Yifan peeked around the corner, searching for a target. He made sure to only stick out the side of his head, leaving the rest of his body carefully concealed in the shadows of the side alley he occupied. It was late morning, the height of business, and all sorts of people, from the poorest beggars to the richest lords, made their way down the main market street. Imperial guards lined the street at regular intervals, scanning the crowds for troublemakers. The wealthy ambled slowly, drawn towards anything that caught their eyes. Yifan kept an eye out himself for those types of women. They would probably be the easiest to rob.

It was about time, he told himself. He had been living off of scraps he had been lucky to come across or people had been kind enough to give him for long enough. And it showed. It had only been a few weeks, but already there was a growling pit in Yifan's chest where his stomach used to be, and the ribs that before he could only feel now protruded visibly through his skin.

Yifan didn't want to steal. He knew it was bad. But what else could he do to get food? He contemplated quietly picking a bun or potato off of the many food carts. He could do it. He wasn't a particularly nimble person, but years as a homeless orphan had taught him how to be fast, if anything. Yifan ditched the thought though. Stallkeepers stayed up late to put together their merchandise and got up very early to set up before the waves of buyers arrived. He didn't want to deprive them from hard-earned pay.

A few stalls down, Yifan caught sight of a tall boy likely in his young-teens. His embroidered cloak flowed around him, clasped loosely around his shoulders with an elaborate brooch. He gestured frustratingly towards a stallkeeper who held out her wrinkled hands in a helpless gesture, trying to placate him. Eventually he gave up berating the poor old woman and moved to the next stall with a flick of his wrist.

He began the same process Yifan had seen the wealthy go through so many times before – seeing something that pleased his eye, trying to bargain with the seller even though he had plenty of money, failing to strike a deal even after several minutes of arguing, and striding angrily off to the next stall to repeat. Two conspicuous bodyguards flanked him a few steps behind. A fancy looking sword hung from his waist, but Yifan doubted he knew how to use it. Even if he did, it would be too dangerous to swing around in a crowd.

Yifan narrowed his eyes. This was his next target. Whoever had let his son out to do some fun shopping with as much money as could possibly fit in his coin purse would regret his lenience. The bodyguards could be a problem, but if he could divert their attention for a split second, he would be able to steal the purse. The target himself barely even spared a glance at his own coin purse through all his futile negotiating, letting it dangle precariously from his wrist instead of stowing it safely away in an inner pocket. A simple walk-by and snatch would probably be enough to take it. By the time he and his bodyguards noticed it was missing, Yifan would be gone along with it, lost in a tangled, shifting crowd in the marketplace.

At least, that would've been Yifan's plan had it not been executed by someone else just then.

Watching the events unfold, Yifan was glad he hadn't gotten the chance to commit the theft, because the rich boy was more observant than Yifan initially estimated. It was only a split second after the coin purse disappeared from his arm – the string cut – that he noticed it was gone. His sword was half-drawn immediately, but he pushed it back in, knowing he was in a crowded marketplace. His bodyguards went on alert, swiftly starting off in the direction the perpetrator had gone.

The thief ran for it, breaking his cover by pushing against the crowd and shoving people out of his way. It was too crowded in the market street. He had to make it to one of the small alleys branching off the main road. If he could, he would be able to lose the bodyguards in the confusing twists and turns of the mazelike alleyways. Seeing the panic on the thief's face from the shadows, Yifan found that he could empathize with the other boy.

He could afford that when he was a bystander, detached from the situation, unaffected by its results.

But not when the thief decided Yifan's alley was the one to turn to. Not when the other boy ran smack-dab into Yifan's face, skidding to a stop and almost falling over, eyes widening in surprise in one second and then apologetic in the next. Later, Yifan would be envious of the other boy's fast thinking.

But in that moment, Yifan instinctively caught the coin purse when it was thrown at him and could only stare off in shock as the real thief ran off, dark hair blending with the shadows, dimpled smirk in his wake.

Sitting on the dirt floor of a dark cell, Yifan found that he could not empathize with the other boy.

He didn't want to admit it, but his situation was, if only a little, better than before. The cell he was in had a small pile of straw in one corner and a chamber pot in the other. A mist of light shone through a small barred window. A few hours, Yifan guessed, after he had been locked up a guard came by and slid a thin cup of water through the bars and tossed a few slices of stale bread on the ground before him. At least for now he wouldn't have to worry about finding food to eat or a place to sleep.

That all changed when an important looking man bearing a scroll strode into the prison, flanked by two guards. He unfurled the short scroll in a smooth motion and read in a loud voice without sparing so much as a glance at Yifan.

"You, prisoner, are hereby declared guilty of robbing Prince Jongdae of Kinah. Your execution will take place at noon tomorrow. There, your crimes will be stated once more if there are any objections. That is all."

The herald rolled his scroll back up, spun on his heels, and left.

Yifan's jaw gaped open. He rose to his feet and clutched the bars of his cell. "Wait!" he shouted.

The herald didn't break his stride.

"I didn't steal it!" Yifan yelled after the man's retreating back, shaking the bars beneath his fingers. "I swear! Listen–"

The door clanged shut.

The guards escorted the herald out and then returned to their small guardroom in the back of the dimlit, dirty hallway. Yifan sat down on the small pile of straw that would be his bed for the last night of his life, fuming with frustration and anger. There was a war going on, wasn't there? Didn't they have more important things to do, like protecting the country from the Zholian army? He hadn't even stolen the coin purse. Sure, he had been planning to, but the real thief, whoever it was, had framed him. When Yifan closed his eyes he could see the the dimple winking at him in the darkness as the boy ran off.

