Chapter 18: Old Zhou Learns to "Split"—Breaking Four Twos into Singles
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Chapter 18 of Volume One: Old Zhou Learns to “Break Up Cards”: Splitting Four Twos into Singles
The incense burner at the City God Temple still emitted a final wisp of pale smoke, which the evening breeze scattered into a fine mist, settling gently along the rim of the wooden basin on the card table. Wang Erma squatted by the basin, holding a five of diamonds whose corner had been clipped by Little Hei. Half a bowl of glutinous rice paste remained from the noon delivery by Lady Meng, and Wang Erma carefully dabbed a bit of the warm paste with his fingertip onto the chip in the card’s corner. The paste was warm and carried a faint scent of osmanthus, mixed specially by Lady Meng with “Forget-Worry Honey” to keep the cards from sticking and the players’ minds from fretting.
“Lord Ma, maybe we shouldn’t glue these cards anymore?” Old Zhou squatted nearby, counting the cards he had just picked up. By the third count, he stumbled again, “After all, Six Clash uses four decks; missing one or two cards…”
“Missing one card, you think that’s okay?” Wang Erma didn’t even look up as he aligned the two clipped corners of the five of diamonds and pressed them down with his fingertip. “Last time, the Judge dealt three extra cards and got punished by copying the figures table ten times. If we’re short cards, who knows? They might make us wash cards for a whole month.” He glanced at the cards in Old Zhou’s hands—red and black piled messily, the top card, the ace of hearts, still stuck with a piece of grass husk—leftover from when Little Bai had shuffled them into a tangled bunch yesterday.
Xiao Li squatted at the other end of the table, writing on scrap paper with a brush tip stolen from the Judge’s calligraphy brush, dipped in the osmanthus juice from Lady Meng’s soup, making the characters shimmer with a pale golden hue. “Lord Ma, I wrote a ‘Sticking Card Poem,’” he called, holding up the paper: “‘Glutinous rice paste sticks the card’s edge, chipped five smiles wide—no trouble in Six Clash games.’ How’s that?”
“Sounds better than the Judge’s rules,” Wang Erma laughed, about to praise him, when Little Bai suddenly ran out from behind the City God Temple, holding a small earthen jar steaming with warm vapor. “Lord Ma! Lady Meng said the paste’s cold now and won’t stick well; I brought it back to warm it!” She dashed over, her braid sweeping the table and knocking Xiao Li’s draft paper to the ground, where the “Sticking Card Poem” was immediately smudged with sunflower seed husks from the cracks in the table.
“Hey! My poem!” Xiao Li quickly bent to retrieve it, but the corner was dampened, the golden characters blurred into a blot. Little Bai stuck out her tongue, set the jar down, and squatted to help wipe it. “I’ll make you one poem! I’ll make you two!”
Little Hei followed behind, holding a small brush—one he had stolen from the Judge’s brush rack, its bristles almost worn away. “Quit messing around,” he said, handing the brush to Wang Erma. “Lady Meng said to brush the paste on evenly with this.”
Wang Erma took the brush, dipped it in the warmed glutinous rice paste, and just as he began to apply it, Old Zhou put his cards down on the table and shrank back. Among his cards were four twos—the most intact set from yesterday’s separated card bunch—smooth-faced, without even a speck of grass husk. Old Zhou clenched those four cards so tightly his knuckles whitened, as if afraid someone might snatch them away.
“Why are you gripping so tight?” Wang Erma glanced at him amusedly. “These four twos aren’t going anywhere.”
“It’s not that…” Old Zhou whispered, rubbing his fingertips on the card faces. “It’s a bomb—solid stuff in Six Clash. Gotta keep it.”
“I know it’s solid,” Wang Erma put down the brush and set the patched five of diamonds aside to dry. “But even solid stuff can’t be held too tight. Sometimes you have to break it up.”
“Break it up?” Old Zhou’s eyes widened abruptly, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “What happens if I break it? They become singles! Singles are useless!”
“Why useless?” Wang Erma pulled another deck from the basin—one that hadn’t been tangled yesterday and was still fairly neat. “Come on, let’s practice breaking cards.” He spread the cards on the table, picked out four threes, and pushed them toward Old Zhou. “Suppose these are your cards, and you have a bunch of singles too. If the opponent plays a pair of twos, what will you do?”
