Chapter Sixteen: The Four-Charge Rule—The Judge Read for Three Hours

Underworld Card Games: From Fight the Landlord to Four-Deck Clash
Volume 1, Chapter 16: The Four-Deck Rules: The Judge Lectures for Three Hours

The sweet osmanthus soup at Meng Po’s stall was still steaming. King Yama, squatting by the stall, was wrestling with Xiao Bai for the final bowl. He had just lost a round of cards and wanted the soup to soothe his frustration, but Xiao Bai was quick, snatching the bowl and downing it in one go. "Put that down! That’s my soup!" King Yama reached out to grab it, his red cape sweeping across a bamboo basket by the stall. Sunflower seeds scattered, tumbling right at the feet of Wang Er’ma.

Wang Er’ma bent down to pick up the seeds and his fingertips brushed against a stiff corner of paper. He pulled it out: a palm-sized slip adorned with dark red spider lily patterns along the edges. In black ink, the words "Four-Deck Clash Entry Pass" were scrawled in crooked characters, accompanied by a lopsided drawing of a card table—judging by the strokes, King Yama had likely drawn it himself. He recalled that when the finals ended yesterday, King Yama had shoved this into his hand, boasting, "With this pass, you can learn the Four-Deck Clash." He had been too busy laughing to take a good look at it then.

"Master Ma, what are you looking at?" Old Zhou leaned in, clutching his blue cloth pouch of chips. A corner of a spirit coin peeked out—the change King Yama had paid for the seeds earlier. He glanced at the slip and his eyes lit up. "Is this that 'Four-Deck Pass'? I heard you have to play with four decks?"

"That’s right." Wang Er’ma held the slip up to the light. It was so thin it was translucent, revealing the silhouette of Little Li on the other side. Little Li was squatting on the ground, using a twig to write poetry in the dirt: "King Yama loses, steals soup to drink; Xiao Bai finishes the bowl before he can blink." He wiped it away with his sleeve immediately, terrified King Yama might see it.

Meng Po walked over with a fresh batch of soup, a stray osmanthus petal clinging to her apron. She handed a warm bowl to Wang Er’ma. "Just brewed, added some honey dates." Seeing the entry pass, she smiled. "The Judge was asking about you this morning, said he’d come by to explain the Four-Deck rules when you’re free."

"The Judge?" Wang Er’ma took a sip, his eyes squinting at the sweetness. "Can he make it clear? Last time we played Fight the Landlord, he couldn’t even count four decks for three people."

No sooner had he spoken than the sound of "thump, thump, thump" echoed from the direction of the City God Temple, like a drumbeat. Little Li looked up and tugged at Wang Er’ma’s sleeve: "He’s here! He’s actually here!"

They all turned to look. The Judge was jogging toward them with a cloth bag on his back, his robes billowing in the wind, making him look like an overstuffed doll. When he reached them, he first adjusted his three pairs of reading glasses—the top pair had slid onto his forehead, the middle pair was crooked on his nose, and the bottom pair hung off his chin, looking like a precarious stack of blocks.

"Wa—Wang Er’ma!" The Judge panted, thumping his chest. His bag hit the ground with a thud, spilling a thread-bound notebook titled "Four-Deck Rules: Preliminary Edition (Revised)," marked with a red X—he had clearly edited it many times. "I heard you want to learn the Four-Deck Clash? I—I’m here to teach you the rules!"

Before Wang Er’ma could speak, King Yama, having snatched the bowl from Xiao Bai, slurped his soup and walked over. "The Judge has come at the right time! I’ll listen too—last time I played the Earth God, he played a 'run' that made the table float, and I still don’t know what happened!"

Xiao Bai, still squatting to pick up seeds, chimed in, "I want to listen too! I want to know how to shuffle four decks; last time I helped Master Ma, I turned them into a knotted mess."

Old Zhou nodded hurriedly. "I’ll listen too... in case I have to play, I don't want to lose too badly." He tucked his blue pouch closer to his chest, fearing a "tuition fee" for the lecture.

Seeing everyone interested, the Judge perked up. He dumped his bag onto the ground—out spilled a pile of papers covered in drafts, diagrams of card combinations, and an abacus (presumably for counting cards). He slapped a draft onto a rock. "Sit down! The Four-Deck rules are complex. I must start from the basics, which will take at least... three hours!"

"Three hours?" Wang Er’ma nearly sprayed his soup. "Are you reciting scripture?"

"This is called rigor!" The Judge glared at him, put on the lowest pair of glasses, and began to read from a draft: "Four-Deck Clash, also known as the 'Advanced Four-Deck Fight the Landlord,' requires four people divided into two teams to compete—"

"Wait!" Wang Er’ma raised his hand. "Fight the Landlord is for three people. Why four? Isn't that just Mahjong?"

