Chapter 29: Lady Meng Steps In as a Substitute and Calls Out "Brewing Soup" While Playing Her Hand

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"Underworld Card Games: From Dou Dizhu to Four-Suit Competition"
Volume 2, Chapter 29: Meng Po as a Substitute: Shouting "Simmering Soup" While Playing

The stone table at the City God Temple card venue was still littered with sunflower seed shells from the previous round. A gust of wind swirled them around, depositing them beside Old Zhou’s blue cloth bag. Old Zhou was busy stacking his winnings—underworld currency chips—into neat little piles that looked like tiny bricks, terrified that the wind might blow them away. Just as Wang Er-ma cracked a pumpkin seed, the Judge walked over to Little Li, clutching his "Record of Infractions." His spectacles slid to the tip of his nose as he spoke sternly: "You forfeited the last round, and in this one, you recited the card-tracking poem incorrectly, causing Old Zhou to misplay. According to the rules, you are suspended for one round."

Little Li flushed, his grip on his yellow paper notebook turning his knuckles white. "I... I just miscounted the number of hearts..." He had spent half the night composing his poem, mistakenly writing "four hearts" instead of "three," which led Old Zhou to believe his opponent had no hearts, resulting in a misplayed pair of 8s that got trumped.

"A mistake is a mistake," the Judge noted in his ledger. "Find a substitute. If no one is found within five minutes, you forfeit by default."

Hearing the word "forfeit," Old Zhou poked his head out of his bag. "Don't do that, Judge! We'll find a substitute! We will!" He tugged at Wang Er-ma's sleeve, his voice trembling. "Master Ma, who do we get? Little Hei and Little Bai are out delivering cards, and Meng Po... can Meng Po play cards?"

Before Wang Er-ma could answer, a clatter echoed from the entrance. Meng Po approached, carrying her soup bucket, a wooden ladle floating inside, the surface of the soup wafting with a sweet aroma. "Did I hear you calling for a substitute?" She set the bucket beside the stone table, a stray osmanthus petal clinging to her apron. "I'll do it! I’ve watched you play so many rounds, I’ve got the rules down. Isn't it just playing sequences and bombs?"

"Meng Po? Are you sure?" Wang Er-ma was surprised—usually, Meng Po only handled soup and seeds; he had never seen her play a four-suit game.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Meng Po rolled up her sleeves and fished a soup bowl out of the bucket, the bottom still coated in sweet syrup. "I'll use this bowl as a card rack; it’s steadier than your hands." She shoved Little Li's cards into the bowl, the syrup on the edge of the bowl staining the corners of the cards as if marking them.

The Judge flipped through the rulebook and nodded. "The substitute is eligible. Begin. This round is still against Old Zhao’s team."

Old Zhao had just finished a bowl of Meng Po’s sweet soup and was wiping his mouth. Seeing Meng Po step up, he raised an eyebrow. "Meng Po, you're good at simmering soup, but try not to spill it on me while playing." The last time Meng Po served soup, she had drenched the Judge, a story that had been circulating through the Underworld card circuit for days.

"Don't worry, my hands are steady." No sooner had she said this than she reached for her cards. Fumbling for a moment, she suddenly slapped her thigh. "Oh no! I didn't turn off the soup fire!" She turned to run back to her stall, but Wang Er-ma grabbed her.

"Play the cards first! The fire can wait a moment!" Wang Er-ma shoved the cards into her hand. "It's our turn. Old Zhou just played a pair of 10s. See if you can top it."

Meng Po finally settled down, peering into the bowl and shuffling the cards with her fingers. The syrup residue made the cards damp. "I... I have a pair of Jacks!" She pulled out two Jacks and placed them on the table. No sooner had she set them down than she frowned. "Wait, shouldn't I have added red dates to the soup? Old Zhou said yesterday it wasn't sweet enough..."

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"Forget the red dates for now!" Wang Er-ma interrupted. "Old Zhao is about to play!"

Old Zhao stifled a laugh and played a pair of Queens. "Pair of Queens, topping your Jacks."

Meng Po peered back into the bowl. After a long search, she pulled out a single King, muttering, "If that pot of soup boils dry, I won't have any to sell this afternoon. Little Hei is waiting to soak his seeds in it..." She tossed the single King onto the table, her voice airy.

Old Zhao was about to mock her for wasting a single card, but he suddenly froze. He happened to have a single Queen, which he had intended to save for the end, but now it was trumped by Meng Po’s King. He could only watch as the turn passed. "You... did you do that on purpose?" Old Zhao was baffled.

