Shao Qing swallowed a bite of duck with some difficulty. “It was unwise,” he said, feeling Yao glaring at him again.
“He is utterly fearless!” Xuan Bo, a stocky, middle-aged thief exclaimed.
The others cheered. Shao Qing forced a smile, though the corners of his lips felt stiff.
“So, did you get a little dragon for your collection this time?” Wei asked.
Nan You, a wiry thief with a dark goatee, hiccuped. “No one wants to see your little dragon, Shao Qing!”
The group guffawed uproariously.
“I did not,” Shao Qing said shortly.
Wei sighed. “That’s too bad. You could’ve had the coin to treat us to more wine.”
“With the amount of art Brother Qing has stolen he should be rolling in gold,” Xuan Bo interjected. “How much have you sold those pieces for?”
Shao Qing picked up his duck again. They had never asked him so many questions before. Despite having traveled together for three years, the other men still found him unsettling. He supposed it was his apathetic nature and his pale eyes. Demon’s eyes, Yao had called them. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I don’t sell them,” Shao Qing said. He was fine living off the wages Yao gave them from their collective heists, but he had a habit of snagging any painting with a dragon on it if it caught his eye. The art itself was worthless to him. Some he put back, others he threw into the river or dropped in the streets. None of them were ever what he thought they’d be.
Wei gaped at him. “Could it be that you actuallyadmirethe art, Brother Qing?”
“What’s so unusual about that?” Yao snapped. “We should have appreciation for the things we sell. The better we know the subject, the better we can assess their value.”
“But why have a rotten piece of paper when you can have gold?” Nan You complained. “I’d rather have a feast every day and Peony Pagoda songbirds on each arm than a dusty scroll on my wall.”
“Then you’re a prime idiot!” Yao slurred his words, having had several more gulps of chrysanthemum wine. He fumbled with the scroll at his belt and unrolled it, exposing the painting Shao Qing had stolen. “See here. An excellent mountain and river piece by an up and coming scholar painter. Exquisite brushwork, exquisite composition. I could just...diveright into this waterfall!” Yao made a swooping motion with his hand. “There aren’t many paintings like this. This has afreshnessto it, like a spiraled orange peel!”
“Brother Yao, I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
The others murmured their assent, their attention now removed from Shao Qing. Wei, however, still lingered.
The boy withdrew a fruit from his sleeve. “I saved you a peach. You didn’t take one earlier.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Wei shrugged and bit into the peach, juice dribbling down his chin as he peered at Shao Qing’s bowl. “Are you going to finish that, then?”
He shook his head and offered the rest of the duck to Wei. It had since grown cold, and he was hardly tempted to finish food that tasted like cold, slimy ash.
Wei took a large bite into the meat and groaned. “This is good stuff! They know how to make it right in the South Street Market.” He chewed and swallowed. “Do you not like duck, Brother Qing?”
He did, once.
The sound of booted feet hitting the earth made Shao Qing pause. Spots of yellow torchlight flickered to life at the forest line.
“Drat.” Yao stood unsteadily. “The constables are here.”
The gang scrambled to their feet. Someone raked dirt over the fire, plunging the clearing into darkness.
“Do you reckon they’re looking for us?” Wei squeaked.
“Of course they are,” Yao whispered harshly. The proximity to danger seemed to sober him. “The magistrate sent them.”
Shao Qing couldn’t see, but he figured the thief lord was shooting an accusatory glare at him.
“What do we do? Go to headquarters?”
