Thief’s Way

My name is Xiao Wu.

A wild kid that an orphanage could not lock up, I broke into this society that eats people without spitting out the bones when I was nine years old.

Back then I understood something: to live is like grabbing onto a moving train. Either you hold on, or you get smashed to pieces.

The first steamed bun I stole was not because I was hungry, but because I wanted to test whether these hands that picked pockets could also reach for fate by the throat.

Juvenile detention centers, shelters, and holding cells were my schools, and all those thieves were my teachers.

A trip to Xi'an, and the Longzi key brought out my true origins.

Now I have one heavy pocket on each side: on the left, a National Security ID card; on the right, the master’s Longzi key.

Tang Da Naozi asked, “Kid, are you a soldier or a thief?”

I said nothing.

I have been a thief for half my life. This time I am not stealing money or goods. I only want to give myself an explanation.

(By Xiangbei, formerly known as Laozei)