My brother entrusted his child to me, and I livestreamed raising the baby, making the Empress cry wi

On the main street of the Western Regions royal city.

The sunlight after the rain peeked through the gaps in the clouds, one after another, as if the sky had been torn open in several places.

The water in the cracks of the stone slabs had not yet dried completely, reflecting the fragmented blue sky above.

Street vendors set up all sorts of stalls, and the shouts of those selling spices, furs, and copperware came from all directions, colliding and twisting into a buzzing sound that filled the entire street.

The air was filled with the irresistible aroma of roasted beef and mutton.

The aroma was rich and robust, a mixture of the charred smell of charcoal and the rich, greasy scent of oil, assaulting passersby.

It swooped in and into your nose and mouth, stuck to your clothes, and seeped into your hair, so domineering that you couldn't escape it even if you wanted to.

Several barefoot children were splashing around in the puddles by the roadside, the splashing water wetting the hems of passersby's robes and eliciting laughter and curses.

Canaan has been doing quite well these days.

Although the last operation to attack the Great Flame failed and he did not receive the reward of ten thousand taels of gold, Ashina did not treat him unfairly. He was given an official position and a mansion in the royal city.

Now he can be considered a thief with official backing.

In the past, if you were caught stealing, you would be whipped, but things are different now—

If he were to be caught by chance, he would flash his identification badge and say that he was a recorder appointed by the king and was on official business. The other party would most likely be so frightened that their legs would go weak.

Although the position of the registrar is not high and he is not qualified to participate in the council, he is appointed by the king, which is very different from ordinary officials.

He works for the king, so generally no one dares to arrest him.

Moreover, he was perceptive and never went after those he couldn't afford to offend.

He wouldn't even give a second glance to those who carried knives, wore official robes, or had many guards behind them.

Every day after meals, I would stroll around the market and touch things, which was quite enjoyable.

That morning, sunlight slanted down between the rooftops on both sides of the street, casting alternating stripes of light and shadow on the stone pavement.

The awnings extending from the shops along the street swayed slightly in the wind, the tassels at the edges of the awnings sweeping across the air, creating shimmering shadows on the ground.

Canaan stood in the shadow of a spice shop's eaves, leaning against a cool earthen wall, clutching a handful of newly bought melon seeds in his hand, casually glancing at the crowds passing by on the street as he cracked them open.

Sunflower seed shells fell from the corner of his mouth, scattering on the ground. Some were carried away by the wind, making a very faint rustling sound as they scraped against the stone slabs.

His gaze darted back and forth between the waists and cuffs of the pedestrians, searching for his target for the day.

Then, he saw someone.

He was a fat man adorned with gold and silver. As soon as he turned the corner from the other end of the street, he was like a shining stone rolling into a grimy crowd.

Her ten fingers were covered with rings, gold, silver, and jade. The emerald green jade on her left middle finger was as big as an eyeball, and it shone brightly in the sunlight.

The man from the Central Plains wore a jade crown, with two rare, colorful pearls inlaid on its surface, which changed color as he moved his head.

His robe was made of crimson silk, with cloud patterns embroidered in gold thread on the collar and cuffs, and his belt was a three-finger-wide brocade belt with a piece of mutton-fat white jade inlaid in the middle.

He was glowing from head to toe, as if he were wearing all his possessions.

Canaan was immediately overjoyed, his eyes glued to the fat man and unable to look away—

What a fat sheep!

He took a closer look—the fat man was followed by four guards, all dressed in matching indigo short jackets with short knives at their waists.

But his gait was loose and unsteady, clearly not that of a trained martial artist. His expression also didn't resemble that of someone who constantly lived on the edge.

Two people were looking around at the street vendors. One was yawning with his head down, while the other was staring at a beautiful woman passing by, his eyes practically bulging out of her half-exposed chest.

There wasn't a single one who took the protection seriously.

Canaan made a decision in an instant: it was time to do it!

From the moment he entered the main street, the fat man stared wide-eyed at everything around him, craning his neck and puffing out his chin, his big, green-bean-sized eyes darting around, looking like he found everything fascinating.

Right now, I'm standing in front of a spice stall on the street, bending down to smell the so-called heirloom-level spices that the stall owner has just brought out, my nose almost touching the mouth of the bottle.

Canaan's lips twitched at the sight.

I wonder which nouveau riche from the countryside he is; he looks so unsophisticated.

Canaan grumbled inwardly, but his eyes never left the bulging money bag hanging from his waist.

The money bag was made of silk, embroidered with gold thread patterns, and was so bulging it looked like it was about to burst. The rope at the top of the bag was tied tightly, swaying back and forth with the fat man's movements, as if it were waving at him.

Canaan licked his lips, stuffed the remaining melon seeds into his pocket, narrowed his eyes as he looked at the beckoning money pouch, and a lewd smile involuntarily crept onto his lips:

"Little Qianqian, don't worry, wait for your brother to come and take you home~"

He blended into the crowd, slowly approaching the fat man, his steps extremely light, his shoulders slightly hunched, making himself appear as an inconspicuous passerby.

Under the cover of the crowd, Canaan gradually closed the distance to his target. His right hand had already slipped out of his sleeve, and a very thin copper plate was pinched between his index and middle fingers.

The copper sheet was sharpened to a point sharper than a blade. After turning it over between his fingers, he aimed it at the tightly bound silk rope.

Just as Canaan saw his chance and was about to make his move, his shoulders were suddenly grabbed.

Those two hands were large and heavy, their five fingers gripping his shoulder blades like iron clamps, so strong that his shoulders instinctively sank down.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a tingling sensation ran down his spine, and he froze on the spot.

The noise of the street seemed to fade away from him in that instant.

The shouts, conversations, and children's play... all seemed to be blocked out by something, becoming blurred and indistinct.

Canaan could only hear the sound of blood flowing in his ears, a rumbling sound, as if someone were beating his eardrums like a drum.

He lost his grip, and the copper piece slipped through his fingers, falling silently to the ground, bouncing once on the stone pavement before lying flat.

Canaan slowly, bit by bit, turned his head. His neck seemed to rust, making a soft "crack-crack" sound with each turn.

His gaze slowly moved upwards from the armored hand on his shoulder to the full suit of armor gleaming coldly, and then to two expressionless faces.

Two armored soldiers with swords stood on either side of him behind him, their gazes beneath their helmets colder than a desert night.

His heart skipped a beat, and he began frantically pounding his chest. A thin layer of sweat instantly seeped onto his back, clinging to his clothes, both cool and sticky.

Canaan's face went blank, but his mind raced: Had he misjudged him? That person had such a powerful background!? He could even mobilize soldiers!?

and--

He hasn't even made a move yet! ???

He didn't even touch the money bag! He's innocent!