Chapter Seven: Xiao Li’s "Poetic Card-Counting Method"—Forgetting One Card Every Three Lines

Underworld Poker: From Fight the Landlord to Six-Chong
Volume 1, Chapter 7: Xiao Li’s "Poetic Card-Memorizing Method": A Poem for Every Card Forgotten

The mist over the City God Temple’s card arena thinned under the glare of the sun, and the crowd pressed tighter around the final table. The little ghost in the red jacket, who had helped Wang Er-Ma pick up his cards earlier, squeezed to the front. He was clutching an unpeeled sunflower seed, but seeing Wang Er-Ma look his way, he hastily shoved it into his pocket, pretending to examine the faint footprints on the ground—scars left behind by the three little ghost avatars when Old Zhou had played his bomb, looking like spilled ink.

"Our finalists—the 'Sour Poetry Team'!" the Judge announced, brandishing a tin megaphone. His voice was raspier than before, likely from shouting in such a rush, and a smudge of ink stained the corner of his mouth. "Team Captain: Xiao Li! Teammates: Two Scholar Ghosts!"

A tall, thin ghost emerged from the crowd. He wore a washed-out blue cloth gown with frayed cuffs and clutched a crumpled piece of paper. He swayed as he walked, much like a reed bent by the wind. When he reached the table, he bowed to Wang Er-Ma and nodded to Old Zhou. Then, catching sight of the card box in Old Zhou’s arms, his eyes brightened: "My good man, this box of yours... it truly complements the scene of 'a cool breeze entering the deck'."

Wang Er-Ma blinked. "What?"

"I mean your card box is beautiful," Xiao Li quickly explained, placing his paper on the table. It was covered in wobbly, ink-blotted calligraphy. "My name is Xiao Li. I was a scholar in my previous life, and now I memorize my cards by writing poetry."

Old Zhou tugged at Wang Er-Ma’s sleeve and whispered, "Is he the 'Poetry-Writing Ghost' Meng Po mentioned?"

Wang Er-Ma nodded, recalling what Meng Po had said while serving soup yesterday: "There’s a scholar ghost who doesn’t use his brain to remember cards, but his mouth. He recites better than he sings, but he’s always forgetting his lines." At the time, Wang Er-Ma had been busy practicing "how to hide a bomb in one’s sleeve without it feeling awkward" and hadn’t paid much mind. Now, seeing how refined Xiao Li appeared, he found it quite novel. "Writing poetry to remember cards? How does that work?"

"It’s simple!" Xiao Li pushed the paper toward Wang Er-Ma. "For instance, to remember an opponent's hand: if there’s an Ace of Hearts and a King of Spades, I recite: 'Ace of Hearts and King of Spades, the opponent has three cards left'—see, isn't that easy to remember?"

The Judge flipped through the final roster and adjusted his spectacles. "Enough chatting! Deal!" His fingers trembled as he pulled cards from the box—he’d been punished by King Yama for miscounting the number of people earlier and had to copy the "Headcount Table" until his knuckles ached. Now, even holding the cards was a struggle.

In the first round, Xiao Li was the landlord. After drawing his hand, he began to write on his paper, the nib scratching "swish, swish" against the surface. He wrote half a line, crossed it out, and muttered to himself: "Three cards of hearts... no, wait, was it four?"

The Scholar Ghost opposite him couldn't help but urge, "Brother Xiao Li, hurry up and play!"

"What's the rush?" Xiao Li didn't look up, crossing out two more words. "If I can't remember the cards, playing them is a loss. This is called 'knowing yourself and the enemy so that you can write poetry... er, I mean, so you can win!'"

Wang Er-Ma peeked at his hand and couldn't help but chuckle: "You've got a pair of 10s, don't you? Play them first, I'll cover you."

Xiao Li’s eyes lit up. "Oh? How did you know?" He hurriedly flung the pair of 10s onto the table. No sooner had they landed than Old Zhou laid down a pair of Jacks, his hand hovering in mid-air, not daring to pull it back—he’d been spooked by the ghosts earlier and was still timid.

