Chapter Eleven: Late-Night Card Game: The Specter Comes to Watch

Underworld Card Games: From Fight the Landlord to Four-Deck Poker, Volume 1, Chapter 11: Late-Night Game: Little Ghosts Look On.

The moon in the Underworld hangs at the end of the Bridge of Helplessness, a pale green disc resembling a dust-covered bronze mirror. Wang Er’ma shoved the wooden basin given to him by Granny Meng under the card table at the City God Temple. Just as he finished tucking the four decks of cards provided by Old Zhou into a grass bag, he heard a "thump-thump" sound. It wasn't the wooden door of the temple, but the stone slab beneath the table. Little Hei was crouching on the ground, tapping the stone with his soul-snatching iron chain; the tip of the chain struck the cracks, sending up tiny, eerie green sparks.

"Master Ma, the King wants you," Little Hei said, tilting his head. His cap was pulled low, revealing only his chin, which was still dusted with melon seed shells—leftovers from picking up cards that afternoon. "He says... he wants to play a night session with you."

"A night session?" Wang Er’ma spat on the ground (in the Underworld, saliva turns into smoke and dissipates upon hitting the floor). "It’s nearly the third watch. Shouldn't he be sleeping in the Yama Palace?"

"He can't sleep." Little Bai poked his head out from behind Little Hei. His braids were tied with the red string Granny Meng gave them earlier—she claimed it was to ward off evil, but in reality, it was to keep them from hiding cards under their hats. "The King saw you get the entry ticket for the Four-Deck game this afternoon. He’s been rummaging through his boxes for his own cards ever since, saying he needs to play you three more rounds of 'Fight the Landlord' to win back some face."

"Win back face?" Wang Er’ma chuckled, bending down to lift the grass bag onto the table. "Whatever face he had, I already won it all. Tell him we can play, but he has to bring melon seeds—five-spice ones, and don't try to pass off that burnt garbage from last time."

"He brought them, he brought them!" Little Bai nodded immediately, pulling a cloth bundle from his robes and dumping it on the table. A pile of plump melon seeds, coated in salt grains, tumbled out. "The King had Granny Meng roast them especially. He said if he loses, he’ll give the whole bag to you."

"That’s more like it." Wang Er’ma picked up a seed and cracked it. It was savory, not much worse than the ones sold by Old Zhang at the gates of the residential complex back in the human world. "Let’s go then, let’s see what tricks he’s trying to pull now."

It was three miles from the City God Temple to the Yama Palace. The Spider Lily flowers along the path drooped in the night, their leaves curled up like frost-bitten greens. Little Hei and Little Bai led the way—Little Hei held a ghost-fire lantern, its eerie green light stretching their shadows long; Little Bai clutched a stack of spirit money, dropping a sheet with every step, claiming it was toll for the wandering ghosts so they wouldn't cause trouble.

"Master Ma, are you really going to play Four-Deck Poker?" Little Bai asked suddenly, spirit money fluttering in the wind. "I heard the Judge say that you have to memorize cards and calculate bombs. It’s ten times harder than 'Fight the Landlord'."

"What’s there to be afraid of?" Wang Er’ma kicked a crooked tombstone by the road—it was carved with "Undefeated Ghost of the Afterlife Game," and judging by the handwriting, it was the Judge’s work, though the carving was crooked. "When I played mahjong in the human world, nine out of ten people were counting cards, and I won anyway. What do we rely on? We rely on momentum!"

"Exactly, momentum!" Little Hei chimed in, spinning his chain. "Last time the King played you, you shouted 'Blessings from the Residential Grandpa,' and his hands were shaking."

Wang Er’ma smiled. He was about to say more when he spotted the stone lions at the entrance of the Yama Palace—the one on the left had a deck of cards stuffed in its mouth, with the corner of a King of Hearts poking out. No need to ask; the King of Hell must have jammed them there when looking for his cards earlier, fearing the Queen would find them.

"You’re here?" The King of Hell was squatting on the palace steps, his robe trailing in the dirt. Seeing Wang Er’ma, he scrambled up, hiding his hands behind his back. Thinking better of it, he reached into the stone lion’s mouth, snatched the cards, and stuffed them into his robes with the speed of a grain-stealing mouse. "I was... I was just studying card tactics."

