The legendary shadow-stealer, known to the criminal underworld as 'The Silent Cricket,' was currently making enough noise to wake a hibernating dragon.
Liang 'Belly' Feng squeezed his rotund frame through the narrow gap of the Moon-Gazing Window, his silk tunic snagging violently on a decorative jade carving.
'Curses and cabbage!'
He muttered, his face turning a shade of crimson that rivaled a ripe goji berry.
Feng wasn't actually a thief; he was a delivery man with an unfortunate talent for falling into places he didn't belong. His mission was simple: deliver the Emperor’s finest stinking tofu to the Magistrate’s private study. However, the universe—and his own clumsy feet—had other plans.
As he tumbled onto the polished sandalwood floor, his belly landed with a sound like a wet sack of rice hitting a drum.
He froze.
...
In the dim, amber glow of the silk lanterns, the room breathed with a heavy, expensive stillness. The air smelled of sandalwood, aged wine, and something far more sinister: high-stakes political conspiracy.
Feng peered through the gloom, his eyes widening.
Spread across the low table were maps of the provincial borders, weighted down by daggers that looked far too sharp to be mere decorations. A group of men in dark, sweeping robes sat in a circle, their faces obscured by the shifting shadows of the incense smoke.
He realized, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that he wasn't in the kitchen.
...
He was in the middle of a secret meeting of the Black Lotus Syndicate.
And his tofu container had just begun to leak.