Old Zhou stared at the four threes, then at Wang Erma’s pair of twos (actually two red twos), swallowed, and said, “Wait… wait until the opponent plays all their singles, then I’ll bomb.”
“Can you wait that long?” Xiao Li came over and laid the draft paper on the table. “If the opponent has a straight, they’ll finish in one go. You just keep your bomb as decoration?”
“That’s right.” Wang Erma picked up the four threes, split them into two pairs, and laid one pair down. “Look, split into pairs of threes, you handle their pair of twos first. The other two threes can follow singles later. Isn’t that better than clutching the whole bomb?”
Old Zhou stared at the two threes on the table, his brow furrowed like a knot. His hand hovered over the cards, hesitant. “Once split, it’s not a bomb anymore… such a waste.”
“What’s so wasteful?” Wang Erma reassembled the four threes. “Bombs are for winning, not treasures to hide. Last time in Landlord, if you’d split four threes early, you wouldn’t have been ‘springed’ by the opponent.”
At the mention of last time, Old Zhou’s face flushed red. He lowered his head to pick sunflower seed husks from the table cracks. “That’s different… Landlord uses one deck; Six Clash uses four decks. Bombs are precious.”
“Precious or not, you have to know how to use them.” Wang Erma sighed and scooted over to give Old Zhou space. “Come on, try it yourself.” He picked out four fives, three sevens, and a pair of tens, laying them in front of Old Zhou. “Suppose you have these cards, and I play a pair of nines. What do you do?”
Old Zhou examined the cards for a long while, poked the four fives, then withdrew and fiddled with the pair of tens. “Pair of tens can beat pair of nines,” he muttered, placing the tens on the table. “No need to break the bomb.”
“Good.” Wang Erma nodded, then pulled out two jacks. “I play pair of jacks. How about now?”
Old Zhou’s face fell. Besides the four fives, only three sevens and singles remained on the table. He gripped the four fives so tightly his knuckles whitened, lips pressed together as if sulking.
“Break it.” Little Bai squatted nearby, cracking the sunflower seeds Lady Meng had given her. “Split into pairs of fives to beat the jacks!”
“No!” Old Zhou immediately objected, clutching the four fives closer. “Once broken, no bomb! What if there’s a bigger play later?”
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“What bigger play can be worse than losing now?” Wang Erma pushed the pair of jacks closer to him. “If you don’t split, you lose this round. What good is your bomb? Show it off to the Judge? He’s not handing out prizes.”
Old Zhou hesitated, eyes darting between the four fives and the pair of jacks on the table. Sweat beaded at his nose tip. Xiao Li wrote a line of poetry and handed it to him: “‘Four fives, don’t clutch to death; split into pairs, turn the game; keeping unused is just empty love.’”
Old Zhou took it, staring at the poem for a long moment before looking up at Wang Erma. Wang Erma didn’t rush him—he leisurely brushed paste on another clipped card, a two of spades clipped by Little Bai yesterday. The paste gave it a golden-edged look.
“I…” Old Zhou trembled, holding the four fives. “I’ll try?”
“Go ahead.” Wang Erma nodded. “If you break it wrong, I’ll compensate you—these cards aren’t worth much anyway.”
Old Zhou took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and laid the four fives on the table, reaching out to split them. Nervous, his hand shook, and instead of pairs, he separated one five and three fives. Opening his eyes, he flushed deeper and hurriedly gathered the three fives back to try again.
“Take your time, don’t rush.” Little Hei handed him a clean cloth—pulled from the Grim Reaper’s hat—for wiping sweat. Old Zhou accepted it, wiped his nose, and carefully split the four fives into two pairs, pushing them forward: “Pair… pair of fives.”
“That’s more like it.” Wang Erma smiled and put away the jacks. “See? Breaking it up doesn’t lose you any meat and can beat me.”
Old Zhou looked at the two pairs of fives, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he quickly suppressed it and solemnly gathered the cards. “That’s… just luck.”
“Luck is part of skill.” Wang Erma laid out a more complex hand this time: four twos, a pair of kings, three queens, and two singles—six and nine. “Here’s the tough one.” He took out three tens. “I play ‘three with one’—three tens with a four. What do you do?”
