Chapter Five: Xiao Bai's "Misinformation"—The King of Hell Didn't Hide the Great King

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Underworld Card Game: From Fighting Landlord to Six-Flush
Volume One, Chapter Five: Xiao Bai’s “Wrong Intel”: The King of Hell Isn’t Hiding the Joker

Old Zhou clutched the freshly won melon seeds, carefully tucking the four twos into the card box—beneath it lay a spirit coin he’d counted over three times that morning before reluctantly using it as a “card mat.” Meng Po was tidying the soup bucket when Xiao Bai suddenly breezed over like a gust of wind, his Black Impermanence hat skewed to one side, clutching half-eaten osmanthus cake in hand.

“Master King! Sister Meng Po!” Xiao Bai came to an abrupt halt at the card table, the brim of his hat swiping noisily across Old Zhou’s card box, startling him into hugging it close. “I’ve got a huge secret to tell you!”

Wang Erma, shelling melon seeds, looked up. “What secret? Did the judge add ‘Little King controls 2’ to the rulebook again?”

“More important than that!” Xiao Bai leaned in, lowering his voice as he glanced around—the card game in the City God Temple had just thinned out; a few little ghosts were crouched in a corner picking up seed shells, while the judge was far off comparing scoreboards with the accountant ghost, red and green marks crisscrossing like a spiderweb. He tiptoed to Wang Erma’s ear and whispered even quieter: “The King of Hell! He’s hiding a card!”

“Hiding what card?” Meng Po, curious, scooped a spoonful of sweet soup and offered it over. “Drink this first, don’t panic.”

Xiao Bai didn’t take the soup, swallowing hard instead. “A joker! Right in his left sleeve! I just passed by the King of Hell’s palace and saw him stuffing a card into his sleeve in front of the mirror—green silk sleeves, all bulging, definitely a joker!” He patted his chest, the hat brim wobbling again. “I even bet Little Black two melon seeds; I’m absolutely sure!”

Old Zhou peeked over, his hand trembling slightly as he held the melon seeds. “A j-joker? That’s the biggest card… How could he hide it?”

“What do you mean, how could he hide it?” Wang Erma tossed a seed shell on the table, eyes lighting up. “That’s ‘strategy’! Old Zhang in my neighborhood plays poker and always hides the ace of hearts in his sock!” He pondered, “No wonder last time he played me, he didn’t have the joker but still blasted three kings—I guess he was prepared all along.”

Just then, the judge raised his tin megaphone and called out: “Newbie Tournament Extra Match! King of Hell versus ‘Ma Master’s Bomb Squad’! Report to the table!”

“Coming, coming!” Wang Erma slapped the table and stood up, winking at Xiao Bai. “Thanks, Xiao Bai! If we win, I’ll give you a handful of melon seeds!”

Xiao Bai grinned happily, “I’ll watch his sleeve for you!” Then he floated to the other side of the table, pretending to tie his shoelaces but his eyes fixed intently on the King of Hell’s left sleeve.

The King of Hell sauntered over in a bright yellow casual robe, indeed with green silk sleeves embroidered with a crooked peony at the cuff—Wang Erma clearly saw the left sleeve near the elbow bulge slightly, unlike the smooth right sleeve.

“Old man,” the King of Hell sat down, setting his crown aside. “I heard from the judge you beat Old Li? Not bad, seems Old Zhou’s finally willing to throw bombs.”

Old Zhou blushed, hiding the card box behind him. Meng Po quickly smoothed things over, “Master King, go easy this round. Our Old Zhou just learned to bomb; don’t scare him.”

“Go easy?” The King of Hell raised an eyebrow, starting to shuffle the cards with skillful hands but kept glancing at Wang Erma’s hand. “I never go easy at poker—unless you admit defeat, kowtow three times, and hand over Meng Po’s osmanthus melon seeds.”

“Dream on!” Wang Erma picked up his cards but kept Xiao Bai’s words in mind, sneaking glances at the bulge in the King of Hell’s left sleeve—it bobbed with every shuffle, as if afraid of being noticed.

The King of Hell was the landlord in the first round. After dealing, he leisurely arranged his cards, his left hand slipping briefly into his sleeve before quickly withdrawing, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“See that?” Xiao Bai winked from across the table, making a sleeve-rolling gesture with his hand.

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Wang Erma caught on and deliberately slowed down his card sorting, muttering, “Ah, this hand’s no good, only one bomb, no twos…”

Meng Po sighed in sympathy, “Mine’s worse, just a bunch of singles.”

Old Zhou was about to say, “I’ve got a pair of aces,” but a look from Wang Erma made him swallow the words and focus on peeling melon seeds.

The King of Hell grinned, “With these cards? You dare play me?” He threw out a single three, his sleeve bulging once more.

Wang Erma deliberately passed, letting Meng Po play a pair of fives. As soon as Meng Po played, the King of Hell slapped down a pair of kings: “I take it!”

Xiao Bai frantically waved his hands across the table—meaning don’t let him play! But Wang Erma pretended not to notice and had Old Zhou respond with a pair of aces. Just as Old Zhou placed them down, the King of Hell snorted, reaching into his sleeve as if to draw something.