"Good!" Xiao Li slapped the table and wrote on his paper. "Old Zhou has a pair of Jacks, and Elder Wang... what did Elder Wang have again?" He scratched his head, flipping the paper over and back. "Oh dear, I’ve forgotten!"

The Scholar Ghost across played a pair of Queens, and Wang Er-Ma covered them with a pair of Kings. Xiao Li quickly followed up: "I have a pair of Aces!" He slammed them down, puffing out his chest. "See? This is called 'When the Aces emerge, who can stand in my way? It’d be a miracle if I lost!'"

Unexpectedly, the Scholar Ghost opposite slapped down four 2s—a bomb! Black smoke billowed up, thicker than Old Zhou’s, and a faint avatar wearing a square cap drifted out, slowly floating toward Xiao Li’s paper as if trying to read the characters.

Xiao Li shrieked, scrambling to protect his paper: "Don't touch! That’s my card-memory poem!" The avatar bumped into his hand, wavered, and crashed into the Judge's spectacles. The Judge cried out as his glasses slid to the tip of his nose; as he reached to steady them, he nearly dropped his pen.

"Nice bomb!" laughed the Scholar Ghost opposite. "Brother Xiao Li, your poetry isn't as useful as the cards!"

Xiao Li panicked, grabbing his pen to scribble on the paper: "I’ll compose another! 'Four 2s boom loud and clear, but I’ve got the Big Joker hidden near!'" He chanted as he rummaged through his cards, but after searching for a long time without success, his face slowly turned red—in his excitement to write about the Aces, he’d forgotten where he put the Big Joker.

"Where’s your Big Joker?" Wang Er-Ma asked.

Xiao Li scratched his head and spread all his cards on the table. "It was just here... oh! It fell into the crack of the table!" He reached into the gap and pulled out a crumpled Big Joker, which had a sunflower seed shell stuck to it—left behind by the little ghost in the red jacket, no doubt.

The avatar drifted over to Meng Po’s soup bucket. Meng Po was handing out sweet soup to the onlookers; seeing the avatar approach, she scooped a spoonful and offered it: "Here, have a sweet drink, don't frighten the scholar." The avatar touched the soup, let out a tiny squeak, and vanished.

"I concede," Xiao Li threw the Big Joker on the table and slumped his shoulders. "It’s the cards' fault, they’re too slippery."

"It's not the cards, it's your memory method." Wang Er-Ma took the paper to look. It was a mess, with lines like "Five Hearts and Seven Spades" and "Opponent has three cards left," but nothing about *what* those three cards were. "Your poetry, skipping a card every three lines, isn't even as useful as the nursery rhymes the old ladies in my neighborhood sing."

"How do those ladies remember?" Xiao Li asked eagerly.

"They don't," Wang Er-Ma grinned. "If they can't remember, they just shout, 'The opponent has no bombs!'—a wild guess! If they guess right, they win; if they guess wrong... they just shout again!"

In the second round, Wang Er-Ma was the landlord and drew a great hand: a straight from 3 to 7 and a Small Joker. Just as he set his cards, Xiao Li leaned in and whispered: "Elder Wang, I’ll help you remember the opponents' cards! I definitely won't forget this time!" He pulled out a piece of charcoal and wrote on the back of his hand: "Left-side Scholar Ghost: played a 5."

Old Zhou played a pair of 6s, and the Scholar Ghost on the right played a pair of 7s. Xiao Li rushed to write on his other hand: "Right side: Pair of 7s." He was writing so fast the charcoal snapped. He licked his finger and rubbed it across his hand to clear the text, but only succeeded in smudging it into a black blot.

"How many cards did the opponent have left?" Xiao Li stared at his hand, unable to decipher it. "I remember counting... was it five? Or six?" He looked up to ask Old Zhou, but Old Zhou was too busy clutching his hand in anxiety and shook his head. "Didn't count."

