Chapter Twenty-Two: Old Zhao Takes the Stage — The “Four-Challenge Champion” with an Uncanny Memory for Cards

Underworld Card Games: From Landlord to Four-Deck Rush
Volume 2, Chapter 22: Old Zhao Appears: Is the "Four-Deck Champion" a Master of Card Counting?

The incense altar in the City God Temple still bore the half-inch-deep impressions of the card table. The sweet soup stains on the edge of the altar had been baked light yellow by the sun, looking as if the wood had been rimmed with candied fruit. Wang Er-Ma was pulling cards out of the soup bowl card rack with his fingertips. As he did, his finger slipped, and three cards "slapped" onto the altar. The topmost card, a Heart Jack, had a piece of crushed lotus seed stuck to its corner—a remnant from Meng Po’s soup—which obscured the eye of the imp on the card face into a crescent shape, making it look as if it were smiling at him.

"Master Ma, this deck has become possessed!" Little Li leaned in, poking the Heart Jack with his fingertip. "It wasn't this lively when we were playing against the imps yesterday."

"We won the first hand, so it’s happy, too." Wang Er-Ma stacked the cards neatly, leaving a gap when he inserted them into the soup bowl. "Look at Old Zhou; he’s more nervous than the cards are."

Old Zhou was squatting by the altar, using his sleeve to wipe a Diamond 5 that had been stained with a blade of grass—a stray bit from when the table had floated earlier. He wiped it with such meticulous care that he even picked off the fuzz trapped in the card's grooves. "Master Ma, do we really not need a break?" he asked, looking up with dust on the tip of his nose. "My hands are still shaking—my heart almost jumped out of my chest when I dropped those cards earlier."

Across from them, the three imps were squatting on the ground counting the cards. The tall, thin one gathered the cards into a small pile while the round-faced imp peeked over his arm. "Are there really only three left? If I’d known, I wouldn't have argued with that old man about whether 'single cards could be played'." The short, chubby imp sat nearby drawing circles on the ground. "It’s all the Judge's fault for insisting that 'the Four-Deck rules must be followed.' If we’d just conceded and played our cards earlier, we wouldn't have dropped them when the soup bowl wobbled."

The Judge walked over, clutching his rulebook. Just as he was about to speak, a tattered cattail fan drifted into the entrance of the card area. The fan face had been patched three times, the bamboo ribs were polished smooth, and a string of peach wood beads dangled from the handle, swaying as it approached. Following the fan was an old man in a black cloth jacket, walking with a slow, leisurely gait. His sleeves were stained with ink, making him look more like someone who had just stepped out of a study than the legendary "God of Gamblers."

"Is that..." Little Li began to ask, but just then, Meng Po came around the soup stall carrying an earthenware bowl, a pair of bamboo chopsticks resting on the rim. "That’s Old Zhao, the Underworld Four-Deck champion." She placed the bowl in front of Wang Er-Ma; the lotus seed soup inside was still steaming. "They say that when he was alive, he was a master of Pai Gow in a teahouse. Once he came to the Underworld, he became obsessed with Four-Deck. He always says, 'Four decks of cards? I could count them with my eyes closed.'"

Wang Er-Ma raised an eyebrow and glanced at the door. Old Zhao was having the two imps place a blue-and-white porcelain inkstone on the stone table. Beside the inkstone was a yellowed piece of paper with the words "Card Counting Chart" scrawled in crooked calligraphy. "Count with his eyes closed?" He scoffed, popping a lotus seed into his mouth. "He’d better check if he can even tell a Heart from a Diamond when his eyes are open."

No sooner had he spoken than Old Zhao arrived at the card table, swaying his fan. He surveyed Wang Er-Ma’s soup bowl rack and then peeked at the blue cloth bag tucked into Old Zhou’s embrace. He tapped his fan handle against his palm. "You must be Wang Er-Ma? The one who won the beginner’s tournament by shouting about 'community rules' during Landlord?"

