Chapter 1: The House of Thieves

“Welcome to the House of Thieves.”

Yan Qing felt as disoriented as one would waking up from a nap that stretched deep into the night; even as his eyes opened, his mind remained adrift, lost in a haze as if separated from reality by centuries.

Beneath him was a stone floor, marble walls surrounded him, and the ceiling was inlaid with luminous pearls that cast a soft glow. Though there were no windows, a gentle breeze stirred the air, leaving no trace of stuffiness—this was undoubtedly a cave, transformed and refined.

How did I end up here?

Yan Qing tried to stand, but his body seemed glued to the chair, as if some omnipotent adhesive held him fast. No matter how he shifted or strained, he could not rise.

Sounds from the room drew his attention. Only then did he realize he was not alone; three others occupied the grand hall, each seated at a different side of a marble table at the center of the room.

They, too, were attempting to stand, yet the same strange force anchored them to their chairs.

Their costumes varied, but shared a common motif—each was dressed as an animal.

From Yan Qing’s vantage, left to right, sat: the “Wolf,” cloaked in a black wolfskin hood; the “Fox,” concealed behind a white fox mask; and the “Snake,” draped in a scarf fashioned from a crimson serpent’s shed skin.

Even those without full masks—the Wolf and the Snake—wore face coverings that concealed their features, rendering them unrecognizable.

So that means...

Yan Qing’s mind raced. The hall itself seemed prepared for their confusion upon waking; on every wall hung a bronzed mirror, and by turning his head, Yan Qing caught sight of his own reflection: a furry mask, with bristly hair the color of dried kindling—was that a wolf?

“So the legendary House of Thieves is real after all.” The Fox chuckled, his voice smooth and magnetic, conjuring the image of a debonair scoundrel. “Only the greatest thieves are invited here for a grand heist. That means we’re all in the same business, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know where you hail from, but where I’m from, only the hounds of the constabulary pry into others’ affairs.” The Snake lounged against his chair, his words lazy but edged like a blade. “I’m here to see if there’s a decent haul, not to make friends.”

“See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil.” The Wolf’s voice was steady and mature, seasoned by years in the underworld. “Since the House of Thieves has taken pains to disguise us, let’s use codenames.”

“I am Black Wolf.”

“You are White Fox.”

“He is Red Snake.”

“And the thief king at the head of the table... is Yellow Dog.”

Yan Qing’s eyes widened, his predicament forgotten. He protested, “My mask is clearly a wolf!”

“Wolf? Please, it’s a country mongrel at best! The kind that can’t hunt, only bark at the door.” White Fox flicked open a folding fan, hiding his mask as he laughed without mercy. “How odd—by the House of Thieves’ rules, the four of us must be the finest thieves below the fourth rank. The one at the head is the Thief King, yet this time he’s neither wolf nor fox nor snake, but a dog?”

“Perhaps the mask doesn’t match our abilities,” Red Snake interjected, feigning support for Yan Qing, but then twisted the knife: “Maybe the House assigned them by personality. Who says the Thief King can’t be a loyal, honest hound? Isn’t that so?”

Faced with their banter, Yan Qing said nothing—not out of anger, but because their conversation had just revealed something crucial.

“Enough,” Black Wolf cut in suddenly.

Just then, the stone table contracted inward to reveal a large opening. From the depths, a massive sand table rose, its miniature landscape intricate and alive. During this lull, Yan Qing finally pieced his thoughts together and realized where he was.

After graduating, he’d joined a game studio as a level designer. The company’s main project was a fantasy MMORPG called “The Messenger,” but Yan Qing, a devotee of single-player games, disliked the idea of working after hours inside his own company’s title. He rarely played “The Messenger.” After helping some colleagues tweak a dungeon, his workload seemed light, so the company assigned him to design a new instance. As a newcomer, he wasn’t trusted with the flagship eight-player dungeons, but was given a small four-player instance to hone his skills.

On a whim, Yan Qing wondered if tying an instance’s story to the main world would make things more engaging. After a week’s effort, he submitted a design document for an instance called “The House of Thieves.” According to his vision, the House of Thieves was a legendary safehouse created by the Thief Lord, its location a mystery, accessible only to the mightiest thieves.

It was a four-person instance. Upon entry, players would appear in this very cave hall, their appearances camouflaged by the system to fit the theme—after all, many players had bizarre avatars that would ruin the immersion.

Yan Qing remembered finishing the document during a late-night work session at home. He’d sent it off by email and collapsed into bed, and when he opened his eyes again, he was here.

This cave, these four disguised thieves—wasn’t this exactly the “House of Thieves” instance he’d designed?

So not only had I transmigrated into the world of “The Messenger,” I landed in the very dungeon I created myself?