“Here it comes!” Wang Erma tensed, clutching the four sixes in his hand—just waiting for him to play the joker so he could bomb it!

A few curious little ghosts gathered nearby, standing on tiptoe to peek at the King of Hell’s sleeve. Even the judge paused scorekeeping to crane his neck.

But the King of Hell pulled something out of his sleeve and placed it on the table—not a joker, but a neatly folded yellow paper printed with a red spider lily.

“What’s this?” Wang Erma was stunned.

The King of Hell beamed and unfolded the paper: “Look! Meng Po’s Soup Coupon! Spend 20 spirit coins, get 5 off! I bargained for three from Meng Po and tucked them in my sleeve to avoid losing them.” He shook the coupon. “After the game, I’ll go to your place for three bowls of sweet soup—make sure to add extra osmanthus!”

Meng Po chuckled, “Master King, why hide this? I saved them for you.”

Xiao Bai was dumbfounded, mouth agape on the floor, the brim of his hat drooping. “N-no way… I clearly saw you putting something in your sleeve…”

“Did you see this?” The King of Hell reached into his sleeve again and pulled out a round, sugar-coated osmanthus cake, tossing it on the table—the exact same as the half piece Xiao Bai held. “The queen gave it to me this morning; I stuffed it in my sleeve and forgot to eat it.”

Laughter erupted around the table. The judge laughed until he rubbed his belly, “Xiao Bai, your intel’s less reliable than Old Zhou’s bombs!”

Xiao Bai’s face flushed red, crouching on the floor refusing to get up. Little Black appeared from nowhere and patted his shoulder, “Alright, alright, you lost the bet. Those two melon seeds are mine now.”

“Stop laughing!” Wang Erma hurried to smooth things over, though inwardly uneasy—no proof of the King of Hell hiding cards and their own hands weren’t great.

Sure enough, without his “secret weapon,” the King of Hell played smoother, tossing the pair of kings then a straight. In no time, only three cards remained in his hand.

“Oh no, we’re going to lose,” Meng Po murmured softly.

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Suddenly, Old Zhou raised his hand, drew four cards from the pile, and placed them on the table—four twos! He’d held onto them, unwilling to play so far.

“Bomb!” Old Zhou’s voice was quiet but firm. Black smoke billowed from the table, thicker than when he bombed four tens last time. The little ghost shadows appearing dared not drift near him after his stern glare.

“Well done, Old Zhou!” Wang Erma’s eyes brightened as he quickly threw down his four sixes. “Double bomb!”

The King of Hell was stunned. “What’s with you two? Getting competitive with bombs today?” He had three cards left: a joker and two small singles. He’d planned to discard the joker and leave, but the double bombs left him helpless.

“If it’s time to bomb, just bomb!” Old Zhou straightened his neck, carefully picking up the four twos and wiping their corners—he was protective of the cards after they’d been touched by black smoke.

Finally, Wang Erma finished with a pair of tens, clinching the round. The judge marked a green line on the scoreboard: “‘Ma Master’s Bomb Squad’ gets 5 points!”

The King of Hell snorted, pocketing the coupon. “You got lucky! Next round, I won’t hide osmanthus cakes—let’s see how you win then!”

Xiao Bai still crouched on the floor. Wang Erma handed him some melon seeds. “Don’t hang your head. Look closer next time—if you really spot him hiding the joker, I’ll give you a handful!”

Xiao Bai accepted the seeds, muttering softly, “I’ll definitely look more carefully next time…” He sneaked a glance at the King of Hell’s socks—maybe he hid it there?

Old Zhou carefully tucked the four twos back into the card box, rubbing them on the spirit coin at the bottom as if “cleaning the cards.” Meng Po ladled a bowl of sweet soup and handed it to him. “Drink some soup, that bombing was impressive.”

Old Zhou sipped quietly, eyes still on the King of Hell’s socks. Suddenly, he leaned toward Wang Erma’s ear and whispered, “Brother Wang, I think his sock’s a bit bulged too…”

Wang Erma: “….”

In the distance, the King of Hell was tying his shoelaces. Feeling a chill around his ankle, he instinctively pulled up his sock—the spirit coin he’d stuffed in yesterday was still there. Hopefully, Old man Wang wouldn’t notice.

(End of Chapter Five)

This chapter follows Old Zhou’s growth arc from Chapter Four, where he “actively bombs,” and centers on Xiao Bai’s “wrong intel” as the comedic core. Through details like “hiding coupons in the sleeve” and “osmanthus cake misunderstanding,” it strengthens the King of Hell’s character as a competitive card shark with a touch of goofiness. Meanwhile, Old Zhou’s breakthrough in “actively bombing four twos” marks his transition from “daring to bomb” to “knowing how to bomb,” making his skill development more natural. Xiao Bai’s “wrong intel” contrasts with Old Zhou’s “bombing progress,” continuing the Underworld Card Game’s humorous tone while laying groundwork for Chapter Six’s “newbie tournament little ghost shadows” plotline (seen when ghost shadows retreat from Old Zhou’s bombs, hinting at his growing command over bombing).