"I wouldn't dare claim such a title," Wang Er-Ma said, leaning back in his chair and tapping the rim of his soup bowl. "It’s still better than certain people who carry a 'Card Counting Chart' but mistake three Queens for three Kings."

Old Zhao’s fan paused, nearly brushing the inkstone on the stone table. "That was just a slip of the eyes last time!" He sat down by the inkstone, neck stiff, his bamboo chair creaking. "Over a hundred cards in four decks—what’s a couple of suit errors? Today, I’ll show you what real skill is."

With that, he gestured to the two imps. "Bring me my 'counting brush'."

The imp quickly handed over a writing brush wrapped in red string. Old Zhao took it, dipped it in some clear water, and drew a small circle in the center of the inkstone. "See this? I draw a mark for every card played. Who played what, how many are left—it’s all crystal clear. Unlike some people who just rely on blind guessing."

"Drawing circles to count cards?" Wang Er-Ma chuckled, pulling a Spade 3 from his soup bowl. "Even the kids in my neighborhood don't use that trick for their homework—they use chalk, which is much more convenient than your brush."

Old Zhao slammed the brush onto the inkstone and huffed. "Stop with the slick talk! Shuffle the cards. I’ll let you go first."

"No, no." Wang Er-Ma shifted aside, revealing the pile of cards at the corner of the table. "You’re the champion; you should show off your shuffling skills—so you don't claim I cheated later when you lose."

Old Zhao was choked into a slight cough. He rolled up his sleeves and began to rake through the cards. His shuffling was indeed flashier than the Judge’s; his fingers twisted and the cards fluttered like the wings of a chain of butterflies, making a *rustling* sound. Old Zhou pursed his lips, whispering, "Master Ma, his hands are smoother than a pancake vendor’s."

"What’s the use of smooth?" Wang Er-Ma replied in a low voice. His sharp eyes caught Old Zhao’s finger slipping, causing two cards to "slap" onto the ground—a Heart 3 covering a Diamond 3. As Old Zhao bent down to pick them up, he pressed his fingers against the Diamond 3 before tucking it back into the deck.

Little White, who was squatting under the table picking up melon seed shells dropped by Old Zhou, saw this and immediately winked at Wang Er-Ma. Wang Er-Ma said nothing, only tilted his head toward Old Zhou. Old Zhou understood immediately and shoved his blue cloth bag further under the table, terrified that Old Zhao might see the "treasure cards" inside.

Old Zhao pushed the shuffled cards onto the table, chest puffed out. "Look closely! Shuffled perfectly! Deal the cards, Judge!"

The Judge walked over, counted the cards three times, and then slowly dealt them to the four players. The cards fell one by one into the soup bowls. Wang Er-Ma’s bowl was quickly full. Just as he was about to move the cards onto the altar, Old Zhao suddenly spoke up: "Wang Er-Ma, don't shake that soup bowl—cards stained with soup are considered dead cards. It’s written in the rules."

"These are card racks given by Meng Po; they’re only 'down to earth' if they’ve got a little soup on them." Wang Er-Ma inserted a Heart Ace into his bowl. "Still better than that inkstone of yours. Having to draw circles to count cards? I suppose you’ve forgotten the time you played a Club 10 as a Diamond 10 yesterday."

Old Zhao’s face turned bright red. He grabbed the brush and drew a crooked "10" on the inkstone. "That was an accident! Four decks have too many suits—it’s normal to get them mixed up!" He lowered his head to sort his cards, his fingers tapping back and forth as he muttered, "Six Hearts, five Spades... where are the Diamonds?" He hurriedly drew a "Dia" character on the side of the inkstone, the clear water from the brush tip dripping onto the stone table and blooming into a small ring.

Little Li leaned into Wang Er-Ma’s ear and recited a poem he’d just written: "'Champion Old Zhao puts on a show, counting cards with an inkstone, but Hearts and Diamonds he can't distinguish, better to learn to guess like the rest of us.' Master Ma, is that catchy enough?"

"Catchy, just don't let him hear it." Wang Er-Ma had just finished speaking when he noticed Old Zhou’s hand trembling as he gripped his cards, the corner of a "3" peeking through his fingers. "What’s wrong?" he asked quickly.