"Huh? Do what on purpose?" Meng Po hadn't even realized what happened. She patted her soup bowl. "I just wanted to finish the hand and go turn off the fire. I just grabbed the first card I saw."

Wang Er-ma nearly burst out laughing. Meng Po’s "distracted play" was proving more effective than Little Li’s poem. He signaled to Old Zhou, who understood immediately and played a "Three-with-one" (three 9s and a 5).

Old Zhao’s team had no "Three-with-one" to top it, so they had to let Old Zhou continue. When it came to Meng Po’s turn, she started digging through the bowl again. She pulled out five cards—a sequence from 4 to 8—and was just about to play them when she cried out, "Oh! I didn't take the ladle out of the bucket! It’s going to fall in..."

"Play the sequence first! The ladle won't go anywhere!" Wang Er-ma prompted.

Meng Po slapped the sequence onto the table, not forgetting to shout, "Stir-fried sequence from 4 to 8! Like stir-frying greens, you have to get all the ingredients together to make it fragrant!" Her teammates on Old Zhao’s side couldn't help but laugh, nearly dropping their cards.

"Stir-fried greens?" Old Zhao said irritably. "This is a card game, not cooking!" He checked his hand, couldn't find a sequence to beat the 4-8, and gritted his teeth, letting Meng Po continue.

Meng Po was in the zone now. She pulled four 10s from the bowl and slammed them onto the table. "Bomb! This thing is like the high heat for simmering soup—it burns hottest when it explodes!"

With a "snap," the four 10s landed on the stone table, shaking Old Zhao’s teacup and splashing some sweet soup onto the cards. Old Zhao stared at the four 10s, his eyes wide. "How... how do you have another bomb?"

"I just drew it." Meng Po looked innocent, reaching out to wipe the syrup off the cards. "Oh dear, I spilled the soup. Don't let the cards get wet, or I won't be able to tell the suits apart." As she wiped, she suddenly noticed a slip of paper stuck to the corner of a card—it had accidentally drifted into the bowl that morning. It read: "Opponent lacks sequences; if you have a bomb, blow it." She had meant to pass the note to Wang Er-ma, but it had stuck to the cards and she had drawn it herself.

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Wang Er-ma saw the note too and quickly smoothed things over. "Meng Po is 'possessed by the Soup God'! She can even draw sequences and bombs!"

Old Zhou couldn't stop grinning, patting Meng Po on the shoulder. "Sister Meng, you're better at blowing bombs than I am!"

Old Zhao’s team was completely defeated—they were left with only a few single cards, which Meng Po finished off with another "Three-with-one," leaving them no chance to play. The Judge clicked his abacus for a long time before looking up. "Master Ma’s team wins this round. Their score increases by 5 points, giving them an 8-point lead over Old Zhao’s team."

"We won!" Little Li came running from the sidelines, his yellow notebook flying. "Sister Meng, you're amazing! You play better than I do!"

Only then did Meng Po remember the fire. She grabbed her bucket and raced toward her stall. "Oh no! My soup!" After running two steps, she turned back and shoved the cards from the bowl into Wang Er-ma’s hands. "Keep these for me! I'll play again when I get back from turning off the fire!"

Watching Meng Po’s hurried figure, everyone burst into laughter. Old Zhao sighed and cracked a seed. "This isn't card playing; it's watching Meng Po simmer soup and winning by accident. I give up."

Wang Er-ma picked up the wooden ladle Meng Po had dropped, the handle still coated in sweet syrup. "This is called 'unintentional success.' Meng Po, the substitute, is more effective than the starter." He placed the ladle into the bucket and looked at Old Zhou, who was stuffing his new winnings into his bag, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

Little Li squatted on the ground, composing a poem about Meng Po’s performance. In his notebook, he wrote: "Meng Po stepped in to save the day, thinking of soup while she played. With a casual bomb, the game was won, the Soup God's legend has just begun." He recited it to Wang Er-ma, who nodded with a smile. "Good poem! Let’s have Meng Po substitute more often."

The wind at the card venue picked up again, carrying the fragrance of sweet soup and the crunch of seeds, spreading Little Li’s poem far and wide. Wang Er-ma looked at the cards on the stone table and the soup bucket, suddenly feeling that this four-suit game, with Meng Po as the "Soup God Substitute," was far more lively than the victory itself.