Chapter Twenty-One: The First Four Consecutive Wins: Holding Twenty-Eight Cards in Hand

Volume Two, Chapter Twenty-One: The First Quadruple Bomb: Holding 28 Cards

The incense table at the City God Temple’s gambling hall had been temporarily converted into a card table. The edges were still stained with broth splashes from the last time the Judge had spilled soup, and though Xiao Hei wiped it three times with a cloth, a faint yellow ring remained, like an uneven border framing the table. On the table sat four soup bowls—delivered early by Meng Po, who claimed they were the exclusive card holders for the “Ma Master Team.” At the bottom of each bowl lay dried red spider lily petals, soft to the touch, much more comfortable than a stone table.

Wang Erma squatted beside the table, watching Xiao Hei and Xiao Bai carry over the card boxes. The boxes were made of peachwood, carved with the crooked characters “Underworld Card Vault,” handwritten by King Yan during the recent novice Landlord tournament. One corner of a box was chipped, revealing straw inside. Xiao Bai quickly brushed it off with his sleeve. “Ma Master, these four decks are all new, printed on red spider lily paper—colors won’t fade!”

“New or not isn’t the point,” Wang Erma said, stroking his chin as he circled the box. “The main question is… are these really meant for four players? Look at the height—twice the stack on my community card table. Didn’t they tangle while shuffling?”

“They did!” Xiao Hei interrupted eagerly. “Yesterday, Xiao Bai and I shuffled three times. Each time, the cards twisted into a braid. Finally, the Judge dipped a brush in Meng Po’s soup and swiped between the cards to separate them—hence the faint sweetness on them now.”

Just then, Old Zhou shuffled over, clutching a blue cloth pouch. Half a handful of melon seeds peeked from the opening—the “Lucky Seeds” Meng Po had awarded yesterday. He set the pouch on the table corner, rubbed his hand on his chest, then fumbled inside and pulled out a wrinkled paper. “Ma Master, I drew a ‘Card Position Map’ last night, thinking that four decks are too many. Maybe we can sort them by piles…”

Wang Erma took the paper and saw six small circles drawn with charcoal, labeled “Hearts,” “Spades,” “Diamonds,” “Clubs,” “Jokers,” and “Bombs.” Next to the circles was a small figure with a bowl on its head—the very same soup bowl card holder Meng Po had provided. “Nice, Old Zhou,” Wang Erma chuckled. “Better than Xiao Li’s poems! We’ll arrange them according to your map later.”

Xiao Li came running in, a cloth bag slung over his back with a brush hanging from it. He shouted, “Ma Master! I composed the opening verse for the ‘Quadruple Bomb Card Counting Poem’! Listen—‘Four decks piled high like a mountain, hearts and spades must be distinguished; sequences start from five cards, bombs ranked by size don’t forget.’ How’s that?”

“How’s that?” Wang Erma patted his shoulder. “When you forget the cards later, just recite that. If you mess up, you peel melon seeds as punishment.”

“Here comes the Judge!” Xiao Bai suddenly jumped up, pointing toward the entrance of the gambling area.

Everyone turned to see the Judge approaching, hands behind his back, still wearing the official robe embroidered with “Fairness,” though its hem was stained with ink—leftover from writing the quadruple bomb rules yesterday. He carried a bamboo basket containing an abacus with wooden beads clacking softly.

“Everyone’s here?” The Judge placed the basket on the table; the abacus struck a soup bowl with a clatter. “Today is the ‘Ma Master Team’s’ first quadruple bomb tournament. As per protocol, let’s verify your entry tickets first.”

Wang Erma quickly pulled out the quadruple bomb admission ticket printed on red spider lily paper and handed it over. The Judge held it up to the sunlight, then pulled out a “Participant Roster,” dipped his brush in saliva, and checked off “Wang Erma.” “Old Zhou, Xiao Li, sign here too.”

Old Zhou’s hand trembled as he signed, accidentally piercing the paper with the brush tip, quickly smoothing it with his thumbnail. Xiao Li eagerly signed and doodled a small flower next to his name but was glared at by the Judge, who made him smear it out with ink.

“All set,” the Judge put away the roster and placed the abacus before him. “Your opponents today are the ‘Novice Team,’ three youngsters who just passed the Landlord novice tournament. You’ll warm up first. Remember the rules: sequences start at five cards; bombs are ranked by the number of cards; four players split into two teams, taking turns as dealer; no proxy card holding; no peeking…”

“Got it, got it!” Wang Erma interrupted. “If you keep reciting, the sun’ll set. Just deal the cards!”

The Judge shot him a glare, then pulled out four decks from the box and dumped them on the table. The cards were numerous, red and black spread over half the table, edges slightly curling, faintly scented with Meng Po’s soup sweetness. The Judge began shuffling, fingers flying through the cards, the sound thrice as loud as during Landlord games, making Old Zhou at the table’s edge shrink back.

