No Submundo, as Partidas Vão do Dou Di Zhu ao Liu Chong

Volume One, Chapter One: Banging Your Head on the Card Table, Death by Poker—Three Hands in the Underworld First?

The last thing Wang Erma remembered was the chipped folding table underneath the old locust tree in his neighborhood, and the “Ace of Hearts” he had just drawn into his hand.

“Bomb!” he called out, too eagerly. Half his body sprang up from the stool, and the back of his head slammed hard against the step—not the step in front of his own door, but the polished blue stone slab outside the neighborhood guardhouse. One moment he heard Old Zhang cursing, “You old rascal, peeking at the cards again,” the next, his vision went black, and the cards scattered from his hand, the Ace of Hearts fluttering before his nose like a death warrant.

When his eyes opened again, the sky was murky gray, the wind carried the scent of burnt offerings mixed with an earthy tang he couldn’t quite name.

“You’re awake?” a shrill voice sounded at his ear. “Get up quickly, don’t delay the journey.”

Wang Erma sat up groggily, his lower back aching. He reached behind and pulled out half a sunflower seed kernel—one he’d pocketed that morning, shelled during poker but never eaten. Lifting his head, he saw two “people” standing before him: one dressed in black, face pale as if covered in paper, hat brim pressed to his brows; the other in white, face dark as charcoal, mouth twisted enough to hang an oil jug.

“Who are you...” Wang Erma’s throat was parched, but the man in black cut him off: “No need to guess. Black and White Impermanence, here to fetch your sou