Old Zhou pressed his cards down into the soup bowl and lowered his voice. "Master Ma, I have five 3s here... how can there be five in four decks?"

"In an Underworld card game, an extra card now and then isn't strange." Wang Er-Ma patted the back of his hand. "Keep them hidden. We’ll give the champion a surprise later."

As soon as he finished, Old Zhao looked up and glared. "What are you whispering about? Play if you’ve got cards! I’ve been keeping track—you have three Kings in your hand!"

Wang Er-Ma was stunned. He looked down and sifted through his cards—there were only two Queens in his bowl, where would the Kings come from? He laughed. "Old Zhao, did you mix up your cards with mine? Should I help you count them?"

Old Zhao hurriedly looked down to sort his own cards. After a long while, he pulled three Kings from his pile, his face turning even redder. "I... I was just testing you! Do you even understand tactics?"

"Understand, I understand." Wang Er-Ma suppressed a laugh. "Play your cards, Champion, don't let the water on your inkstone dry up."

Old Zhao cleared his throat and placed three cards on the table. "I play three 5s!"

Just as Wang Er-Ma was about to reach for his three 6s, Old Zhou tugged his sleeve and pointed at Old Zhao’s hand—his knuckles were white, just as they had been when he held four Aces before. "He has a bomb," Old Zhou whispered.

Wang Er-Ma nodded and pulled his hand back. "I can't beat that."

Old Zhao’s eyes lit up, and he waved his fan triumphantly. "Knew you couldn't handle it!" He pulled out four cards and laid them on the table. "I play four 7s! A bomb!"

"Here we go!" Old Zhou’s eyes went round. Just as he was about to pull out the five 3s, Wang Er-Ma pressed his hand down again. "Don't rush, his bomb is small." Wang Er-Ma said to Old Zhao, "Your bomb is too small, I can't be bothered to beat it."

Old Zhao was even more smug, waving his fan. "See? This is the benefit of card counting! I knew you didn't have a big bomb!" He pulled another stack of cards and laid them on the table. "I play a sequence from 3 to 7! Five cards!"

Wang Er-Ma glanced at his pile and saw the corner of a Diamond 3 peeking out—the sequence he just played clearly already had a 3 in it. "Old Zhao," he asked intentionally, "is the 3 in that sequence a Heart?"

Old Zhao blurted out, "That’s right!"

"But why is there a Diamond 3 in your pile?" Wang Er-Ma pointed at his pile. "In Four-Deck, sequences have to be the same suit, right? Mixing them doesn't count, does it?"

Old Zhao hurriedly looked down at his cards, his face turning pale—in his rush to complete the sequence, he had mixed the Diamond 3 and the Heart 3. He quickly snatched the cards back. "I miscounted! Not playing those!" He pulled out a single card and laid it on the table. "I play a single Diamond 3!"

"He just said it was a Heart," Little Li muttered from the side. "His card counting is faster than my memory loss."

Old Zhao ignored him, neck stiff. "Your turn!"

Wang Er-Ma pulled out a 4. "I play a 4."

Old Zhao sifted through his cards for a long time, his face wrinkling in frustration. "Where is my 5? I remember having a 5!" He hurriedly used his brush to draw a "5" next to the "Dia" on the inkstone, and then savagely drew an X over it. "Did I miscount?"

"Want me to lend you one?" Wang Er-Ma teased.

"No!" Old Zhao waved his hand stubbornly. "I don't have any!"

"My turn!" Old Zhou finally dared to play his cards, pulling out two and laying them on the table. "I play a pair of 6s!"

Old Zhao hurriedly pulled out a pair of 7s. "I play a pair of 7s!"

"I play a pair of 10s!" Little Li followed.

"I play a pair of Queens!" Old Zhao gritted his teeth as he searched his cards.

Wang Er-Ma pulled out a pair of Kings and set them on the table. "I play a pair of Kings."