“Ma Master, do we really have to shuffle this much?” Old Zhou whispered. “Won’t your hands get sore?”

“Even if sore, we must,” Wang Erma said, eyes fixed on the Judge’s deft hands. “Look how slick he is; he probably practiced in secret.”

Just then, the Judge finished shuffling and began dealing. He dealt slower than for Landlord, counting each card aloud: “One, two, three… four decks total 184 cards, four players, 28 cards each—correct.”

Cards fell one by one into Wang Erma’s soup bowl. At first, they stood upright, but by the tenth card, the bowl was full; the rest piled beside it like a small mound. Wang Erma tried to fan out the cards, but as he lifted his hand, the top three dropped with a snap onto the floor near Old Zhou’s feet.

“I’ll pick them up!” Old Zhou quickly squatted, pinching the corners to lift the cards, blowing off dust before handing them back. “A five of hearts, two sevens of diamonds.”

“Thanks, Old Zhou,” Wang Erma stuffed the cards into the pile. “Is your bowl full yet?”

Old Zhou peered into his bowl, packed to the brim, edges nearly collapsing. He cupped his hand protectively. “Full, full. I dare not move it, afraid it’ll all fall.”

Xiao Li’s side was even livelier. He complained the bowl couldn’t hold all his cards, so he spread them on the table in a large “big” shape, muttering, “Five hearts, seven spades... Wait, where was I counting?” As he shuffled through the cards, two slipped under the table. Xiao Bai, crouched beneath picking melon seeds, handed one up: “Brother Li, that’s the King of Clubs!”

“Thanks, Xiao Bai!” Xiao Li stuffed the card back into the “big” shape. “These four decks are a real headache. My counting poem just got to ‘five hearts,’ and I already forgot how many spades I have.”

The Judge finished dealing and pushed the remaining cards to the center. He tapped the abacus twice. “Counted clearly? Twenty-eight cards each—speak up if less.”

Wang Erma counted his cards, confused until the third pass—he had 29, one too many. Just as he was about to speak, Old Zhou whispered, “Ma Master, I think I’m missing one—only 27.”

“Must be the Judge’s mistake,” Wang Erma waved it off, handing Old Zhou the extra two of diamonds. “Here, take it. The Judge’s eyesight is poor; three pairs of reading glasses don’t help.”

The Judge, explaining rules to the three novices, heard this and glared back. “Wang Erma! No false accusations! This Judge has never dealt wrong!” He picked up the abacus and fiddled with it, muttering, “184 divided by 4 equals 46? No… oh wait, 184 divided by 4 is 46? No! Four decks have 108 cards? No, each deck 54 cards, so four decks 216 cards! Right, 216! Four players, each 54? No!”

The three novices exchanged confused looks. One lanky boy whispered, “Judge, yesterday you said quadruple bomb uses four decks, but do we remove the jokers or not?”

“Remove!” The Judge said firmly, then suddenly hesitated. “No, quadruple bomb needs jokers… Ah, forget it! Let’s play! One card more or less won’t matter; don’t waste time!”

Wang Erma nearly laughed, whispering to Old Zhou, “See? He can’t even count himself.”

Old Zhou didn’t reply, nervously shuffling his cards until he suddenly gasped and hugged them to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Wang Erma asked.

“I… I have four Aces!” Old Zhou’s voice trembled. “A bomb!”

“Good news!” Wang Erma laughed. “More bombs, easier to win!”

“But I’m afraid to use it,” Old Zhou frowned. “If we bomb wrong in quadruple bomb, there’s a penalty. Heard you have to pay chips.”

“No penalty,” Wang Erma patted his arm. “I’m here. If you want to bomb, bomb. First, check for sequences starting at five cards—remember?”

Old Zhou nodded and sifted through his cards. After a while, he pointed to a set. “I have 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 of hearts. Is that a sequence?”

“Sure!” Wang Erma leaned in. “Exactly five cards. Play it later after seeing what the opponents do.”

The Judge finally finished explaining rules to the novices and planted a small flag on the table. “Start! Novice Team first!”

The lanky novice hesitated, then laid three threes on the table. “I play… three 3s!”

Wang Erma quickly searched his cards. “Any triple 3s here?”

Xiao Li shook his head. “Mine are singles.”

Old Zhou also shook his head. “I only have two 3s.”

“What a coincidence,” Wang Erma laughed. “I have none. Pass!”

The round-faced novice, seeing the triple 3s, quickly played four 5s. “Four 5s! Bomb!”

“Whoa, the kid’s fierce!” Wang Erma raised an eyebrow. “Old Zhou, can your four Aces beat that?”

