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He stole from so many people every day, so how could he possibly remember He Lingchuan, someone he had only seen once?
“Give me back my things!”
“I already sold them, traded them for food!” The boy patted his stomach. “They’re all in here!”
He Lingchuan smiled coldly. He drew his changdao and pressed the back of the blade against the boy’s belly, sliding it upward. “You ate what’s mine? Then spit it back out.”
The metallic chill sent the boy stumbling backward in terror, crying out, “Panlong City has laws! You can’t kill me!”
“Panlong City has laws, yet you still dare steal?” The brat might have been young, but he was a seasoned thief, hardened and unrepentant. He Lingchuan turned to the woman. “What did you lose?”
“A promissory note and a writ of remission.”
A writ of remission? He Lingchuan blinked. How could a commoner family have something like that?
The woman shook the boy like a puppet. “Who sent you to steal from my house?”
The boy shook his head violently. “No one! I was hungry, that’s all! But your house was dirt-poor! There wasn’t a grain of rice to be found, so I just grabbed something at random.”
“Oh? You can read, can you? Or did someone write down the words writ of remission for you to recognize beforehand?” The...
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