Volume One Mutation Chapter Twenty-Five The Clumsy Thief

Liu Cong did not linger long, but retraced his steps back to his lodgings. As soon as he entered, he sensed something amiss—the room bore traces of intrusion, someone had rummaged through his belongings. Though the intruder had exercised care, meticulously restoring everything to its original place, Liu Cong’s heightened senses betrayed the slightest alteration.

Narrowing his eyes in disbelief, he wondered who would dare steal from him. What could they possibly want? He had brought little with him. After pondering, Liu Cong understood at last—it was his Black-and-White Divine Sword that had attracted covetous eyes.

“So I’ve underestimated the world; clever minds abound, and they’ve even deduced the source of my abilities.” With a wry smile, he pretended nothing had happened, completed his evening ablutions, and retired to bed.

Outside the City Hall guesthouse, atop the four-story building opposite, two figures lay prone, peering through a narrow gap in the curtains, observing Liu Cong intently.

“Damn it, boss! This guy’s living the life. In this heat, we’re lucky if we bathe once a week, and he has enough water for a daily wash—what extravagance!” muttered the bearded man, watching Liu Cong’s every move through binoculars, his rugged face brimming with indignation.

“Quiet! Keep your voice down. If we’re discovered, it’s all over,” his tattooed companion admonished, nudging him with his inked arm.

“Relax, boss. We’re so far up no one can hear us. He didn’t notice we went through his room. We’re safe!” the bearded man replied nonchalantly.

“That may be, but if he had noticed, the soldiers would have been here already. Still, we mustn’t let our guard down. Once we get that sword, we’ll be gods ourselves—free to enjoy life as we please.”

“Hehe, boss, don’t forget your little brother then—we’ve risked life and limb together,” the bearded man said ingratiatingly.

“Of course, the good fortune will be ours to share. But where do you think he’s hidden the sword? He doesn’t carry it, and we searched everywhere in the room—nothing.”

“Boss, could the sword shrink like the magic staff in the old tales? Unless he carries it, how could it be missing?”

“Well, you’re clever for once. When he’s asleep, we’ll sneak in and check his person.”

“Hehe!”

Unbeknownst to Liu Cong, the events outside unfolded. Truthfully, he paid the incident no mind. The Black-and-White Divine Sword resided within his heart; unless someone could carve out his heart, it could not be stolen. Should the thieves dare return, his own strength would easily detect their presence.

Maintaining his position in bed, Liu Cong commenced his nightly cultivation.

Deep into the night, two furtive figures appeared near the City Hall guesthouse, climbing up under the cover of darkness until they reached Liu Cong’s window.

The tattooed man signaled the bearded one to halt, cautiously observing Liu Cong lying in bed. After confirming Liu Cong showed no sign of waking, both opened the window and slipped inside.

“Quiet! Be gentle. Check his clothes first.”

The bearded man nodded, and the two crept toward the bed. The tattooed man grabbed Liu Cong’s hanging garments, searched them, and, seeing the bearded man watching, shook his head—nothing.

The bearded man, biting his lip, nervously reached under the pillow. Within a minute, sweat poured from his brow. For some reason, the memory of Liu Cong wielding the divine sword and conjuring fire haunted him. He feared discovery would bring a fiery retribution. The more he dwelled on it, the more his hands trembled.

Liu Cong, suppressing his amusement, continued to feign sleep, feeling the quivering arm rummaging beneath his pillow. He wondered at such a thief: timid enough to shake, yet bold enough to attempt stealing his sword—a truly laughable contradiction.

Withdrawing his hand, the bearded man exhaled deeply when Liu Cong did not wake, his nerves settling somewhat.

“Boss! Nothing under the pillow.”

The tattooed man’s disappointment was palpable; they had spent half the night debating, convinced these were the likeliest hiding spots. He stroked his chin, muttering, “Where could it be?”

At that moment, Liu Cong turned in bed, startling the two into flattening themselves on the floor, barely daring to breathe.

The tattooed man suddenly remembered that the man on the bed was not someone to trifle with, and silently prayed he would not awaken. After a long while, hearing no further movement, he dared a glance at the bed, then stood.

“Get up, stop hiding. He’s not awake. Let’s search elsewhere,” he whispered, annoyed to see the bearded man still sprawled, backside raised.

“B-boss! Let’s not steal anymore. We should leave before he wakes!” the bearded man stammered anxiously.

“No way. Don’t you want meat at every meal? Opportunities like this don’t come twice!” The tattooed man began searching anew, and, seeing Liu Cong remain asleep, the bearded man mustered courage to join him.

“Boss, we searched everywhere—nothing.”

“I haven’t found it either. Strange, such a tiny place—where could it be?”

Liu Cong sat up, watching the two thieves, still engrossed in their furtive discussion, backs turned to him. He cleared his throat and asked, “Gentlemen, are you searching for this sword?” As he spoke, a sharp blade materialized in his hand. He stroked its edge leisurely, eyeing them with calm amusement.

The two, deep in discussion, were struck as if by lightning at the sound of a third voice. Sweat drenched their faces; they dared not turn, as if avoiding eye contact could spare them.

“B-b-boss! Is he awake?” the bearded man asked, teeth chattering.

“Looks like it.”

“Should we run?”

At that, the two thieves dashed for the window, but collided with an invisible wall of air. Trembling, they turned to see Liu Cong gazing at them, sword in hand—the very weapon they had spent so long searching for.

Liu Cong noticed their eyes fixed on his sword and asked, “You desire this blade?”

At his words, the tattooed man’s legs gave way; he slumped to the floor, stammering, “N-no, we don’t.”

“Then what brings you here in the dead of night?”

“We… we just came to see you. Had no intention to steal,” the tattooed man protested, shrinking toward the corner. The bearded man, speechless with fright, feigned death on the spot.

Shaking his head, Liu Cong wasted no more words on them. He picked up the satellite phone and called Zhou Kang, explaining the situation.

Soon, a squad of armed soldiers arrived and cuffed the two thieves. Zhou Kang followed shortly, and upon grasping the situation, kicked each man in turn, lamenting, “My lord, I must apologize—who would have thought our district harbored such useless fools, daring to steal from you.”

Unable to contain his anger, Zhou Kang kicked them again, scolding, “Idiots! Do you not know who saved you? Without the Sword Immortal, you’d all be dead, yet you dare steal—what nerve! Take them away! Send them to the labor camp!”

When the soldiers led the thieves out, Zhou Kang, face still apologetic, said, “Forgive us for this unpleasantness. In crowded places, petty crimes are inevitable, but I never expected anyone would be bold enough to target your belongings.”

Liu Cong waved it off, asking, “You mentioned sending them to the labor camp. What is that place?”

“My lord, the district is short on resources—there’s barely enough for ordinary residents, let alone criminals. So we detain those who break the law, starve them for a few days until their spirits break, then feed them and put them to work. In exchange for food, they help us move supplies, build houses, and so forth, giving our hard-working defenders a respite. Thus, the place for detaining them is now called the labor camp.”