The sand table completed itself, tiny figures moving within like a living city laid out on the round table. Above it, lines of text appeared, clear to all four no matter their seat:

Heist Objective: Chang’an, Anguo Temple, the Bingzi Jiao Lin Sword

Drop-in Location: East Arch of Vermilion Bird Avenue

Drop-in Time: Five days from now, at the third quarter past noon

Extraction Point: Remain within Vermilion Bird Avenue for half a quarter hour to return to the House of Thieves

Extraction Deadline: Fifth quarter past noon

Heist Success: Obtain the Token—Bingzi Jiao Lin

Heist Failure: Forfeit 9,000 Spirit Jades and lose access to the House of Thieves forever

At the same moment, golden light flared from a temple’s main hall on the sand table, the hall turning transparent to reveal a silver-white sword locked inside a colossal golden chest.

Just as Yan Qing had designed it, the unique aspect of the House of Thieves was that the instance served only as the planning and preparation phase; the real action took place in the main world.

The instance’s focus was on strategy: with the right plan, the heist could succeed without a fight. But once combat broke out, the risk of being overwhelmed was high and failure likely.

In a game, this might be entertaining—but in reality, committing a heist for a national treasure in the heart of a city was nothing short of suicidal.

“The Bingzi Jiao Lin? Isn’t that the ancestral sword of Emperor Zhou? Why’s it in Anguo Temple, not the palace?” White Fox’s excitement was palpable. “Now that is a prize worthy of a thief.”

“That reward is intriguing...” Red Snake tapped the table. “Turning the Bingzi Jiao Lin into a token...”

“How will we split it?” Black Wolf asked. “There’s only one Bingzi Jiao Lin.”

“Never mind the other treasures in that vault—just fence the sword to Qi or Liang, and even if the token is useless, plenty would pay handsomely just to humiliate Zhou.” White Fox grinned.

Suddenly, a voice sounded in their minds: “Movement unlocked, personal rooms open, teleportation enabled. Return to the House of Thieves before drop-in or be counted as failed.”

Black Wolf tested his seat, found himself able to stand, and declared, “I have business. I’ll be leaving. Let’s meet here at this time tomorrow to plan the heist.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode to a rear door, which locked with a sharp click behind him—no one else could enter his private chamber.

“How aloof,” White Fox remarked, fanning himself languidly. “No matter. Shall we discuss—”

With a swift motion, Yan Qing slammed his own door shut, escaping as though fleeing danger. White Fox exchanged a glance with Red Snake, who returned a cold stare. After a moment’s silent standoff, both turned and entered their own rooms.

In the solitude of his chamber, Yan Qing finally felt a measure of calm.

By rights, here in the House of Thieves, they ought to be allies, unable to harm one another. But this was no game, and Yan Qing dared not take chances.

He checked his pockets, tested his limbs, and swiftly confirmed a grim reality:

Though he had transmigrated into the game world, he was still an ordinary person.

More precisely, he was a “civilian”—unclassed, likely level one at best!

Yet the instance he’d designed, “The House of Thieves,” only admitted those between the first and fourth class—levels ten to thirty-nine. He didn’t even meet the minimum requirement.

Worse, he had none of this world’s currency: spirit jades.

He recalled that in “The Messenger,” many quest penalties involved losing spirit jades. If a player lacked the requisite jades (a rare state—most never went that broke), they died and lost experience, with the penalty scaling to the debt.

Losing experience was one thing, but if Yan Qing couldn’t prepare 9,000 spirit jades in five days and the heist failed...

Could he just forfeit the quest?

Of course—he could walk away, but that would still cost him spirit jades, or even his life. For players, such penalties were trivial.

But Yan Qing was no player—he was flesh and blood!

He forced himself to remain calm and found things were not quite so dire. He didn’t know why he’d become a thief in this instance, but the other three were clearly formidable. With luck, they could handle the heist, and Yan Qing could just tag along for the ride.

However...

Peering through the peephole in his door, Yan Qing confirmed the hall was empty. His teammates were all in their own rooms.

These were not transmigrators like him, nor players. They must be natives of this world.

He was certain because, during their earlier exchange, he had instinctively spoken the language of this world—the same language his three companions used. Though he understood it without knowing how, it hadn’t struck him as odd until he heard himself speak.

Yet they knew all about the House of Thieves instance, even its selection rules, and seemed utterly unafraid of stealing a legendary artifact. That meant they were seasoned criminals, intimately familiar with this world’s laws.

If they discovered just how weak he was, who could say what they would do? In online games, “smurf killers” preyed on the defenseless—how much more ruthless would these outlaws be in a world of might makes right?

Especially in a world where, upon reaching level ten and changing class, one gained extraordinary power far beyond the reach of ordinary men!

So Yan Qing needed to survive this heist without revealing himself as a helpless impostor. He had to blend in, to hide his weakness from his dangerous companions—and hope that would be enough.