"This is a team sport!" The Judge cleared his throat and drew a circle on the draft. "Two people per team, sitting opposite each other! For example, you and Old Zhou are a team, and I am with Little Li. Understand?"

Old Zhou nodded, then whispered, "If we lose... do we lose chips?"

"Yes! Ten chips per loss!" the Judge said firmly. Seeing Old Zhou turn pale, he added, "But double if you win!" Old Zhou breathed a sigh of relief and quietly moved his pouch back into view.

Meng Po brought over some rocks to serve as stools and sat beside Wang Er’ma, knitting a sweater—she said it was for the little ghosts to wear while playing cards in winter. As she knit, she used her knitting needle as a "card-tracking stick," poking the draft. "Judge, explain the 'runs' first? I heard they can make the table float."

"Good question!" The Judge, energized, flipped to a diagram. "A run requires five or more consecutive cards, like 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and the suits don't matter—but with four decks, runs are different; they can stack! For instance, if you have two 3s and two 4s, you can play a 'double run,' which has more power, stirring up yin energy, and the table will..."

"Will float?" Xiao Bai’s eyes sparkled. "If I play a 'five-deck run,' could the table float all the way to the Terrace of Oblivion?"

"Theoretically... you could try!" The Judge stroked his chin. "But last time Old Zhao played a 'seven-run,' the table floated to the rafters of the City God Temple. Cards fell everywhere, and Xiao Hei had to climb up to retrieve them."

Xiao Hei, squatting next to Xiao Bai, shrank his neck at the mention. "The cards were covered in spiderwebs; it took three washes to get them clean."

The Judge cleared his throat and continued reading: "Besides runs, there are 'bombs'! Bombs in four-deck games vary in size—four of a kind is a 'small bomb,' five is a 'medium bomb,' and six or more is a 'big bomb'! For example, four 2s is a small bomb, six Aces is a big bomb—"

"Wait!" Wang Er’ma interrupted. "In Fight the Landlord, four 2s is the peak. Six Aces in four-deck? When are you supposed to collect that many?"

"This is called strategy!" The Judge flipped to another draft covered in circles. "For example, if Old Zhou has four 5s, he shouldn't play them yet. If he draws two more 5s, he has a big bomb!"

Old Zhou shook his head vigorously. "I won't wait. What if I don't draw them? Then the four 5s were wasted."

"That is the wrong mindset!" The Judge was getting agitated. "You must save your bombs! Only by exploding them at the critical moment can you win!"

"Last time he played, he held onto his four 2s until the end and got 'Springed' by the opponent," Wang Er’ma added. Little Li snickered, picking up a twig to draw in the dirt: "Old Zhou hoards cards like treasure, grips his bombs until they're crushed; the opponent wins and laughs, while Old Zhou cries on the ground."

Old Zhou blushed and ducked behind Wang Er’ma. Meng Po patted his shoulder. "It's fine. Once you learn the Four-Deck Clash, Master Ma will teach you when to explode."

The Judge ignored Little Li’s poem and continued: "There are also 'pairs'! Two of a kind is a 'pair,' and four of a kind is a 'tractor'—"

"A tractor?" Wang Er’ma raised an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with farming?"

"It means consecutive pairs!" The Judge drew "pair of 3s, pair of 4s, pair of 5s" on the paper. "If you have a pair of 3s, 4s, and 5s, you can play them together; that's a 'three-car tractor.' If you have 6s, 7s, 8s, and 9s, that's a 'four-car tractor'—"

"Then if I have a pair of 2s, Aces, and Kings, does that count as a 'reverse tractor'?" Xiao Bai asked, holding a seed.

The Judge stalled, adjusted his middle glasses, and flipped through his drafts. "That... isn't written in the rules. I must make a note of it and research it later." He pulled out a small notebook and wrote: "New Four-Deck Query: Can descending pairs form a tractor?" and added a star.

The sun climbed to its zenith, and the osmanthus scent at the soup stall grew stronger in the heat. Parched, the Judge took a large gulp from the bowl Meng Po offered, wiped his mouth, and continued: "There's also 'tribute'! The losing team must pay 'tribute' to the winning team—"

"Tribute? Sending sunflower seeds?" Old Zhou quickly covered his pouch.

"Sending your largest card!" the Judge said. "If your team loses, you must give your largest card to the winners, and they return a small one—"

"What if my largest card is a big bomb?" Wang Er’ma asked.

"You still have to send it!" The Judge slammed the table. "Those are the rules! Last time King Yama lost, he had five Great Kings and had to give the biggest one to the Earth God. He was so heartbroken he couldn't sleep for three days."

"Nonsense! I wasn't heartbroken!" King Yama retorted, neck stiff, though he subconsciously touched his crown—after the Earth God took the Great King he’d hidden in his crown, he’d cried in the arms of the Queen of Yama for half the night. The story had been gossiped about by Xiao Hei and Xiao Bai for days.