Old Zhou’s gaze sharpened. The four twos were the biggest bomb, but he had three queens that could beat the three tens. However, the queens alone couldn’t carry the extra card the opponent played, so he’d have to bring along a single card if he played the queens.
“Use the three queens,” Little Bai leaned over, “bring the six to cover it perfectly!”
Old Zhou said nothing, poking the three queens, then eyeing the four twos. Wang Erma saw through his thoughts: “Don’t think about bombing the ‘three with one’—that’s a waste. Bombs are for clearing straights or big pairs.”
“I know…” Old Zhou muttered, but his hand still drifted toward the four twos. In his entire ghostly life, he’d rarely dared to use bombs. Holding a set of solid cards felt like something to save for a crucial moment—even if that moment never came.
“Look,” Wang Erma nudged the three tens toward him. “Opponent plays ‘three with one.’ Use three queens plus six to cover it. You’ll still have a pair of kings, four twos, and single nine left. Later, if opponent plays pair of aces, you use your kings; if you can’t beat that, split the four twos into pairs of twos to cover the twos. Problem solved.”
“Split… split four twos?” Old Zhou jumped up like his foot had been stepped on. “Those are four twos! The biggest bomb! Splitting is like squandering!”
“Splitting bombs isn’t squandering, it’s smart living.” Wang Erma stood up, shorter by half a head but standing straight. “If you keep the four twos, and the opponent hasn’t played a bigger bomb, your bomb’s useless. Split into pairs to beat pair of aces; split into singles to beat single aces—that’s using your cards wisely.”
“But… what if the opponent has five threes?” Old Zhou stubbornly argued. “Six Clash can’t have five identical cards! The Judge said so!”
“Even if there are five threes, four twos can’t beat that!” Wang Erma laughed at his obstinacy. “Five threes beat four twos. Holding on won’t help!”
“Then… what if there isn’t?” Old Zhou stiffened his neck, clutching the four twos unwilling to let go. “If I split and the opponent has no big bomb, won’t I lose out?”
“What’s that called?” Wang Erma pointed at the cards. “That’s like starving while clutching gold! No matter how precious the four twos are, if you can’t play them, what good are they? Last time in the rookie tournament, if you’d split four threes early to cover opponent’s pair of kings, you wouldn’t have had to bomb blindly at the end.”
Mentioning the rookie tournament silenced Old Zhou. He lowered his head, fingers rubbing the faces of the four twos. They were new cards, made of red spider lily paper, with faint patterns visible in the light—special cards from the Underworld’s card gate, much thicker than normal decks.
Xiao Li wrote a longer poem and recited it to Old Zhou: “‘Brother Zhou, don’t fret; four twos, don’t clutch to ruin; split into pairs to pass the level; keeping unused is empty love. Opponent plays pair of aces, you have pairs of twos to beat; opponent plays single ace, single twos can block; flexible splitting wins the game; Lord Ma’s team will take the crown.’”
Old Zhou’s shoulders slowly slumped as he listened. He set the four twos on the table, hesitated, reached out, but his fingertips recoiled as if burned.
“Need help?” Little Hei reached to split the cards, but Old Zhou pushed his hand away.
“I’ll do it myself,” he whispered, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and split the four twos into two piles. When he opened his eyes, Wang Erma and Xiao Li were stunned—he hadn’t split them into pairs, but rather four single twos, laid out neatly in a row like little ghosts standing in line.
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“That’s…” Wang Erma pointed at the four single twos on the table, speechless for a long moment. “Are you breaking the bomb or breaking the house?”
“Singles can still be used.” Old Zhou straightened his neck and defended himself. “Look, if opponent plays single ten, I can beat it with single two; single jack, also with single two; single queen…”
“You’ve got four single twos, so you can beat four singles, but what if the opponent plays pair of aces? Can one single two beat that?” Wang Erma held his forehead, half laughing, half crying. “You’re splitting too finely! Bombs are broken to use, not to throw away!”
“What if singles can win?” Old Zhou stubbornly clutched the four singles. “Last time I won with singles—though you told me to bomb—but singles do have their uses!”
