Chapter Thirty: The "Ma Team's" First Victory Relies on Old Zhou's "Happy Accident"

Underworld Poker: From Landlord to Six-Suit Clash
Volume 2, Chapter 30: "Team Ma" Secures First Win: Old Zhou’s "Happy Accident"

When Lady Meng returned with a fresh pot of sweet soup, the stone table at the City God Temple was trembling slightly. Old Zhao had just played a "3-7 straight," and the ghostly aura from the four decks of cards was strong enough to lift the table legs half an inch off the ground, sending the sunflower seed shells at the corners swirling in the wind. Setting the bowl down on a stone stool, her apron still dusted with soot from the stove, she asked with a smile, "How is it? Did I miss any winning moments while I was tending the fire?"

Wang Er-Ma stared at the straight on Old Zhao’s side, his fingers fumbling through his own hand. He shook his head. "No way to beat that. Old Zhao played that sequence perfectly." Little Li was scratching his head in a panic; the "card-counting rhymes" he had scrawled on his yellow paper were a mess, and because he had been distracted by Lady Meng’s soup bucket, he had failed to track two of the spades.

Old Zhou sat to the side, gripping his blue cloth bag so tightly his knuckles turned white. Inside the bag were four Aces—a bomb he had smuggled in when he first drew his cards. Earlier, Wang Er-Ma had urged him to "use the bomb if you have one," but staring at Old Zhao’s straight, Old Zhou fell into his old habit: *What if there’s a bigger hand later? If I save this bomb, I can double the points...*

"Old Zhou, you got anything to play?" Wang Er-Ma turned to him, catching a glimpse of the furtive way he was tucking cards into his bag. Guessing the situation, he spoke loudly on purpose: "If you can’t beat it, we’ll pass and wait for the next opening!"

Startled, Old Zhou jerked his hand back into the bag. Just as he was about to shake his head and say he had nothing, Old Zhao slapped the table. "Team Ma got nothing? Then I’ll take these 3 points. Win one more, and you lot are in trouble this round!" As he spoke, he eyed Old Zhou’s bag—he had seen Old Zhou hiding his bomb before.

Little Li jumped up, nearly dropping his yellow paper into the soup. "He’s got cards! Old Zhou has cards! He’s hiding them in his bag!"

Old Zhou’s face turned bright red. He scrambled to hide the bag behind his back. "N-no! It’s just chips in here, the ghost money I won..." He stuttered, gripping the opening of the bag tighter, unaware that the drawstring had come loose. The corners of the four Aces were already peeking out.

Wang Er-Ma suppressed a laugh and leaned toward Old Zhao. "Old Zhao, that straight is impressive, but our Old Zhou is crafty. Who knows? He might be saving a big bomb just to blast you."

"Him?" Old Zhao scoffed, tapping his sunflower seeds on the table. "The man who bombed his own teammate last time? I bet he’s just terrified of losing his chips and is hoarding his cards like treasure!"

That struck a nerve. The last time he had accidentally bombed Wang Er-Ma’s hand, Little Li had written a poem about it that every ghost in the underworld now knew. Old Zhou straightened up, his hand slipping from the bag. He meant to pull out the bomb to prove himself, but as soon as he touched the cards, he hesitated: *What if I waste it and still can't win the round?*

Just then, the table shuddered again. The residual aura from Old Zhao’s straight hadn't dissipated, and the table legs floated another half-inch high. Old Zhou lost his balance and tipped forward. The cloth bag tumbled to the ground with a clatter, and the four Aces slid out, landing with a "thwack" right next to Old Zhao’s straight.

The entire place fell silent.

Old Zhao’s smile froze. He stared at the four Aces, nearly choking on the seed shell in his mouth. Little Li leaped up, shouting, "A bomb! Old Zhou played a bomb!"

Old Zhou crouched on the floor, hand suspended in mid-air, stunned. He had only meant to shove the cards back into the bag, but his hand had slipped. It wasn't until Wang Er-Ma patted his shoulder that he stood up, stammering. He looked at the four Aces on the table and whispered, "I... I did that on purpose! I was just waiting for him to play a straight!"