"Studying tactics?" Wang Er’ma raised an eyebrow, glancing at the corner of the cards still peeking out of the robe. "Studying them inside the lion’s mouth?"

The King of Hell’s face turned bright red. He stiffened his neck and argued, "I like it there! The lion’s mouth is clean, better than that grass bag of yours. Come on, let’s play!" He turned and marched toward the back of the palace, his strides so long that a card fell from his robes—a small Joker, which fluttered down the steps and landed at Wang Er’ma’s feet.

Wang Er’ma picked up the card and winked at Little Bai. Little Bai hurried over, stuffed the card back into the King’s robes, and whispered, "King, you dropped a card."

The King of Hell finally noticed, patted his chest, and gave a dry laugh. "Look at my memory."

In the small courtyard behind the palace, a card table had been set up—it was a slab of bluestone with "For Fight the Landlord Only" carved into the leg, likely chiseled just this afternoon. On the table sat an oil lamp, its wick made from reeds by the Bridge of Helplessness, burning with a blue light that made the table flicker. Beside the table was a small stool with a missing corner, clearly borrowed from the Judge's room—none of the stools in the Judge's room had four whole legs.

"Sit!" The King of Hell took the main seat, flicked his robes, and gestured for Wang Er’ma to take the rickety stool. "We’re playing three rounds today. The loser has to give the winner a back massage—I’m telling you, I have a heavy hand, don't go crying if you can't take it."

"Don't brag just yet." Wang Er’ma sat down, the stool leg groaning in protest, causing him to shift carefully. "Just don't use your underpants as chips again."

"Who used their underpants as chips!" The King of Hell grew flustered, pulling a cloth bag from his robes and dumping out a pile of spirit money and a few copper coins—his secret stash. "I brought real chips this time! Ten spirit coins per round, winner takes all!"

"That’s more like it." Wang Er’ma poured the melon seeds from Little Bai onto the table. "Come on, deal."

Just as the cards were dealt, a rustling sound came from the courtyard wall. Wang Er’ma glanced over and saw tufts of black hair peeking over the top, still stuck with bits of grass—it was the same group of little ghosts who had watched earlier, including the one in the red coat, who had a Spider Lily petal on his head.

"Who’s there?" The King of Hell slammed the table, the lamp flickering and casting dizzying blue light. "Come out!"

The hair on the wall retreated, and there was silence. Wang Er’ma chuckled, flicking a melon seed toward the wall. "Come out, I see you. If I win, I’ll share the seeds."

At these words, seven or eight little heads popped up, eyes wide, staring at the seeds on the table like a pack of starved mice. The red-coated ghost was the boldest; he slid down the wall, ran to the table, and looked up. "Master Ma, you really sharing?"

"I am." Wang Er’ma grabbed a handful and shoved them at him. "But you have to do me a favor—keep an eye on him." He pointed at the King of Hell. "If he peeks while dealing, you shout."

"Deal!" The red-coated ghost nodded, stuffed the seeds into his pocket, and grabbed a pebble, crouching by the table. His eyes went wide as he stared intently at the King’s hands. The other ghosts slid down, surrounding the table—some squatting, some hanging onto the edge, packing the area tight.

The King of Hell felt self-conscious, his hands trembling as he held the cards. "What are you staring at? Look at the cards!"

"We’re looking at you!" The red-coated ghost insisted. "Master Ma said you like to peek."

"When have I ever peeked!" The King of Hell fumed, nearly dropping his cards. Wang Er’ma took the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the King’s hand—good heavens, he had both Jokers and three 2s. With a hand like that, it would be a sin not to call "Landlord."

"Calling, or not?" Wang Er’ma tapped the table, deliberately slowing his voice.

The King of Hell finally snapped to his senses, pulled his cards close, and shouted, "Calling! I’m the Landlord!" He picked up the three community cards, his eyes lighting up—there was another 2 in the mix. Now he had all four 2s; he didn't need to worry about any bombs.

"Don't get too happy." Wang Er’ma drew his cards slowly. "A good hand doesn't guarantee a win. Back in the human world, Old Zhang once held all four Kings, and I still beat him with a 'Spring' victory."

