Chapter Two: Little Officer Wang Has No Authority Over Wang Erma in My Neighborhood

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Underworld Card Game: From Fighting the Landlord to Six Conflicts
Volume One, Chapter Two: The Judge Says, “The Little Joker Can’t Beat a 2!” Wang Erma: “In My Neighborhood, It Can!”

When Wang Erma handed the empty bowl to Meng Po, his fingertips brushed against the warm rim, and the dread of death that had weighed on his heart finally eased considerably. He glanced at the stone table, where a deck of cards stained with black smoke lay, still wanting to spar a few rounds with the two little ghosts. But Xiao Bai pulled out a yellow slip of paper from his pocket and unfolded it with a rustle. “Stop dawdling. The registration for the rookie tournament closes soon. If you’re late, you won’t even get to polish crowns.”

The yellow paper had crooked characters reading “Underworld Rookie Landlord Tournament,” with a crooked-necked judge sketched beneath, labeled “Referee: The Honorable Judge.” Wang Erma pointed at the drawing and chuckled, “That looks just like Old Li, the cobbler at the neighborhood gate. Is he wearing three pairs of glasses?”

Xiao Hei rolled his eyes beside him. “The Honorable Judge wears three pairs of reading glasses to count cards clearly. You think everyone’s as blind as you guessing wildly?” With that, he grabbed Wang Erma’s arm and headed northwest. “The tournament is at the City God Temple. If we’re late, we won’t get a good spot.”

The City God Temple was far shabbier than Wang Erma had imagined—the vermilion gate had half a panel missing, and the plaque above had lost the character for “City,” leaving only “God Temple.” The wind stirred the bells hanging from the eaves, jingling like Old Zhang from the neighborhood yawning. In the courtyard, over a dozen stone tables had been set up, each surrounded by ghosts—some missing limbs, others floating midair with no feet touching the ground. The most conspicuous was the central table, draped with a grayish cloth where an old man in a red robe sat. He wore a square hat and three pairs of reading glasses stacked like a small mountain on his nose. He was bent over, carefully flipping through cards, counting “one, two, three, four” with his finger tracing the card faces.

“That’s the Honorable Judge,” Xiao Bai whispered in Wang Erma’s ear. “He sets the rules for the Underworld card games and is the most strict. Last time a rookie tried to play ‘three with two’ but brought two singles instead, the Judge made him copy the rules until dawn as punishment.”

Wang Erma was about to reply when the Judge suddenly looked up. His three pairs of glasses slid down to the tip of his nose. He pushed them up with a hand and barked like counting on an abacus, “Newcomer? Register!”

A small inkstone sat at the corner of the table, with a piece of paper money floating in the ink. The Judge picked up a brush, dipped it in the ink, and stirred. “Name? Cause of death? Card experience?”

“Wang Erma,” he said, leaning on the table to watch the writing. “Cause of death? Head injury from playing Landlord. Card experience… retired player, ten years!”

The Judge paused in mid-stroke; his three pairs of glasses slipped down again as he stared at Wang Erma. “Ten years? Playing Landlord in the human world?”

“Exactly!” Wang Erma puffed up with pride and slapped the stone table. “I’m second best in the neighborhood card circle. No one dares claim first! Last time against Old Zhang, I used two 3s plus a little joker, and I stunned his four 2s with a bomb!”

“Nonsense!” The Judge jabbed his brush into the inkstone, splattering ink across his face. “The little joker can’t beat a 2! That’s chaos!”

Several ghosts registering nearby gasped and turned to look. Wang Erma was flabbergasted. “Why not? That’s how we play in my neighborhood! The little joker is the ‘vice king,’ and the 2 is the ‘hard stuff.’ The vice king beats the hard stuff—it's the natural order!”

“The Underworld has its own rules!” The Judge pulled a thick tome from under the table and slammed it down. The worn cover read The Complete Rules of Underworld Landlord, corners curled from use. “Look at Chapter Three, Article Seven: 2 beats the little joker; the little joker beats only K and below! Do you understand the rules?”

Wang Erma grew anxious, rummaging in his pocket—after a while, he pulled out a crumpled little notebook, his treasured keepsake from life: a cigarette box cover for a cover, with pencil-written “Neighborhood Landlord House Rules,” complete with illustrations drawn by his grandson. He flipped to the second page and pointed at the crooked writing: “See! My rules say: ‘The little joker is the father, the 2 is the son; father rules son, no problem!’ Old Li from the neighborhood can vouch—last time he used a 2 to beat my little joker, we fined him two jin of sunflower seeds!”

The Judge squinted at the notebook; his three pairs of glasses slid down to his chin, and he didn’t even bother to push them back up. “Nonsense! You dare use folk rules as evidence?”

“What folk rules? It’s practical knowledge!” Wang Erma slammed the notebook on the table. “Your rules are so rigid. Where’s the fun if you can’t play freely in our neighborhood? Isn’t card playing about having fun, not about nitpicking?”

“You!” The Judge flushed with anger and reached to snatch the notebook. “Such heresy must be burned!”

“Hey, don’t grab that!” Wang Erma hugged the book to his chest. “My grandson drew the pictures. Can you afford to pay for it?”

The two glared at each other, while the surrounding ghosts gathered to watch the spectacle. One little ghost floating midair whispered, “Last time the Honorable Judge miscounted ‘three with one’ as ‘three with two’…”

The Judge heard and became even angrier, reaching to overturn the table: “Everyone shut up!”

“What’s all the noise about?”

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A booming voice came from the entrance, causing the bells at the eaves to jingle chaotically. Wang Erma turned to see a large fat man in a dragon robe enter, a golden crown atop his head with beads swinging dizzyingly. Behind him followed two little ghosts, one carrying a tea bowl, the other a feather fan.