"Right! On purpose!" Wang Er-Ma quickly backed him up, shouting to the Judge, "Judge, count that as our bomb against Old Zhao’s straight, won't you?"

The Judge, who had been tallying the score on his abacus, paused with a bead in mid-air. He adjusted his spectacles. "According to the rules, a bomb beats a straight. Team Ma’s bomb is successful. Team Zhao scores nothing this round."

Old Zhao grew agitated, pointing at Old Zhou. "His hand slipped! That doesn't count!"

"Why wouldn't it?" Lady Meng walked over with the sweet soup and handed a bowl to Old Zhou. "A card on the table is a card played. Didn't you count it when you played a diamond 3 as a heart 3 last time?"

Old Zhao was left speechless, forced to watch as Old Zhou retrieved his four Aces. Old Zhou’s hands were still shaking, but he puffed out his chest, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a smile.

The rest of the game proceeded naturally. Without his straight, Old Zhao’s team was left with only a few stray cards. Wang Er-Ma played a pair of 10s, Little Li followed with a pair of Queens, and though Old Zhou didn't play another bomb, he confidently tossed out his remaining single cards instead of clutching them until the end.

In the final hand, Wang Er-Ma played a single King. Old Zhao had nothing to beat it and could only watch as the card passed. The Judge snapped his scorebook shut, his spectacles sliding to the tip of his nose. "Team Ma wins this round with 5 points. In this stage of the tournament, Team Ma claims their first victory!"

"We won!" Little Li hugged his yellow paper and jumped up, reciting, "Old Zhou’s slip was a brilliant hit, Team Ma’s victory is a perfect fit, the first win is here, no need to fear, we’ll crush Old Zhao next time, loud and clear!"

Old Zhou stood there, still clutching his bowl of sweet soup. His reflection in the broth looked a bit foolish, but he was grinning. Wang Er-Ma patted his shoulder. "Not bad, Old Zhou! That 'intentional' play came at just the right time!"

"It... it really was intentional..." Old Zhou insisted, though the tips of his ears were red. He took a sip of soup and hurriedly tucked his chips back into the bag—the five ghost-money chips he had won were laid out neatly beside his bomb, like prized possessions.

Lady Meng’s eyes crinkled into slits as she handed bowls of soup to Wang Er-Ma and Little Li. "I told you Old Zhou had it in him; he just needed a little push." She turned to Old Zhao. "How about a bowl, Old Zhao? To cool your temper!"

Old Zhao sat on the stone stool, clenching a single 3 he hadn't managed to play. He waved her off huffily. "No! I’ll definitely win next time!" But his mouth twitched downward—Old Zhou’s "happy accident" had genuinely rattled him.

Black and White Impermanence, having just finished delivering cards, walked over and asked, "We really won? Old Zhou actually bombed him?"

"Not only bombed him, he did it 'on purpose'!" Little Li chimed in, embellishing the story of Old Zhou’s slip-up until Black and White were laughing heartily.

Old Zhou felt a bit bashful, hugging his bag close. "Next time... I’ll be able to bomb again..."

Wang Er-Ma watched him, then looked at the soup bowls, the seed shells, and Little Li’s poem-filled paper. He realized that in this four-suit clash, winning wasn't the point. Watching Old Zhou transform from someone who "dared not bomb" to someone who "dared to claim it was intentional," and seeing Little Li evolve from "forgetting to play" to "writing victory poems," was far more interesting than any score.

The Judge packed away his abacus and looked up. "Next round is against Team A-Xiang. That kitchen ghost loves to shout 'Stir-fry!' when she plays. Watch yourselves, and try not to get hit by her cabbages."

"What’s to fear?" Wang Er-Ma clapped Old Zhou on the shoulder. "With Old Zhou’s 'intentional' bombs, even A-Xiang’s cabbages won't stand a chance!"

Old Zhou stood even straighter, secretly touching the four Aces in his bag. He wasn't thinking about hiding them this time; he was already looking forward to his next "intentional" play. The ghostly aura around the table gradually dissipated, and the table legs settled firmly onto the ground. Sunlight filtered through the window, warming the cards, making it feel just like a peaceful day in the mortal world, sitting in a courtyard and playing cards under the sun.