Chapter Seventy-Four: The Mischievous Monkey's Coincidental Demise, and the Wonder of the Cloud-Seeking Hand

The night was dark and the wind high, with not a soul in sight—only the rogues and scoundrels dared to show their true colors. Pi Hou’er, with the three taels of silver he’d coaxed from Chen Shuisheng the grass-eating goat, had spent half the night reveling in the pleasure quarters. Fate has a way of toying with men, for as luck would have it, the courtesan he summoned turned out to be none other than Cui’er, the very one Chen Shuisheng longed for, famed for playing the flute so exquisitely.

The maiden’s bed was as fragrant as it was swift, and before long it was already midnight. Hearing the copper bird outside strike the third watch, Pi Hou’er slipped from the bed, not forgetting to grope Cui’er one last time as he left—the fullness of her body left him thoroughly satisfied.

He dared not make a sound as he crept out of the pleasure house under the cloak of darkness. The Lantern Festival had passed, and the western market was nothing like before; apart from a few drunken men, the streets were deserted. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, and all around was swallowed in inky blackness—an ideal night for thievery.

Even thieves have their own code: steal in wind, not in moonlight; in rain, not in snow. Windy nights are a thief’s ally, the whistling gusts masking the sounds of their misdeeds, making it easy to pilfer treasures. But on moonlit nights, shadows betray their presence, and any householder might spot them. Rainy nights lull people into deeper sleep, and the sound of raindrops offers cover. Afterward, the rain washes away footprints, leaving no trace behind. Snow, however, is a thief’s bane—footprints are glaringly obvious, and if discovered early, a mounted pursuit would surely lead to capture and a stint behind bars.

Pi Hou’er knew this all too well. Feeling the chill wind whistle past his ears, he silently rejoiced. Not only did the wind hide any noise, but in such cold, the city patrols were sure to be weary, unlikely to investigate the Huichun Lane tonight.

Moving like a shadow, Pi Hou’er slipped through a few alleys, over two bridges, and soon reached the outskirts of Huichun Lane. True to his cunning nature, he did not enter at once but hid in the darkness, watching.

Huichun Lane was filled with herbalists’ stalls, all shut tight after sundown, especially since there had been a murder there today. The vendors had long since gone home, seeking comfort with their wives beside warm stoves. Pi Hou’er watched for the time it took half a stick of incense to burn, making certain the lane was empty. Then, with a flicker, he slipped inside.

Lowering his head, he hurried through the shadows and soon reached Chen Shuisheng’s medicine stall. Lifting his gaze, a broad grin spread across his face.

The stall was still heaped with medicinal herbs, not a single item missing.

Seen through the eyes of a saint, all beings are saints; through the eyes of the worldly, the world is but worldly. Pi Hou’er had expected to salvage mere scraps, but instead, the pot was still brimming with both meat and bone. How could he not be delighted?

The reason was simple—no one but Pi Hou’er cared about the wares on Chen Shuisheng’s stall. Two reasons explained why everything remained untouched. First, the murder had put the city authorities and local patrols in the midst of their endless handovers, leaving the stall unattended for now. Second, the other vendors in Huichun Lane looked down on these herbs; no one wanted to take them over.

Why? Because they were deemed unclean.

Some shun them, but others do not. Here was Pi Hou’er, after all! With no one in sight, he showed no hesitation. Grabbing a burlap sack, he stuffed it full—licorice root, white peony, seven-mile fragrance, cinnamon, polygonatum, epimedium—all thrown in together.

Once the sack was crammed to bursting, he realized he had no rope to tie it shut, so he untied his cloth belt and used that instead. The five-foot sack slung over his five-and-a-half-foot frame made for a comical sight. Pi Hou’er was small and thin; without his belt, his trousers threatened to fall down. With no other choice, he had to hold the sack over his shoulder with one hand and clutch his drooping trousers with the other as he shuffled out.

Just as he reached the mouth of the lane, a sudden light flared to his right—not far off. Pi Hou’er glanced over and nearly died of fright. It was the city patrol with a lantern!

He cursed his luck. If they caught him, a beating was inevitable, and prosecution would certainly follow. Fortunately, Pi Hou’er was nimble and well experienced—one leap like a bat and he was atop the roof of Anping Studio.

Holding his breath, he waited. Before long, the patrol moved on. Pi Hou’er exhaled in relief and was just about to climb down when he suddenly felt a chill breath at the back of his right ear.

Now, Pi Hou’er was not one to be cowed by superstition; living by night and hiding by day, how many thieves still believed in ghosts? He made his living by ill-gotten gains—who could claim a clear conscience? Still, his heart skipped a beat, and before he could reassure himself, he felt another cold breath behind his left ear.

No matter how bold, Pi Hou’er now sensed something amiss. He whipped his head around and saw, not far along the rooftop, two white lights gleaming in the darkness.

It was too dark to see clearly, but the lights swayed as they floated closer. Staring hard, he saw the thing was round and plump—it was, unmistakably, a human head!

The white glow poured from its two eyes.

Though Pi Hou’er scoffed at ghosts, he’d seen with his own eyes how Chen Shuisheng had died a grisly death that very day. Fear seized him at last.

The thing like a human head drew ever nearer, and Pi Hou’er turned to flee.

But he had overlooked a few things. For instance, he was standing atop the roof of Anping Studio. He’d also used his belt to tie the sack.

In that fateful moment, as he spun around, his sagging trousers tangled his feet. Losing his balance, he tumbled down. Worse yet, the belt tied around the sack looped around his neck.

He managed to grab a broken tile on the eaves, but the heavy sack yanked him downward. With a thud, it hit the ground.

When the city patrol, not far off, hurried over, Pi Hou’er had already snapped his neck and died on the spot.

...

The lantern of life finished its circuit; the remnant soul was gathered into the summoning banner.

Soul, return—be led into the Ledger.

Heaven and earth, profound and vast; four tiers, nine ranks.

The Ledger of Souls assigned a final value to the body: Yellow grade, second class.

Thief’s Fruit.

The Red Scripture says: "On Greencloud Mountain lived an extraordinary man named Shiyu. At the crow of the rooster, he rose and labored for profit. He burrowed into houses, broke open doors, drove off people’s cattle and horses, took their wives, coveted gain and forgot kin, cared nothing for parents or brothers, offered no sacrifices to his ancestors, and thus lived out his years. After his death, he was buried at Muthang Sea, where a tree grew from his grave and bore black-brown fruit. Eating this fruit bestows a thief’s skill."

Song Mo glanced at the Thief’s Fruit in his hand, which looked much like a peach or plum.

Without hesitation, he bit into it. Juice burst forth, sweet and fragrant as a pear.

With the fruit eaten, strange knowledge flooded his mind.

"Cloud-Stealing Hand? What a marvelous thing," Song Mo murmured in wonder. This Cloud-Stealing Hand could take things from others without their notice—even, perhaps, the most intimate possessions...

At the fifth watch, as the rooster crowed, he pushed open the door and stepped out.

The late-blooming osmanthus drifted on the wind, and Song Mo followed the scent into the dawn.