Old Zhao was completely out of cards now, left with only a few single cards in his pile. He was so anxious he nearly snapped his fan handle. "I... I’m out of cards," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Time for the big move," Wang Er-Ma signaled to Old Zhou.

Old Zhou took a deep breath, laid the five 3s on the table, his hand still shaking. "I play five 3s... a bomb."

Old Zhao jumped up at the sight. "Four decks of cards at most have four 3s! You’re cheating!"

"The Judge dealt the cards, ask him." Wang Er-Ma gestured toward the Judge.

The Judge walked over, clutching his manual. He counted the five 3s and flipped through his book. "The Underworld card rules don't forbid an extra card from being printed. It counts as legal." He nodded to Old Zhou. "Well hidden."

Old Zhao paced in circles, anxious, then pulled a Jack from his pile and slapped it on the table. "I play a Jack!"

"I play a Queen," Wang Er-Ma followed.

"I play a King!" Old Zhao pulled a card and laid it down.

Little Li pulled out a small Joker. "I play a small Joker."

Old Zhao only had one 2 left in his hand. He held it for a long time, frozen. "I... I lost?" he looked at the cards, as if he couldn't believe it.

"Otherwise?" Wang Er-Ma asked with a smile.

Old Zhao opened his mouth, then suddenly squatted down to sift through his cards. After a moment, he slapped his thigh. "Oh no! I played the Club King as a Diamond King! No wonder I ran out of cards!"

"So, not only can you not remember the count, but you can't even tell the suits apart?" Wang Er-Ma laughed.

"Four decks is just too many!" Old Zhao scratched his head, aggrieved. "Whoever can count them all is a ghost... oh, wait, I am a ghost."

Meng Po walked over with a bowl of sweet soup and handed it to him. "Brother Zhao, have some soup to calm your nerves. Playing cards in the Underworld is just for fun."

Old Zhao took the bowl, drank a sip, and sighed. "When I was alive, I could count a deck perfectly down to the last card. Here in the Underworld, I’ve become a fool."

"I’ll teach you a local trick," Wang Er-Ma leaned in. "If you can't remember, just shout it out. For example, if you guess he has a 3, just shout 'The person opposite has a 3.' You’ll remember it after a few times."

Old Zhao’s eyes lit up. "Really? You have to teach me!"

"I can teach you," Wang Er-Ma pointed at his inkstone, "but have Little Li write a card-counting poem on it so you can keep it by the table."

Little Li hurriedly pulled out his brush, dipped it in the water on the inkstone, and wrote: "'Old Zhao, don't rush when you count, keep your Hearts and Spades straight, and if you really can't remember, just shout for Master Ma to help you.' How’s that?"

Old Zhao nodded repeatedly and pushed the inkstone to the center of the table. "Stick it here! Next time we play, I’ll recite it as I go!"

Sunlight shone through the window of the City God Temple, landing on the poem on the inkstone and making the words "Master Ma" shine. Old Zhou was carefully wiping the five 3s clean and tucking them back into his blue cloth bag, muttering, "I can use these next time..." Wang Er-Ma watched Old Zhao studying the poem on the inkstone and suddenly realized that this Four-Deck champion wasn't so scary after all; he was just like an old friend who liked to be pedantic.

"Oh, right, Old Zhao," he suddenly remembered something. "Didn't you say Four-Deck is all about card counting?"

"That’s right," Old Zhao replied without looking up.

"Then do you remember how many cards I have left?"

Old Zhao paused and looked down at the inkstone—aside from the circles and crooked characters, there was no record of the card count at all. He scratched his head and set his fan on the table. "This... this inkstone is too small, it couldn't hold the count!"

Everyone laughed. The laughter made the cards on the incense altar shake lightly, and the soup stains on the edge of the altar sparkled in the sunlight like spilled sugar. Wang Er-Ma looked at Old Zhao defending himself with a red face and suddenly felt that this "head-aching" Four-Deck game was actually quite interesting—at least, with a champion who couldn't count his own cards, it was much livelier than staring at a cold, lifeless table in the human world.

(End of Chapter)