Old Zhou quickly hugged his four Aces. “I can beat it… but what if there’s a bigger bomb later? I won’t use it yet.”

“Alright, your call,” Wang Erma waved. “Pass!”

The short, chubby novice chuckled and played a six-card sequence: 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

“Oh, he plays sequences too?” Wang Erma was surprised. “Old Zhou, can your hearts 3-7 beat that?”

“No, he’s got an 8; mine ends at 7,” Old Zhou whispered. “But I have 5-9 of spades, five cards. Can I play that?”

“Yes! 5-9 beats 3-8. Play it!” Wang Erma nodded.

Old Zhou carefully laid the spade 5-9 sequence on the table, aligned neatly like soldiers. After placing them, he shrank back, as if afraid someone might snatch them.

The short chubby novice gasped, “We don’t have a bigger sequence.”

“My turn!” Wang Erma perked up, searching his cards. “Xiao Li, play something—single, pair, triple—anything!”

Xiao Li rummaged through his cards, eyes lighting up. “I have six 2s!” He laid all six twos in a row. “Does this count as a bomb? Can I play it?”

“Of course it counts!” Wang Erma slapped his thigh. “In quadruple bomb, four or more of a kind is a bomb; six trump four. Play it! Show them what we’ve got!”

Just as Xiao Li pushed the cards forward, the Judge shouted, “Wait! Six 2s count as a bomb, but let’s see if the Novice Team can beat it!”

The three novices quickly searched their cards. The lanky one shook his head, “Our biggest bomb is four Kings.”

“That means ‘Ma Master Team’ wins this round!” The Judge clicked the abacus. “Xiao Li, well done—playing a big bomb on the first hand.”

Xiao Li blushed, scratching his head. “Just lucky.”

Old Zhou whispered to Wang Erma, “Ma Master, if he dares to play six 2s, maybe I can play my four Aces?”

“Not yet,” Wang Erma waved. “Save it for a crucial moment. We have the upper hand now; play smaller cards to test the waters.”

Just then, Meng Po entered with a tray holding four bowls of sweet soup and a plate of melon seeds. “Fresh lotus seed soup,” she said, placing bowls before each player. “Here, steady your nerves. Old Zhou, your bowl has extra lotus seeds to strengthen your courage.”

Old Zhou accepted it, cheeks flushed. “Thanks, Sister Meng Po.”

As Meng Po set down the soup, Xiao Bai suddenly shouted, “The table’s shaking!”

Everyone looked down. Indeed, the table wobbled slightly, the soup bowls trembling, almost spilling.

“What’s going on?” Wang Erma hurriedly steadied his bowl.

The Judge frowned and tapped the table leg. “Nothing serious—probably the heavy yin energy from four decks stirred the earth’s qi. Ignore it; keep playing!”

Wang Erma shrugged it off, picking up his cards. “I’ll play three 10s with a pair of 5s.” He laid the cards down, and just as they settled, the table shook again—this time harder. Xiao Li’s spread “big” shape toppled halfway, and he scrambled to catch the cards.

“Why’s the table shaking again?” Xiao Li panicked. “Is it going to collapse?”

“Not a chance,” the Judge patted the table. “The City God Temple’s incense table is solid. Must be those bombs and sequences causing the floating. That’s normal in quadruple bomb. When many sequences or bombs come out, the table tends to float. Just get used to it.”

“Float?” Wang Erma’s eyes widened. “This table can actually float?”

“Last time, Old Zhao played a ten-card sequence. The table floated all the way to the rafters,” the Judge said casually. “In the end, Xiao Hei and Xiao Bai had to fetch the cards down with a ladder.”

Old Zhou paled, clutching his cards tighter. “If it floats, what if my cards fall? I haven’t even bombed yet!”

“Cards that fall are lost!” the Judge glared. “Rules say fallen cards are invalid!”

“Don’t listen to him,” Wang Erma patted Old Zhou’s hand. “If it floats, just hold the table legs. Cards won’t fall. Let’s keep playing!”

No sooner had he said that than the lanky novice played three Queens with a pair of 9s: “Beats your three 10s!”

“Oh, some fire!” Wang Erma searched his cards. “Any triple Kings?”

Xiao Li nodded, holding up three Kings with a pair of Jacks. He laid the cards down, and the table shook again—this time it floated half an inch, distorting the shadows beneath.

Xiao Bai clung to the table edge, eyes sparkling. “It’s really floating! Ma Master, look!”

Wang Erma looked down and saw the table legs half an inch off the ground, explaining the earlier wobble. He gripped his soup bowl holder tightly. “Don’t move! The more you move, the worse it gets!”

Old Zhou shut his eyes, clutching the table edge, muttering, “Don’t float, don’t float… I haven’t bombed yet…”

The three novices were thrilled. The short, chubby one clapped, “Floating tables are fun! Way better than Landlord!”

