband's house!"
Keqing, face tight with panic, nudged the man she'd stuffed under the writing desk—Ji Ming—then winked at her veiled little sister perched on the edge of the bed.
For Ji Ming, this was peak injustice. He'd done nothing—and now he was wedged under a desk like contraband. If someone walked in, he could jump into Guyun Stone Forest and still not wash this clean.
And to top it off, the silly girl kicked him again.
Ji Ming was no gallant who "let ladies have the right of way." He shot a hand out, caught that firm, toned calf, and gave the soft underside a real grab.
Head lowered or not—who cares? She kicked first.
Keqing's cheeks flared crimson. Her legs turned into a blur of hurricane kicks battering the desk's shadow.
"You shameless scoundrel! Lecher!"
Heat rose in Ji Ming's gut. If not for her nonsense, he'd already be in the granary pulling intel—why was he playing footstool here?
A man stands between heaven and earth to stand—not to be trampled by pretty feet.
He hurriedly ran his breath-cycling technique, and still had breath to snipe:
"Violet cat-ears—I knew you like wearing purple, but I didn't know your heart is pink."
Keqing froze for a half beat, then clapped both hands to her skirt and kicked harder. A Vision-holder's kicks had bite—Ji Ming's technique nearly shattered under the pounding. If he hadn't actually been practicing lately, he might've spat blood.
Li Clan's little miss covered her mouth, giggling. Their chemistry was… enviable, in a weird way.
She lowered the red bridal veil again and whispered, "Keqing-jiejie, Uncle Shen and the others are coming."
Keqing stopped kicking. Her face was still glowing from… recent events. She nodded, then spoke toward the desk:
"Did you hear that, you lecher under there?"
"I am not a lecher."
Keqing ignored him and posed with a book, chatting with her sister. Soon, knuckles rapped on the door.
Ji Ming had zero interest in the household routine. He scanned his little cave. Keqing, having learned, kept a death-grip on her hem—no peeking today.
He did, however, spot a small chest. He eyed the keyhole, slid the tip of his mountain knife from his belt, and turned it veeery gently—until the latch clicked.
A thief never leaves empty-handed. Professional pride.
Keqing's eyes narrowed over the rim of her book. If she wasn't mistaken… the scoundrel under the desk had just opened her childhood chest.
She clenched her teeth, slipped off her heels, and kicked under the desk again—only for Ji Ming to catch her ankle. This time, he didn't get handsy: he set her foot down carefully, glanced into the box, palmed something in the dark, slipped it into the inner seam pocket of his tunic, and shut the lid.
Payment in advance for "cleaning house," thanks.
A few minutes later, the household staff were shooed off by the bride. Ji Ming crawled out, dripping sarcasm.
"Kick, kick, kick—is barefoot punting me your favorite hobby?"
"Do not speak to me, you degenerate."
"So. The warehouse? Chop-chop."
Keqing's face was still pink, but she schooled herself, snuck a glance to check his expression, then led the way out like a very responsible Yuheng. Ji Ming nodded to the bride and followed.
Back to the rear garden.
"Can you swim?" Keqing asked. "We go in underwater and exit from the far door."
"Nope. Hands-on demonstration, please."
He eyed the violet cat-ears in that dress, smiling artfully.
Keqing's glare could cut jade. "No."
"A pity. How am I supposed to learn proper diving technique without a live lesson?"
Her patience hit zero. She flicked a hairpin; thunder cracked; she blink-stepped behind him and punted him square into the pond.
Ji Ming bobbed up, scowling. "So you've got a Vision—big deal. Come down here without it and I'll show you some technique."
"In your dreams. I will never let you get that close again, lecher."
Keqing folded her arms at the bridge railing, thoroughly refreshed by that kick. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. Perhaps there would be… future opportunities to punt.
Ji Ming glanced up, grin widening.
"From this angle, I can see the Yuheng's pink little heart."
Before she could reply, he flipped and dove, faintly hearing her flustered curses echo off the bridge stones. Satisfied, he knifed deeper.
So: the granary lay under this pond. Not large; a careful search would do.
He worked layer by layer, rolling stones aside—until his fingers found a sealed valve at the base of the rock mound.
Counterclockwise—turn. The hatch could take one person at a time. He slid through, sealed it, and found himself still submerged—standard pressure-equalizing chamber. Plenty of treasure dens used this trick.
He tried the second valve; no give—ah. Press, don't twist. Water hissed away through grates; a low passage opened.
A few minutes down a narrow corridor—and his vision exploded into gold.
He stopped dead.
He had never seen this much Mora in his life.
Stacks, pillars—an ocean of coin. The coppery reek of rot and wealth rose like a fog. One careless breath and a weaker man would drown in greed.
He shut his eyes, breathed slow. The Li Clan weren't all rotten. For the bride's sake, he'd leave without skimming.
So—intel?
He ran breath-cycling, eyes steady, and swept the room. In a shadowed corner—a floor rack filled with chests. Bless the Li Clan's bureaucratic zeal: labels on every box. Each chest matched to a gang member; three were marked in cinnabar for the bosses.
Ji Ming went to work, tapping open lids with his damp mountain knife, and pulled every set of documents bound with Hydro-seal talismans. With these dossiers, the Li-backed gangs would be clay in his hands.
Payment? A dog won't cut it. Good thing he'd already collected a… token.
He tugged the damp bundle from his seam pocket—
—and stared.
A small red cloth flower shoe. A little girl's shoe. Keqing's childhood keepsake?
For a Yuheng, that chest should've held silver drafts. He'd thought he'd palmed a purse—or silk. Ah well.
What use is one shoe? At least give him the pair.
Forget it. The thief never leaves empty-handed; this can guard his bedside. With a certain Yuheng's righteous aura, ghosts wouldn't dare approach anyway.
He pocketed the shoe and the papers and slipped out the other door.
…
Back in the room, the bride heard a hurried door and footsteps. She lifted her veil—Keqing, flushed and frantic.
"Jiejie, where's the good-hearted gentleman?"
"Never mind him, I need to check my box."
Keqing dragged out the chest, flipped it open—
—and froze. Then:
"My red cloth flower shoe— You degenerate! Liar! Gangster!"
"Jiejie, 'gangster' isn't an insult," the bride said from a safe distance, lips twitching. "And I remember that shoe. You said it was a token for your future husband."
Keqing flushed scarlet. "I was a child. It was nonsense."
"Then why are you so mortified now that he took that and not all the gold pins?"
The box held plenty of fancier things. Why the shoe?
A dawning, dangerous realization spread—two sisters, two minds, one direction.
The bride practically sparkled. Keqing wanted the floor to swallow her. Her thoughts tangled: That scoundrel—does he actually… No. Impossible. He can't stand me. His mouth is poison. He never once tried to look good in front of me.
Then why the shoe?
Absolutely not. Even if he were serious, she would never like him. Not unless he became a decent human being and apologized properly.
But still—why the shoe… uuuu…
The violet cat-eared Yuheng hunkered down in the corner, hands on head, squatting in defensive mode, mortification level: MAX.