Morning in the settlement began with noise.
Metal bowls clanged together while smoke rose from several cooking fires scattered throughout the crooked rows of huts. The narrow paths between the shelters quickly filled with movement as disciples and beggars alike hurried through the mud, some carrying empty sacks while others argued loudly over scraps of food.
Chunma stepped outside his hut just as the first light of dawn stretched across the rooftops.
The air was cold.
A thin layer of mist still clung to the ground, drifting slowly between the wooden structures like a pale veil. Somewhere nearby someone cursed loudly as a pot tipped over, followed by the irritated shouting of an older beggar.
Min was already awake.
The younger boy sat beside a small fire pit holding a wooden bowl in both hands while blowing across the surface of the steaming broth inside.
When he noticed Chunma approaching, he raised an eyebrow.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Min said.
“I did.”
“Then why are you staring at the sky like that?”
Chunma glanced upward.
The early morning light filtered through the thin clouds above the settlement.
“I was thinking.”
Min snorted.
“That sounds dangerous.”
He pushed the bowl toward Chunma.
“Eat before they start yelling again.”
Chunma accepted the food and sat beside him. The broth was thin and watery, barely more than hot liquid with a few scraps of vegetables floating inside. Still, the body he now inhabited was hungry enough that the warmth alone was welcome.
Min finished his own bowl quickly and stood.
“You ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
Min stared at him.
“You’re joking.”
“I am not.”
Min rubbed his face.
“City day.”
Chunma waited.
Min sighed.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Outer disciples go into the city. We beg. Collect food, coins, whatever people throw at us. Bring it back before sunset.”
“And if we do not?”
Min shrugged.
“You’ll find out.”
Before Chunma could ask further questions, a rough voice shouted across the clearing.
“All outer disciples! Move!”
Several older beggars had gathered near the narrow road leading away from the settlement. They carried long staffs and began directing the younger disciples into loose groups.
Min grabbed Chunma’s sleeve.
“Come on,” he muttered.
They joined the crowd moving toward the road.
As Chunma stepped past the final row of huts, the city beyond the settlement slowly revealed itself.
Stone buildings stretched toward the morning sky while banners hung from balconies high above the streets. The roads were wide compared to the muddy paths of the settlement, and already the markets had begun filling with merchants and travelers moving between stalls.
Chunma slowed slightly as he took in the sight.
The world had grown larger.
Min noticed his expression.
“First time actually looking at the city?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Min shrugged.
“You’ll get used to it.”
They entered through one of the smaller gates where a pair of bored guards barely glanced at the group of beggars passing through.
The streets were already busy.
Carts rolled over the stone pavement while merchants shouted loudly to advertise their goods. The smell of cooked meat drifted through the air from nearby stalls, drawing hungry glances from several of the younger disciples.
Min walked confidently through the crowd before stopping near a wide intersection where two busy streets crossed.
“This spot’s good,” he said.
Chunma looked around.
People passed constantly through the area.
Merchants.
Travelers.
Servants carrying baskets.
Min sat down against a nearby wall and placed a small wooden bowl in front of him.
Chunma remained standing.
“You are simply going to sit there?” he asked.
Min nodded.
“Yep.”
“That seems inefficient.”
Min grinned.
“You’re thinking too much.”
He gestured toward the crowd.
“Just watch.”
A merchant walked past moments later.
Without even looking down, he dropped a small coin into Min’s bowl.
Min picked it up with a satisfied expression.
“See?”
Chunma sat beside him.
For several minutes they remained quiet while the crowd flowed around them.
Some people ignored them entirely.
Others dropped small coins or scraps of bread into the bowls of the beggars sitting along the street.
After a while Chunma noticed something else.
The other disciples were not simply begging.
They were watching.
Listening.
A pair of older beggars sat across the street near a tea stall where several merchants had gathered. Though the beggars appeared half asleep, their eyes occasionally opened just long enough to glance toward the table where the merchants spoke.
Min followed Chunma’s gaze.
“Ah,” he said.
“You noticed.”
“What are they doing?”
Min lowered his voice slightly.
“That’s the real job.”
Chunma looked at him.
“Begging feeds the sect,” Min explained. “But information keeps it alive.”
He nodded toward the tea stall.
“Merchants talk when they drink.”
Chunma watched the group again.
“Those two beggars will remember every word,” Min continued. “Later they’ll report it.”
“To whom?”
“The elders.”
Min leaned back against the wall.
“Beggar Sect knows things most people don’t.”
Chunma considered that quietly.
Spies disguised as beggars.
An effective strategy.
Min nudged him suddenly.
“You should try it.”
“Try what?”
“Begging.”
Chunma looked down at the empty bowl in front of him.
A passerby walked by and dropped a copper coin inside without stopping.
Min laughed.
“See?”
Chunma studied the coin briefly before looking back at the crowded street.
This world had changed.
But people had not.
Their habits.
Their weaknesses.
Their arrogance.
All of it remained the same.
Which meant they were still predictable.
Chunma leaned back against the wall beside Min and watched the crowds move through the streets.
The Beggar Sect’s disciples scattered throughout the market district like quiet shadows, their bowls resting at their feet while their eyes observed everything around them.
Coins dropped.
Conversations drifted through the air.
And the city revealed itself piece by piece.