“Your Majesty, King Yama!” The Judge hurriedly withdrew his hand; his three pairs of glasses clattered to the floor. He bent down to pick them up but accidentally stepped on and shattered a pair.

Wang Erma’s heart skipped a beat—so this was King Yama? He looked even fatter than the neighborhood wedding banquet chefs, just with a blacker face.

King Yama walked to the table, glanced at the broken glasses, then at Wang Erma’s notebook, and picked up the Judge’s Complete Rules book, flipping through it with a frown. “These rules were set three hundred years ago, right? They should have been revised long ago.”

The Judge grew anxious. “Your Majesty! Rules aren’t changed on a whim!”

“How else do you win?” King Yama tossed the book back on the table and smiled at Wang Erma. “Old man, do your rules really work?”

“Of course!” Wang Erma straightened his back. “Last time Old Zhang bombed me with four 2s, but I used a little joker to beat him. He didn’t dare bomb again and I won half a jin of sunflower seeds!”

“Interesting.” King Yama patted Wang Erma’s shoulder with such force it nearly knocked him to the ground. “We’ll play by your rules! I’ve been curious about this ‘little joker beats 2’ thing. Just in time, I’m looking for an opponent. You play the Judge, and I’ll be the referee!”

The Judge turned pale. “Your Majesty! This…”

“Afraid to?” Wang Erma glanced at him. “Scared you’ll lose and owe me sunflower seeds?”

“Who’s afraid!” The Judge straightened his neck and pulled out a fresh deck from under the table. “Let’s play! You call the score first!”

Ghosts nearby crowded around to watch. Meng Po appeared, holding a bowl of soup quietly behind Wang Erma. “Old man, if you win, I’ll add honey to your soup,” she whispered.

Wang Erma winked at her and sat down to shuffle. His shuffling technique was taught by Old Zhang from the neighborhood—the “random insert” method—shuffling with a loud rustle. The Judge frowned deeply. “There should be order in shuffling. You’re just shuffling blindly!”

“As long as it’s mixed,” Wang Erma pushed the cards across. “You deal.”

The Judge took the cards, counting each out loud, “One, two, three,” and dealt to Wang Erma. Wang Erma glanced at his hand: two jokers, three 2s, and a straight. He was confident.

“I call three points!” Wang Erma called out first.

The Judge was about to speak when King Yama stopped him. “Let him be the landlord. I want to see if your ‘father beats son’ rule works.”

The Judge had no choice and pushed the three bottom cards to Wang Erma. Wang Erma smiled when he saw another little joker—making three little jokers, perfect for teaching the Judge a lesson.

He just finished organizing his cards when the Judge played, “Pair of 2s!”

The ghosts around murmured appreciatively. One little ghost whispered, “The Honorable Judge leads with the hard stuff!”

The Judge looked proudly at Wang Erma. “Your move? According to your rules, ‘father beats son,’ right?”

Wang Erma leisurely pulled out two little jokers and slapped them on the table. “Pair of little jokers! I beat you!”

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The Judge’s face turned ashen. He pointed at the cards. “You’re cheating! There can’t be a pair of little jokers! There’s only one!”

“How not?” Wang Erma revealed the bottom cards. “Here’s another one. Three little jokers total. Can’t I play a pair?”

“You!” The Judge was speechless, his two remaining pairs of glasses sliding down to his nose. “The rules don’t say you can play pairs of little jokers!”

“Rules are made by people!” Wang Erma snorted. “Old Li from my neighborhood once played three Ks with two Qs. No one complained then.”

King Yama chuckled beside them, sipping tea. “Judge, he’s right. The rules don’t forbid pairs of little jokers. Let him win.”

The Judge sat down fuming. Wang Erma played a single “5,” the Judge quickly countered with a “10.” Wang Erma followed with a “K,” the Judge with an “A.” Just as he was about to win, Wang Erma suddenly drew a little joker. “Single little joker! Beats your A!”

“Here you go again!” The Judge slammed the table. “A beats little joker! Didn’t your little notebook say that?”

“It does.” Wang Erma flipped to the page showing a small figure hitting an A on the head with a little joker, next to the words “Old Zhang cried.” “See? ‘Special cases handled specially. Single little joker can beat A’—that’s how I beat Old Zhang last time.”

The Judge leaned in to look. His trembling finger pointed at Wang Erma but he was speechless.

King Yama burst out laughing, handing the tea bowl to a little ghost behind him. “Alright, alright, this round goes to the old man.” He waved to Wang Erma. “Old man, your rules are interesting. I approve—Underworld Landlord will follow your ‘Neighborhood Rules’ from now on!”

Wang Erma grinned and slipped the notebook into his pocket. “Would’ve been easier if we’d done this sooner. Card games are for fun, after all.”

The Judge crouched on the ground picking up shards of glasses, mumbling, “Unthinkable… unthinkable…”

Meng Po approached, handing Wang Erma a bowl of sweet soup. “You won, have some soup to soothe your throat.”

Wang Erma accepted the soup, glancing at the Judge’s retreating back with a smile. “Honorable Judge, next time you play, learn from me. Don’t be so stuck on the rules—by the way, can I borrow your Complete Rules? I’ll add a few neighborhood house rules for you.”

The Judge didn’t look up. “No!”

King Yama patted Wang Erma’s shoulder, the beads on his crown jingling wildly. “Old man, play well in the rookie tournament. If you win, I’ll treat you to special Underworld sunflower seeds!”

Wang Erma’s eyes lit up. “Really? The caramel-flavored kind?”

“…I’ll have Meng Po make it.”

(End of Chapter Two)