“That was a special case!” Wang Erma took the singles and rearranged them into pairs. “Splitting depends on the situation. Split into pairs when needed, singles when needed. Don’t split everything blindly. For example, if you have four twos and a pair of kings, and opponent plays pair of aces, split into pairs; if you have single king and opponent plays single ace, split into singles—that’s flexibility.”
Old Zhou stared at the two pairs of twos on the table, then at Wang Erma’s three tens, and muttered, “I… I can’t remember all this.”
“Then practice.” Wang Erma pushed the cards toward him. “Nothing else today, just practice splitting. Once you get it right, I’ll treat you to Lady Meng’s sweet soup—unlimited.”
“Really?” Old Zhou’s eyes lit up—Lady Meng’s sweet soup was a rare treat in the Underworld, usually only a small bowl after winning a game. Unlimited meant he could drink three big bowls.
“Really.” Wang Erma nodded. “But you have to practice hard. No more splitting four twos into singles.”
“Okay!” Old Zhou nodded firmly, picked up the cards, and began to experiment. He first arranged the four twos into two pairs, then took the three queens, and after thinking, split them into a pair and a single, placing the single queen next to the six.
Xiao Li came over and couldn’t help laughing. “This time you split right! Brother Zhou is getting it!”
Old Zhou blushed and hurriedly gathered the cards as if he hadn’t heard. Little Bai squatted nearby, helping Wang Erma stack the glued cards. When they reached the thirtieth card, she suddenly exclaimed, “Lord Ma! Lady Meng is here!”
Everyone looked up to see Lady Meng entering from outside the City God Temple, carrying a wooden tray with three bowls of sweet soup steaming hot, alongside a small dish of sunflower seeds. “Finished gluing the cards?” She set the tray down. “I made fresh sweet soup with osmanthus. Try it.”
“Lady Meng, Old Zhou just split four twos into singles!” Little Bai blurted out, handing a bowl to Old Zhou. “But now he knows how to split into pairs, so here’s a sweet soup reward!”
Old Zhou accepted it, his face redder still, sipping quietly, avoiding Lady Meng’s gaze. Lady Meng smiled and patted his shoulder. “Splitting cards is like making soup—you have to put in just the right things. Sweet soup can’t have bitter herbs, and bombs can’t be split too finely. Practice slowly and you’ll learn.”
Wang Erma took a sip of the sweet soup; the osmanthus flavor slid warmly down his throat. He watched Old Zhou sip quietly while furtively glancing at the cards on the table, fingers moving under the table as if practicing splitting. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Don’t rush,” he pushed another bowl to Xiao Li. “The Six Clash competition is still a while away. We’ll practice every day. Once you master splitting, then we practice teamwork. We’ll definitely win the championship.”
“Winning the championship means more sweet soup?” Old Zhou suddenly looked up, eyes sparkling.
“Yes!” Wang Erma thumped his chest. “Win the championship, and Lady Meng will make you a big vat to drink every day!”
Old Zhou nodded vigorously, drained his bowl, set it down, and grabbed the cards. “I’ll practice now! I’ll practice splitting four threes! Four fours!”
Xiao Li quickly picked up his pen and wrote on the scrap paper: “‘Old Zhou practices splitting cards, energy soaring sky-high, sweet soup as motivation, Six Clash to decide the crown’—Lord Ma, how’s that?”
“Better than the Judge’s rulebook.” Wang Erma smiled and nodded, looking down at the cards on the table. The setting sun streamed through the temple windows, gilding the faces of the four twos. Old Zhou carefully split them into two pairs and looked up at Wang Erma, as if waiting for praise.
Little Hei and Little Bai squatted nearby, helping arrange the cards, quietly debating “split into pairs or singles.” Lady Meng sat by the table, slowly wiping the small brush used for gluing. The breeze from outside carried the scent of flowers from the Bridge of Helplessness, rustling Xiao Li’s draft paper, and the “splitting card poem” fluttered high like a small flag.
Wang Erma suddenly felt that even if Old Zhou still split bombs into shreds, even if the many cards of Six Clash overwhelmed his memory, as long as they were all here together, even if their hands went numb from shuffling, it would all be worth it—because here, winning or losing didn’t matter. Having someone to slowly practice with was better than anything.