Little Li drew in the dirt again: "King Yama loses and pays tribute, five Great Kings sent away; the Earth God laughs with joy, the Great King cries in bed." He quickly scrubbed it away with his foot, terrified King Yama would see.

The Judge, in the heat of his lecture, brought out his abacus and clattered away: "Let's calculate the cards! Four decks, 54 cards each, totaling 216! Four people, 54 cards each—no, 54 times 4 is 216, it divides perfectly!" He tapped the abacus proudly. "The mistake last time was an accident; this time it is absolutely correct!"

"54 cards?" Wang Er’ma’s eyes widened. "Holding 54 cards in my hand? Wouldn't that be like hugging a hedgehog?"

"You can arrange them in a fan!" The Judge gestured. "Or use a card holder—Meng Po has prepared them for you."

They all turned to look at Meng Po. She pulled a coarse ceramic bowl from her bag; the rim was chipped. "I figured we could use this as a card holder, stick the cards in the bowl so they don't drop." The bottom of the bowl still had soup stains from that morning.

"Does this bowl leak?" Wang Er’ma asked.

"No!" Meng Po patted the bowl. "I patched it yesterday—with sticky rice paste."

Old Zhou leaned over to check the bowl, whispering, "If there are too many cards, I... I can help hold a few." He figured if he held fewer, he’d have to remember fewer.

The Judge flipped to a page covered in Xs and checkmarks. "And the taboos! No hiding cards—" he glared at King Yama, "no holding cards for others—" he glared at Old Zhou, "and no wasting time writing poems—" he glared at Little Li.

Little Li quickly tossed his twig. "I'll stop! I'm listening to the rules!"

"Also!" The Judge cleared his throat, his voice rising. "Runs must be five cards long! Not one less! Last time A-Xiang played a '3 through 7' four-card run, I made her wash the cards—"

"A-Xiang? That chef ghost?" Wang Er’ma asked.

"The very one!" The Judge curled his lip. "She always yells 'stir-frying a run' when she plays, calling 3-7 'stir-fried greens' and 8-12 'braised ribs.' If she loses, she throws cabbage at the table; last time she nearly broke my abacus."

Just then, a "clang" sounded from afar, like a cooking pot hitting the floor. Meng Po peeked out. "That must be A-Xiang cooking—she said this morning she was making 'cabbage-fried sunflower seeds' for the ghosts at the card table."

The Judge ignored her and continued: "Bomb ranking: big bombs beat medium, medium beat small, small bombs beat..." He suddenly stalled and flipped through his drafts. "Oh right, small bombs beat runs! Except for the 'Supreme Run'—the Supreme Run can beat any run, even bombs can't stop it!"

"Supreme Run?" Wang Er’ma thought of the drawing on the entry pass. "What does that look like?"

"Made of gold leaf! With a spider lily painted on it!" The Judge gestured. "There's only one in the entire Underworld, and it can only be used in the semifinals—it was lost last time, and it took three days to find it in A-Xiang's pot, still covered in cabbage leaves."

"In the pot?" Xiao Bai’s eyes went round. "A-Xiang cooked the card?"

"Exactly!" The Judge sighed. "She said it looked like a cabbage leaf, so she tossed it in. When she fished it out, she even asked if it could be stir-fried and eaten."

The sun began to dip to the west, casting long shadows. The Judge’s throat was dry; he had finished three piles of drafts. Two beads had fallen off his abacus, Old Zhou was leaning against a rock, nearly asleep (still clutching his pouch), Little Li had secretly written a "Long Song of Rules" on the back of a draft, and Xiao Bai had arranged his seeds into the characters for "Four-Deck Clash."

Wang Er’ma’s eyelids were drooping. Meng Po handed him a peppermint. "Hold on, it's almost over."

The Judge picked up the final sheet, cleared his throat: "The final rule! If the card table floats because of a run, you must finish playing your cards before it lands, otherwise you lose—last time Old Zhao's table floated to the Naihe Bridge, he was so scared he dropped all his cards and forfeited immediately."

Finishing, he snapped the draft shut and looked at everyone triumphantly. "Well? Did you all understand?"

Old Zhou looked up, dazed. "Understood... so, we can't save our bombs?"

"You can!" The Judge was exasperated. "You must save them when you have to!"

Little Li held up the "Long Song of Rules" and chanted: "Four decks, two teams, runs must be five cards, bombs must be sized, the Supreme Run is the key... ah, I forgot the rest."

Xiao Bai raised his hand. "I get it! Playing a run makes the table float. Next time I'll try a 'ten-deck run' to see if it can reach the Terrace of Oblivion!"

King Yama stroked his chin. "I understand—next time I play the Earth God, I'll use a big bomb to blast him!"

The Judge turned to Wang Er’ma. "And you? Did you understand?"

