The Stealing Technique gains proficiency with each use, meaning Jiang Ke’er only needs to frequently use the Stealing Technique to level it up.
As a novice, Jiang Ke’er naturally doesn’t dare to target those richly dressed martial heroes; she only dares to steal from roadside stalls.
It must be admitted that the Stealing Technique of the Thief Saint is indeed somewhat terrifying, truly worthy of something valued at 8 billion.
It’s practically a spatial ninja technique!
With a flicker of her palm, even Jiang Ke’er herself doesn’t clearly see how she does it.
It’s as if by instinct she grasps at the void, and her hand crosses the boundaries of space and time, reaching into the other person’s purse from afar…
As long as the target is within 5 meters of her, she can effortlessly perform a heaven-defying BUG-like act of theft, guaranteed to be silent and undetected by anyone!
She strolls through this bustling street, and before long, cries of alarm rise one after another across the avenue.
“Which damned petty thief stole my money? Somebody! There’s a thief!”
The stall owners fall into chaos, running around shouting, some rushing to the yamen to report the crime.
Jiang Ke’er remains unruffled.
After a round of thefts, she just sits by the roadside with a faint smile, watching it all unfold.
It’s not that she has a malicious personality and enjoys seeing others lose their minds… but rather, she has a little plan she’s trying out.
Soon, the yamen officers arrive.
Their first task is to investigate the scene, so they head to the stall owners’ cash boxes and open them for inspection.
“Huh?!”
The stall owners are dumbfounded.
The cash boxes are brimming with spirit dust currency, neatly arranged, showing no signs of theft whatsoever.
The other stall owners pat their purses… WTF?! The money’s all back?
“In broad daylight, you dare to openly toy with the Security Division? Do you know what crime that carries?!” The soldiers sent to catch the thief are furious, glaring fiercely at the surrounding stall owners.
“It really was stolen just now!”
“How would we dare deceive the yamen?”
The stall owners hurriedly explain.
“Fine,” the soldiers relent, considering that handling simultaneous reports from multiple stall owners is quite troublesome.
They decide not to pursue it further and turn to leave—why bother with extra trouble when they could return to the yamen for a comfortable cup of tea?
After the soldiers leave, the stall owners breathe a sigh of relief, patting their purses and muttering, “As long as it’s not gone, as long as it’s… huh?!”
Something’s wrong—why is it so light?
They open their purses or cash boxes and freeze in unison.
“Damn it! Where’s my money?! It was just here!”
Facing completely empty cash boxes, though they desperately don’t want to deal with those soldiers again, they have no choice but to chase after them.
Finally catching up, they urgently bring a team of soldiers back to their stalls.
“I’m warning you! If you dare toy with the Security Division again, I’ll arrest you on the spot!”
“It’s really gone this time! No… it was gone earlier too!”
The pork stall owner wails, “Look!”
The soldiers, looking grim, roughly open the cash boxes.
Emmm…
They’re full.
An illusion? They seem even fuller than before…
“Take them all away!”
With a furious roar, the soldier brandishes his weapon, surrounding the stall owners in a tight circle.
“No, I, you, this…” The pork stall owner is on the verge of tears.
“It’s haunted!”
“I’m warning you one last time! If you mock the Security Division again, your heads will roll!” the soldier barks sharply.
“We’re not mocking you! There’s a ghost!” the stall owners wail in unison.
“Hmph!” The soldier snorts coldly.
Despite his threats, he doesn’t actually arrest anyone.
Fuming, he and his men storm off in a rage.
The stall owners exchange helpless glances, retreating to their stalls, clutching their cash boxes and purses tightly, not daring to let go for a second.
But not long after, their boxes and purses feel light again…
Trembling, they open their cash boxes.
Sure enough… empty again.
Should they report it?
The stall owners huddle together to discuss their options.
“You’ve all heard of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf,’ right? The yamen won’t believe us anyway.”
“If we call those soldiers back, we might not survive.”
“Let’s just be chill about it,” they say.
“I’ve accepted my fate.”
In the end, they fail to come up with a plan and disperse glumly, returning to their stalls, debating whether to pack up and go home.
They open their cash boxes and purses… and, as expected, the money’s back.
“Heh, Schrödinger’s coin, huh.”
The stall owners give a numb smile and start hawking their wares again.
“Pork guy, weigh me two pounds of belly meat!” a customer calls, approaching the pork stall owner.
“Sure,” the pork stall owner replies listlessly, slowly cutting two pounds of meat and handing it over.
“I don’t have change, so here’s a spirit stone. Give me the difference,” the customer says.
The pork stall owner takes the spirit stone and opens his cash box… yep, empty again.
“I can’t make change right now, hang on,” he says.
As he speaks, he closes the cash box lid.
A moment later, he flings it open!
Huh? Still empty? That’s not right.
“Hold on a bit longer, maybe I wasn’t sincere enough.”
He closes the cash box again, shuts his eyes, and mutters a prayer before cautiously opening it.
There it is—money’s back.
Clearly, he wasn’t sincere enough before.
Under the customer’s baffled stare, the pork stall owner lets out a goofy chuckle, his face wearing a broken expression as he counts out the change, hands it over, and resumes business.
The other stall owners fare no better, all sporting expressions of surrender, as if bending over to fate itself.
Every time they open their cash boxes, it’s like a lottery.
They’ve accepted this reality.
…No one notices a petite fox-girl weaving through the crowd, her smile sweet and innocent.
“Not bad, very stable. This grinding method won’t draw the Security Division’s attention.”
“Level 2 is already halfway done. Keep grinding, hit Level 3, then switch targets and start real combat!”
lmao