Chapter Twelve: The Meng Po Soup Spilled: The Sign Is Stained with Broth

**Underworld Poker: From Fight the Landlord to Six-Chong**
**Volume 1, Chapter 12: The Meng Po Soup Spills – The Cards Are Stained**

The card table in the City God Temple was still scattered with sunflower seed shells from the night before. Old Zhou was squatting on the ground, using his fingers to rake the fragments into a pile of straw in the corner. He claimed, "Saving them makes good padding for the chips," while Wang Er-Ma teased him for being "stingy to the bone," though he knelt down to help pick them up anyway, his fingertips brushing the slippery green moss on the stone slabs.

"Brother Ma, are you really training for Four-Chong?" Old Zhou stuffed the last handful of shells into a straw bag and looked up at the four decks of cards in Wang Er-Ma’s arms, his brow crinkled like a twisted rag. "Four decks! Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to shuffle those? How about... we warm up with a few rounds of Fight the Landlord first?"

"Warm up? Yesterday, while practicing breaking down hands, you broke four 2s into singles and you still have the nerve to talk about warming up?" Wang Er-Ma slammed the cards onto the stone table. The corner of the deck struck with a sharp *clack*, startling a small spider in the wall crevice into falling. "Today we must practice shuffling. If you can’t even hold the cards, you’ll be useless once the Four-Chong tournament begins."

Just then, Xiao Bai came trotting in, the red ribbons in her braids bobbing like flickers of flame. "Brother Ma! Sister Meng Po is here! She’s brought you sweet soup!"

No sooner had she spoken than Meng Po entered, carrying a coarse ceramic bowl. The rim was flecked with osmanthus, and two plump lotus seeds floated in the broth. As she walked, her skirt brushed the threshold, releasing a faint scent of herbs—the smell of mugwort she always added when brewing her soup. "I know how hard you all are practicing," she said, setting the bowl on the corner of the table and rubbing her fingertips along the rim. "I saved you a sweet bowl, added lotus seeds to calm your spirits."

"Sister Meng Po is always so thoughtful." Wang Er-Ma rubbed his hands together, reaching out, but Old Zhou leaned in first, his eyes fixed on the bowl’s rim. "Sister Meng Po, does this soup... cost any underworld currency? If it’s expensive, I’ll drink less and leave it for Brother Ma."

"It’s not expensive at all," Meng Po chuckled, her eyes crinkling into crescents. "The lotus seeds were gathered by the Naihe Bridge; they don't cost a thing. Drink up, or it won't be sweet once it gets cold."

Wang Er-Ma had just lifted the bowl when the sound of heavy footsteps came from outside. Xiao Li rushed in clutching a tattered book with dog-eared pages stained with ink. "Brother Ma! I’ve written a new mnemonic poem for card counting!" He slammed the book onto the table, right on top of the unshuffled pile. "Look at these lines: 'Four decks piled high like a mountain peak, count the bombs first, then the sequences seek'—'sequences' is my own term!"

"Watch it!" Old Zhou quickly grabbed the cards, terrified they would get creased. "These cards are made of Spider Lily paper; they’re fragile!"

Xiao Li didn't pay him any mind, reaching out to flip the cards over. "Shall we practice now? I’ll show you how I count!" He was fast, and just as his fingertip touched the top card, a red Queen of Hearts, Meng Po happened to lean over to pick up a spoon the book had knocked aside. Her elbow caught the table leg with a *thud*. The coarse ceramic bowl wobbled, tilted, and the sweet soup splashed out, drenching the deck.

"Oh dear!" Meng Po scrambled to steady the bowl, but the remaining liquid sloshed onto her blue cloth skirt, leaving dark spots. "It’s all my fault, all my fault!" she fretted, wringing her hands. "I’m afraid the soup stains will make the cards hard to clean..."

Old Zhou’s face turned pale. He knelt to sort through the pile, his fingertips touching the sticky, soup-soaked cards. "What do we do? Spider Lily paper hates water; will it rot?" He carefully pinched a black Ace of Spades. The corner was limp, and the soup trailed down the surface, leaving a light brown border around the spade.

"What’s the panic?" Wang Er-Ma pushed the bowl to the edge of the table and picked up a sticky five of diamonds, rolling it between his fingers. It was slippery and hard to hold, nearly falling to the floor. "It’s just a bit of soup. Once it dries, we can still play."

"But it’s so slippery, how are we supposed to hold them?" Xiao Li picked one up, and it spun out of his fingers. "If I drop a card while playing, won't the Judge penalize us?"