Wang Er’ma chewed his peppermint, pondered for a long time, and summarized: "Simply put, it’s just four decks of cards played blindly? If you can't remember, just guess. If your teammate is a drag, coddle them. If you can't beat a bomb, just surrender. And if the table floats, hold on tight—"

"What kind of summary is that!" The Judge was so angry his face turned red, his three pairs of glasses sliding onto his nose. "I lectured for three hours! And you summarize it as 'playing blindly'?"

"Isn't it?" Wang Er’ma raised an eyebrow. "You spent all that time talking, and it just boils down to four people teaming up, playing runs and bombs, and not hiding cards or cheating, right?"

"There's tribute! There's tractors! There's the Supreme Run!" The Judge hopped in frustration, pointing at the words on the draft. "These are all important!"

"Important is one thing, but remembering them is another." Wang Er’ma spread his hands. "My brain struggles with the neighborhood Fight the Landlord rules; how could I remember all this?"

The Judge looked at him, then at the nodding Old Zhou, the poet Little Li, the seed-arranging Xiao Bai, and thought of his own parched throat after three hours of lecturing. He couldn't catch his breath, grabbed his chest, and toppled backward—

"Judge!" Meng Po quickly caught him and popped a peppermint into his mouth.

The Judge chewed the candy, glared at Wang Er’ma, and huffed, "You... you are showing a lack of respect for the rules!"

"I respect them," Wang Er’ma handed him a bowl of soup. "But at my age, I have to use folk methods to remember—like calling runs 'candied hawthorns,' bombs 'firecrackers for the New Year,' and tractors 'freight trucks.' Isn't that easier?"

"Candied hawthorns?" Little Li’s eyes lit up. "That's good! I'll write a poem: Runs are like candied hawthorns, 3 to 7 make a string; lose one and it's not a set, keep them all and it's sweet enough to sing."

"New Year's firecrackers!" Xiao Bai shouted. "When the bomb goes off, pop-pop-pop, the opponent drops their cards, and we win the lot!"

Old Zhou woke up and nodded. "Freight trucks... that's good. Playing pairs in a row is just like a truck pulling cargo."

The Judge watched as everyone excitedly gave "nicknames" to the rules. He was too stunned to speak, and finally, with a huff, he shouldered his bag. "I don't care anymore! Remember it however you want! Don't come to me when you lose!" He turned back after two steps. "Practice starts tomorrow! Late arrivals have to wash the cards!"

"Got it!" Wang Er’ma waved.

After the Judge left, Old Zhou touched his pouch. "For practice tomorrow... do we need to bring chips?"

"Bring them!" Wang Er’ma folded the entry pass and tucked it into his pocket. "If you win, it's yours. If you lose, it's King Yama's."

King Yama, having just finished his soup, jumped up. "Why mine? I didn't lose!"

"You still owe me for the sunflower seeds from last time," Wang Er’ma raised an eyebrow. "Consider it settled."

Little Li handed the "Long Song of Rules" to Meng Po. "Sister Meng, keep this for me; I'll read it to Master Ma tomorrow."

Xiao Bai pocketed his seeds. "I'll go call Xiao Hei; I'll have him help shuffle tomorrow—last time I made a mess of it, but I've learned. This time, I'll soak the cards in soup to soften them up."

Meng Po smiled and packed away her knitting. "I'll go make you 'Card-Tracking Cakes'—made with pumpkin; eating them will help you remember two extra cards."

The setting sun stretched the shadow of the City God Temple long across the ground. Wang Er’ma pulled out the spider lily entry pass and held it up to the last bit of sunlight. On the back, Little Li had drawn a small portrait of an old man holding cards, with the words "Master Ma's Four-Deck Victory" written beside it. He smiled, tucked the pass back in, and followed the others toward the card table. "Let's go! Tomorrow, let's show the Judge that even wild playing styles can win at the Four-Deck Clash!"

Old Zhou followed behind, muttering, "If I lose... can I lose fewer chips?"

"If you run out, I'll lend you some," Wang Er’ma patted his shoulder.

Old Zhou shook his head quickly. "No lending! If I borrow, I have to pay it back."

Little Li chimed in with a poem: "Old Zhou hoards money like his life, borrow one coin and he'll remember for months; if Master Ma lends him chips, he'd throw his cards on the spot—"

Old Zhou got agitated and chased Little Li, Xiao Bai and Xiao Hei joined in the commotion, King Yama shouted from behind, "Don't run! I want to play too!" and Meng Po laughed while holding her soup bowl, the scent of osmanthus drifting along the path.

Only the Judge’s bag remained on the stone, the drafts rustling in the wind. The words "Four-Deck Rules: Preliminary Edition" shone brightly in the sunset—no one noticed that on the very last page, it read: "If Wang Er'ma wins with a wild style, change the rules and add: 'Guessing is legal.'"