The Judge tapped the abacus. “Enough fooling! Keep playing! Novice Team, can you beat the three Kings?”

The novices searched again and shook their heads. “No.”

“Good!” Wang Erma perked up. “Old Zhou, your hearts 3-7 sequence!”

Old Zhou, eyes still closed, carefully laid the hearts 3 to 7 on the table. As soon as the cards landed, the table shot upward half an inch more—now one inch off the floor—causing soup to splash slightly from the bowls.

“Well, now it’s a true ‘floating card table,’” Wang Erma sighed with a wry smile. “If I’d known quadruple bomb was this intense, I wouldn’t have taken the novice championship.”

“Regret it, Ma Master?” Xiao Li whispered, sneaking close. “I just wrote a line—‘Quadruple bomb table floats midair, Ma Master steady, calm as ever.’ How’s that?”

“Not good,” Wang Erma shot a glance. “I’m anything but calm.”

Just then, the round-faced novice shouted, “We have a sequence! 4 to 8, six cards! Beats your 3 to 7!” He laid down the cards, and the table shook again, nearly toppling Wang Erma’s soup bowl.

“Damn, they’re challenging us!” Wang Erma sifted his cards. “Do we have bigger sequences—5 to 9? 6 to 10?”

Old Zhou suddenly opened his eyes, whispering, “I have 6 to 10, five cards, spades!”

“Play it!” Wang Erma nodded. “Beat theirs!”

This time, Old Zhou carefully placed the 6 to 10 sequence on the table, neat as before. As soon as the cards settled, he smiled. “Ma Master, I played it without dropping any.”

“Well done!” Wang Erma patted his shoulder. “If we win later, I’ll have Meng Po brew you three bowls of sweet soup!”

The table still hovered midair, sunlight pouring through the temple’s lattice windows, illuminating every card with clarity. Wang Erma glanced at the small mountain of cards before him, then at Old Zhou clutching the table edge with a grin. Suddenly, quadruple bomb, despite its chaos, felt more engaging than Landlord—at least, no one had ever played on a floating table in their neighborhood.

“Ma Master, your turn!” Xiao Li prompted.

Wang Erma snapped back to focus, rifling through his cards. His eyes brightened—he held four 10s, another bomb. Just as he was about to play it, Old Zhou tugged his sleeve, whispering, “Ma Master, hold it! Wait until they play a bigger bomb.”

“Alright, you’re right,” Wang Erma agreed, tucking the four 10s back into his pile. “Then I’ll play a single card! Big Joker!” He laid the Big Joker on the table, and the table vibrated with a hum, sinking half an inch—now only half an inch above the floor.

“Hey! The Big Joker works!” Wang Erma laughed. “Looks like this table fears the Big Joker too.”

The Judge rolled his eyes. “That’s because your Big Joker’s soaked in earthly yang energy, suppressing some yin. Don’t overthink it. Novice Team, can you beat the Big Joker?”

The three novices shook their heads like rattles. “No Big Joker, only Little Joker.”

“Then we win another round!” Wang Erma got excited. “Xiao Li, play your small cards, clear the singles!”

Xiao Li rummaged and pulled out a 3. “I play 3! The smallest!”

The table floated steadily half an inch, warm sunlight bathing the cards. Meng Po’s sweet soup steamed gently; Old Zhou finally loosened his grip on the table, carefully organizing his cards. Xiao Li quietly recited his counting poem—still incomplete but much better than before.

Wang Erma watched the scene and suddenly felt the 28 cards in his hand weren’t so overwhelming after all. Quadruple bomb was tough—many cards, hard to remember, with a floating table—but with Old Zhou nervously guarding bombs, Xiao Li’s improvised counting poem, Meng Po’s sweet soup, and Xiao Hei and Xiao Bai’s banter, even the hardest challenge seemed manageable.

“Ma Master,” Old Zhou pulled his sleeve again, eyes shining. “If we win later, does that mean we can advance to the next tournament?”

“Absolutely,” Wang Erma patted his hand. “Play well, and if we win, I’ll buy you two pounds of melon seeds—no, three!”

Old Zhou nodded vigorously, his hands lighter as he shuffled. Wang Erma looked at him, then at the three novices still sorting their cards, and thought this quadruple bomb headache wasn’t so scary after all—at least, much livelier than playing Landlord alone at home.

The Judge clicked his abacus again, ringing sharply. “Hurry up and play! Don’t dawdle! Next round, Novice Team!”

Wang Erma drew back his wandering thoughts and focused on his cards—over half of the 28 still in hand. He needed to play quickly before the table floated any higher. As for remembering cards? If he couldn’t recall, he’d just guess. After all, Wang Erma’s own wild style might just be more effective on this floating table.