Wang Er-Ma didn’t answer. He brushed the stained cards into one small pile and kept the dry ones in another. "Let's test them." He dealt the dry cards to Old Zhou and Xiao Li, keeping the sticky ones for himself. "We’ll play three rounds of Fight the Landlord to get a feel for them."

"With these?" Old Zhou was doubtful. "What if they slide out of our hands?"

"Then we pick them up." Wang Er-Ma laid the cards on the table. The soup had wrinkled the surface, causing several to stick together, forcing him to pry them apart with his fingernails. "It’s good practice. There are so many cards in Four-Chong, we’re bound to deal with slippery ones eventually."

In the first round, Wang Er-Ma was the landlord. His hand was weak, containing only one bomb—four 4s—which were sticky and slippery as eels. As he pondered his move, Old Zhou led a single 3. Xiao Li couldn't beat it, and when it was Wang Er-Ma’s turn, his finger slipped, causing a card to drop onto the table: a single 5.

"I play a 5," Wang Er-Ma called out instinctively, then paused in surprise—he had meant to break his pair of 10s and had no intention of playing the 5 at all.

"Oh? I can beat that!" Old Zhou quickly rummaged through his cards, only to pull out a single 6. "I play a 6!"

Xiao Li followed with a 7. As the round went on, no one could top Wang Er-Ma’s 5, and he cleared his singles easily. When he finally used the four 4s to bomb Xiao Li’s sequence, Old Zhou’s eyes lit up. "Brother Ma, how did you know playing the 5 would work?"

Wang Er-Ma was confused himself. He looked at the soup-stained 5; the stain had formed a small circle right over the top right corner. "How would I know?" he scratched his head. "My hand slipped, it was just luck."

The second round, Old Zhou became the landlord. Feeling confident with a pair of Jokers and three 2s, he insisted on using the sticky cards. "Let me try." He pinched a stained King of Hearts, but it slid out of his grasp; he quickly pinned it with his other hand. "I play... a pair of Kings!"

No sooner had he spoken than Xiao Li shouted, "Bomb!" He slammed down four 3s, the cards dry and steady in his grip. Old Zhou panicked, wanting to use his Big Joker to win, but his finger slipped again. The card flew out, landing at Meng Po’s feet. She was busy wiping the soup off the table corner with a dry cloth and picked it up, smiling as she handed it back. "Old Zhou, these cards are slippery, hold them tight."

Old Zhou took them, blushing. Just as he was about to play, Wang Er-Ma shouted, "Wait! You played a pair of Kings, and Xiao Li bombed it; it’s his turn." Wang Er-Ma held a pair of 10s, intending to wait for Old Zhou to play a single, but the slip-up had forced Xiao Li to bomb first.

Xiao Li, however, was now in a bind, left with only single cards. After a long hesitation, he played a 4. Wang Er-Ma played his 10s, and Old Zhou, gripping his Big Joker with all his might, slammed it down. The soup residue left a faint mark on the table. He then played out his remaining cards and actually won.

"That’s strange," Xiao Li muttered, sifting through his hand. "How did I lose?"

"Cards stained with soup bring their own kind of luck," Wang Er-Ma said, stacking the sticky cards into a lopsided mound. "I played a 5 by accident, and Old Zhou’s hand slipped with the Joker, yet we both won."

Meng Po laughed, "It’s the lotus seeds in the soup calming your hearts, keeping you from panicking." She knelt to pick up the sunflower seed shells. "If it works, shall I pour less next time? I won't spill it; I’ll just brush it on with a small brush."

"No, no!" Old Zhou waved his hands. "Once is enough. Any more and the cards will rot."

Just then, the Judge walked in, carrying a cloth bag embroidered with the words "Rules Inspector." His reading glasses were perched on the tip of his nose. He pushed them up, glanced at the table, and his brow knotted instantly. "Wang Er-Ma!" he barked, "Why are the cards in this state? Chapter 3, Article 7 of the Underworld Card Regulations strictly prohibits defacing the cards!"

"It wasn't on purpose," Meng Po quickly explained. "I slipped and spilled the soup."

"Spilled or not, it’s not allowed!" The Judge knelt, picking up a stained card and examining it. The soup residue smeared onto his fingers, making them tacky, so he wiped them on his bag. "These cards are slippery; they’ll drop during play and ruin the fairness!"

"It doesn't affect anything," Wang Er-Ma pushed the pile toward the Judge. "Try them yourself, you might even win."