"That’s because he’s stupid!" The King of Hell scoffed, leading with a 3.

"I’ll take that!" Wang Er’ma played a 4—he had a lot of singles and needed to clear them.

Just as he played, the red-coated ghost shouted, "The King peeked! He just glanced at your pile!"

The King of Hell’s face went red. "I was blinking! Who peeked?"

"You did!" The red-coated ghost tapped his pebble. "I saw it! Your eyes slanted right over at Master Ma’s cards!"

"You saw wrong!"

"I didn't!"

The two began to argue over the "peeking," and the other ghosts joined in, chanting, "The King peeked! The King is cheating!"

The King of Hell was so distracted he forgot his count. He meant to play a pair of 5s but accidentally threw out a single 5. Wang Er’ma seized the moment, played a pair of 6s, and easily cleared his singles.

"Look at you," Wang Er’ma laughed, "why get worked up over little ghosts? You messed up your play."

The King of Hell glared at the red-coated ghost, who retreated, though he snuck a goofy face at Wang Er’ma.

In the second round, Wang Er’ma was the Landlord. His hand wasn't great, just one bomb—four 3s. Just as he picked up the community cards, he heard a ghost whisper from under the table, "Master Ma, the King has two bombs! I saw his hand bulge twice when he gripped them!"

Wang Er’ma knew what to do. He deliberately led a small sequence: 3 through 7.

"Bomb!" The King of Hell immediately threw down four 4s. "Take that!"

"Don't be so fast." Wang Er’ma didn't react. "Your lead."

The King of Hell played a pair of 10s. Wang Er’ma pretended he couldn't beat it, letting him continue. Only when the King had exhausted his small cards and was left with just a bomb and a big Joker did Wang Er’ma play his four 3s: "Bomb!"

"Why are you only bombing now!" The King of Hell panicked.

"Bombing early is useless," Wang Er’ma said leisurely, playing a sequence: 8 through K. "I had to wait until you cleared your small cards."

Wang Er’ma won the round. The King of Hell slammed his cards down. "It’s all your fault! You were shouting so much I couldn't count the cards!"

The little ghosts weren't afraid of him. The red-coated ghost retorted, "You’re just slow! Master Ma didn't even count, and he still beat you!"

"Say that again!" The King of Hell reached out to pinch the ghost’s cheek, but the ghost nimbly dodged, ducking under the table while grabbing more seeds for his pocket.

Just then, Granny Meng arrived with a bowl of sweet soup, a petal of osmanthus floating on top. "What’s all the noise?" She placed the bowl in front of Wang Er’ma. "I could hear you all the way at the soup stall. Did the King lose again?"

"I didn't lose!" The King of Hell stiffened. "Only two rounds in, it’s a tie!"

"What tie?" Granny Meng smiled. "You won the first, Master Ma won the second, so it’s a tie. The third round will decide it." She looked under the table at the ghosts. "Why are you all here? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Master Ma asked us to help!" the red-coated ghost said, popping out from under the table with a seed in his hand. "We’re watching him so he doesn't cheat."

"Nonsense." Granny Meng tapped his head. "Go to sleep, or you won't be able to get up to pick up seed shells at the temple tomorrow."

The ghosts didn't want to leave. The red-coated ghost tugged at Wang Er’ma’s sleeve. "Master Ma, we aren't tired. Can we watch one more? We’ll go right after."

"Let them watch." Wang Er’ma took a sip of the sweet soup. "It’s lively."

Granny Meng shook her head helplessly and sat on a nearby stone stool to watch.

After the third round of cards was dealt, the King of Hell had an average hand with one bomb—four 5s. Just as he was pondering his move, he saw Wang Er’ma wink at the table. The ghosts immediately understood and shouted in unison, "Master Ma has the big Joker! We saw it! The red one!"

The King of Hell fell for it. He had intended to save his bomb for the Joker, but the moment Wang Er’ma played a small Joker, he panicked and threw down his four 5s. "Bomb! Let’s see what you have now!"

Wang Er’ma held back a laugh and slowly pulled out four Aces. "Sorry, I have another bomb."