And to think that the rich boy had been Prince Jongdae? Yifan hadn't gotten a good look at his face, but even if he had, he didn't know what the prince looked like. Jongdae hadn't made a public appearance since the beginning of the war three years ago. Now, he and Crown Prince Joonmyeon stayed sheltered behind the palace gate. The cloak he had been wearing, as fancy as it was, didn't seem extravagant enough for royalty. And why would the king send his son out with only two bodyguards? There should've been at least a dozen. Considering how protective the king was over his two sons, Jongdae should've been in a secure carriage with an armed .

Yifan shook his head angrily. He should be focusing on trying to escape, not on trying to figure out Prince Jongdae's paltry .

He carefully peeked out from his bars, but he really didn't need to be cautious. The guards were all preoccupied in the guardroom, as he could tell from the table banging and loud chattering through the thin wooden door. Yifan rolled his eyes. They had a prisoner who was to be sentenced to death and didn't even bother keeping an eye on him. He jiggled each of the bars to see if any would give, even slightly, but none did.

Yifan sighed. It wasn't like he could escape though. He was a scrawny twelve-year-old who hadn't eaten well for weeks. He wasn't strong enough to break or bend the bars. He didn't know how to pick a lock. He couldn't fit through the window. He could barely lift the chamber pot off the floor. He was thin and weak and would probably die within a week of starvation like all those other homeless orphans on the streets.

Facing the door, Yifan sat against the opposite wall and pulled his knees up to his chest. It was the last night of his short, miserable life. Might as well reflect on the bad decisions he had made up to this point. He rested the side of his head on his knees, staring at the wall. It wasn't like he could help it though. He was born into this life.

"Psst."

Yifan looked up in surprise.

"Hey," the other boy offered in greeting. Without wasting a beat, he pulled something small out of his pocket and started fiddling with the lock on the cell door.

"What are you doing?" Yifan whispered, standing up and walking over the the door.

The boy didn't look up, working with two thin wires with his tongue stuck out in concentration. "Breaking you out."

Yifan hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Why?"

The boy was silent for a moment until the lock gave a soft click and the door swung open. "Because..." He gave Yifan a guilty smile, and a cheeky dimple flashed out at him. "I got you in here."

When it clicked in Yifan's mind who this boy was he had already backed off with his hands raised. "You–"

"Listen," the boy interrupted. "Let's just, get out of here first, and then you can yell at me as much as you want, okay?"

Before Yifan could even give a nod he had grabbed Yifan's hand and pulled him down the hall. He pushed the heavy door open to the outside, and Yifan saw that it was nighttime. The moon shone dimly in its crescent shape. The boy let the door fall shut again, but perhaps too loudly. Yifan heard the muffled commotion through the door as the guards left their room and found his open cell. "Hey! Where's the kid?"

The boy put a finger to his lips although Yifan didn't need reminding. "This way," he whispered, tugging Yifan around the corner, down a narrow alley. "And also... I'm sorry."

Yifan followed him along various twists and turns down a maze of alleyways, occasionally passing the dirty hunched forms of starving beggars and orphans in the gutter. They jogged at a swift pace together, leaving the shouts of the guards well behind them after a few minutes.

The boy didn't let go of Yifan's hand until they stopped in front of a dark, decrepit buildling. There was no front door, and the wooden planks of the walls were splintered and cracked. The stone foundation seemed to be holding up alright, but it looked like an earthquake or fire would make quick work of the place.

"Come on." The boy gestured.

Yifan followed him through the open doorway and up two steep stairways, wincing at every creak the old wood made. The ground floor supported a great number of thin, molding cots. The wood that made up their frames were weak and rotting. Tattered curtains hung everywhere from the ceiling. It seemed like the remains of an old hospital. The place had obviously been in disrepair for a long while.

The second floor was entirely bare, save for a few crates and sacks lined messily up along the walls. The boy led Yifan to a seemingly random spot in the middle of the room and told him to wait there.

Then without seeing if Yifan listened or not, he went to the window, swung the shutters out, and climbed out.

"What..." Yifan trailed off, as the boy wasn't in hearing distance anymore.

Ignoring what the boy had said earlier, Yifan went to the window and looked down. There was no one in sight. And then he heard a scuffle directly above his head. He turned and looked up, jaw hanging open in surprise. In a few seconds, the boy reached a window above Yifan and clambered in.

Yifan heard footsteps on the floorboards above him and then a trapdoor opened over where he had been standing before. A rope ladder flopped through the hole soon after, and the boy stuck his head out.

"You coming up?"

Wordlessly, Yifan ascended the ladder, accepting a hand from the boy when his malnourished arms nearly lost their grip near the top. He came up through the floor of an attic, messy but clean without a speck of dust in sight. There was a comfortable-looking straw mattress set up in the corner of the room. The ceiling was slanted so that it was lower above the mattress and higher where the trapdoor and window were.

The boy spread his arms wide and grinned at Yifan. "Welcome to my home."

It was the first night in a long time that Yifan spent indoors, sheltered from the cold and the dirt and desperate orphans waiting to rob him in his sleep. No, he realized, he couldn't empathize with the other boy. What kind of thief would break out a random orphan he had just framed, and then invite him to stay at his home? Either the boy was stupid enough to trust Yifan so soon or skilled enough to allow him full rein in his living space.

But when the boy introduced himself as Yixing and apologized once again, showing a handful of gold coins he had pocketed before tossing the prince's coin purse at Yifan, Yifan figured that, even if he couldn't share an understanding with him, he could at least share a life of survival with Yixing.