The Judge glared at him. "I certainly will not! I’m confiscating these and replacing them with a new set." He reached for the cards, but as his hand touched the pile, he tripped—the straw bag of shells Old Zhou had left near the table leg had rolled over. The Judge let out a cry, pitched forward, and nearly hit the table. His cloth bag hit the floor, spilling a small porcelain bottle that shattered, scattering powder everywhere.

"What’s this?" Xiao Li leaned in. The powder was light gray and smelled acrid.

"Don't touch it!" The Judge scrambled up, frantically sweeping the powder away, his face turning red. "It’s... it’s talcum powder for card counting! You rub it on your hands so you can see the card corners clearly!"

Wang Er-Ma chuckled. "Judge, so you carry 'cheating powder' yourself? And you were accusing us of defacing the cards?"

"This isn't cheating!" The Judge stomped his feet, his official robes covered in white dust. "It’s... my eyesight is failing, I can't see the cards clearly, so I use this for grip! It’s the same logic as your soup cards!"

Meng Po handed him a dry cloth, suppressing a laugh. "Judge, please, wipe yourself off. You look like you’ve been dusted with flour."

The Judge took the cloth, wiped himself off, and glared at the soup cards, deciding not to mention confiscating them again—likely fearing Wang Er-Ma would bring up the talcum powder. "No more soup spills!" he warned, stiffening his neck. "If there are soup stains on the cards during the tournament, I will penalize you!"

"Understood, understood," Wang Er-Ma waved him off, stuffing the cards into his shirt. "We're just practicing, it won't interfere with the tournament."

The Judge huffed, slung his bag over his shoulder, and turned to leave. At the door, he paused, glanced back at the cards, and whispered, "That soup... does it really make the cards flow better?"

"I won even when I played like a fool," Wang Er-Ma teased.

The Judge’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing more and walked away briskly, the "Rules Inspector" label on his bag bobbing as if in a huff.

Once he was out of sight, Old Zhou kicked the straw bag into the corner, patting his chest. "That was close. I thought he was going to take the cards."

"He wouldn't dare," Meng Po poured the remaining soup into Wang Er-Ma’s bowl. "If King Yama found out about his talcum powder, he’d have him copy the rulebook ten times."

Xiao Li knelt on the floor, gathering the leftover powder and sprinkling a bit onto the cards. "Should we try this? The powder is slippery, the soup is slippery; maybe it’ll be even smoother."

"Don't experiment," Wang Er-Ma slapped the powder out of his hand. "Do you want to mess with the Judge's things? He’ll just nag us again." He held a card up to the light filtering into the temple. The soup stain had formed a faint mark that actually made the suit clearer. "Actually, these cards aren't bad. Slippery as they are, you just get used to them. If it comes down to it..." he smiled at Meng Po, "Sister Meng Po, next time, use fewer seeds, and don't spill—just put a drop on the cards, how about that?"

Meng Po laughed, picking up a cloth to wipe the table. "You, always coming up with wild ideas. Fine, next time I'll leave you half a bowl, and I'll keep the lotus seeds out so it isn't sticky."

Old Zhou knelt and laid the cards out one by one to let the wind dry them—he still worried they might rot. The breeze from the temple door blew in, making the cards sway gently. The stained cards were heavier than the dry ones and moved slowly, as if nodding in agreement with Old Zhou.

Wang Er-Ma sipped the sweet soup; the lotus seeds were soft and tender, the sweetness sliding down his throat. Watching Old Zhou carefully arrange the cards and Xiao Li composing his poem, he suddenly felt that a little stickiness didn't matter—at least it was better than Old Zhang back in the human world, who used to constantly cheat.

"Right," he suddenly remembered something and slapped the table, startling Old Zhou. "Tomorrow, have Xiao Bai bring all four decks. We’re training for Four-Chong with these! The slipperiness is perfect for building hand-feel; we won't drop them during the real tournament."

Old Zhou paused, then nodded eagerly. "Right! I'll find more dry cloths. We'll wipe them as soon as they get too slick!"

Xiao Li cheered, reciting his poem as he shuffled: "Soup-stained cards, slippery and slick, Brother Ma plays them, he’s got the trick! Play them blindly, you’ll win the day, the Judge will bow when he sees us play!"

Meng Po watched from the floor, smoothing the soup stains on the cards with her fingers, her smile never fading. The breeze from the City God Temple drifted through, carrying the scent of Spider Lilies, and the cards swayed in the wind, as if responding to the rhythm of the poem.

(Chapter 12 End)