"How do you have another bomb!" The King of Hell was stunned.

"You didn't ask." Wang Er’ma played his bomb, then followed with a pair of 2s. "I’m out."

He won again. The King of Hell threw his cards down and slumped into his chair. "I’m not playing! You all ganged up to trick me!"

"Who tricked you?" Wang Er’ma shoved the spirit money into his pocket. "You’re the one who believed the little ghosts. Besides, a bet is a bet. We agreed the loser gets a back massage."

"Fine, massage away!" The King of Hell turned his back to Wang Er’ma. "But be gentle! Don't break me apart!"

Wang Er’ma rolled up his sleeves. Just as he was about to start, the red-coated ghost leaned in and whispered, "Master Ma, be gentle, the King is ticklish. Last time the Judge gave him a massage, he screamed."

Wang Er’ma chuckled and tapped his back lightly, a symbolic gesture. "There, I’ve saved your dignity."

"Who asked you to save my dignity!" the King of Hell retorted, though he secretly shifted closer, bringing his back nearer to Wang Er’ma.

Granny Meng stood up with the empty bowl. "Alright, dawn is coming. Master Ma needs to go back and practice his Four-Deck skills, and the King needs to sleep."

"Practice what?" The King of Hell suddenly perked up. "I’ll practice with you! Four decks, right? I’ll have Little Hei and Little Bai move the cards for you!"

"Better not." Wang Er’ma waved his hands. "Just don't add to the chaos."

"Who’s adding to the chaos!" The King of Hell protested. "My card counting is better than yours! Last time the Judge miscounted, I was the first to notice!"

As they spoke, the little ghosts by the table yawned, rubbing their eyes. The red-coated ghost said, "Master Ma, we’re going to sleep. We’ll come cheer for you again tomorrow!"

"Go on then." Wang Er’ma grabbed a handful of seeds and stuffed them into their hands. "Be careful on the way, don't let the wandering spirits steal your seeds."

The little ghosts ran off, chattering. Their shadows flickered against the wall until they vanished.

Little Hei and Little Bai helped clean up the table. Little Bai said, "Master Ma, those little ghosts picked up every seed shell you dropped. They said they want to save them to make you 'lucky seed shells'."

Wang Er’ma paused, looking at the floor—it was indeed spotless, not a single shell left. He smiled, touching the spirit money in his pocket and then the Four-Deck entry ticket tucked against his chest. The paper was rough, but his heart felt warm.

"Let’s go," he said to the King of Hell. "We’ll play again tomorrow. I need to go back and ponder the Four-Deck game."

"I’ll find you tomorrow!" the King of Hell called out behind him. "I’ll definitely beat you!"

On the walk back to the City God Temple, the sky was already graying—dawn came slowly in the Underworld, the horizon tinged with a hazy blue. The Spider Lilies were standing tall again, their leaves glistening with green dew.

"Master Ma," Little Bai said suddenly, "those little ghosts actually knew the King wasn't peeking. They just wanted to help you win."

"I know," Wang Er’ma smiled. "When I played in the human residential complex, the kids were the same; they were always helping me bluff Old Zhang."

"Is the human world nice?" Little Hei asked for once, swinging his iron chain.

"It is." Wang Er’ma looked at the horizon. "There’s cards to play, seeds to crack, and people to make a racket with."

He paused, then added, "But this place isn't bad either."

When they returned to the City God Temple, Old Zhou was crouching by the table, picking up the cards scattered from the day before, wiping them clean with a cloth and stacking them neatly. Seeing Wang Er’ma, he stood up. "Master Ma, you’re back? I’ve cleaned the cards. When do we start training?"

"No rush." Wang Er’ma patted his shoulder. "Rest a bit first. Let’s wait for Little Li. Oh, and bring out the wooden basin Granny Meng gave us. Let’s try washing the four decks."

Old Zhou dragged the basin out. It still had grass bits from yesterday. He carefully poured the four decks in, as if holding precious treasure.

Wang Er’ma looked at the cards in the basin and thought of the little ghosts' smiling faces during the late-night game. He suddenly felt that even if he had to wash these cards until his hands went numb, it would be worth it.