"I'll count for you!" The red-jacketed ghost popped out from under the table. "The one on the left has four left! The one on the right has five!"

"Kids are more useful," Wang Er-Ma smiled, patting the little ghost’s head. He told Xiao Li, "Stop writing on your hands. Just shout. If he plays a 3, just yell, 'He played a 3!' If he plays a pair of 4s, just yell, 'He played a pair of 4s!' It's more effective than poetry."

Xiao Li nodded. "Right! I'll try!"

The Scholar Ghost on the left played an 8, and Xiao Li immediately shouted: "He played an 8! An 8! 8 of Hearts!" He added, "'8 of Hearts isn't very grand, Elder Wang can take the hand!' See? I remembered that!"

Wang Er-Ma covered it with a 9, and the Scholar Ghost on the right played a 10. Xiao Li shouted again: "10 of Spades! '10 of Spades follows the flow, a Jack should be the next to go!'"

He guessed right—the Scholar Ghost on the right did indeed play a Jack. Wang Er-Ma covered it with a Queen, thinking to himself: this scholar ghost might have a poor memory, but his voice is loud enough to rattle the opponents.

Soon, Wang Er-Ma had only the Small Joker and a 3 left. Xiao Li suddenly slapped the table: "I remember! The one on the left has no bombs! The one on the right... the one on the right seems to have a pair of 2s!" He scratched his head. "No, wait, was it a pair of Aces I wrote on my hand? Oh, I forgot again!"

"Stop thinking." Wang Er-Ma threw out the 3. "Just shout: 'The one on the right has no bombs!'"

Xiao Li bellowed at the top of his lungs: "The one on the right has no bombs!"

The Scholar Ghost on the right had been hesitating over his pair of 2s; startled by the shout, his hand shook, and the pair of 2s dropped to the floor. Old Zhou was quick, throwing out the Small Joker: "Covered! We won!"

"I told you!" Xiao Li jumped up, tossing his paper into the air. It drifted upward, caught by a breeze, and landed right on the Judge’s roster. The Judge picked it up, frowned, and read: "'The opponent's card skills are as smelly as dung'? What kind of line is this?"

Xiao Li blushed and snatched the paper back. "Just scribbling, just scribbling."

During the intermission, Meng Po brought over some soup. "Xiao Li, stop writing poetry. I’ll teach you a trick—put an osmanthus petal in the soup, it slows down forgetting." She dropped a dried petal into his bowl. "My soup helps you forget worries and sorrows, but it doesn't make you forget your cards... mostly."

Xiao Li took a sip and smacked his lips. "Sweet! It works! I remember now that the Scholar Ghost on the right has a pair of 2s!"

"That's because you remembered it yourself," Wang Er-Ma laughed, scooping a ladle for Old Zhou. "Old Zhou, have some too. It’ll be your turn to bomb soon."

Old Zhou sipped the soup and nodded, his hand still feeling around in his robe—he had hidden a sunflower seed there earlier and wanted to give it to Xiao Li, but felt too shy.

Xiao Li noticed and pulled a sunflower seed from his own pocket. "Brother, have one of mine! It’s 'Wenquxing Brand'—which really just means Meng Po roasted it, but I gave it the name."

Old Zhou took it, peeled it, and handed it back to Xiao Li. "You eat it."

The Judge returned with the cards, clearing his throat. "Last round! The decisive round!" He placed the cards on the table, his hands still trembling—he’d miscounted again, turning 38 cards into 39, and had secretly hidden one in his sleeve. He was blushing, terrified of being caught.

"I’ll keep track this time!" Xiao Li tucked the osmanthus petal behind his ear. "I guarantee I won't forget!" He took a deep breath, and once the cards were dealt, he began to write on the paper, the nib nearly tearing through: "Elder Wang has a straight! Old Zhou has a pair of Kings! The opponent... the one on the left played a 2!"

Wang Er-Ma looked at his hand—he actually *did* have a 5-9 straight. He couldn't help but grin: the scholar ghost was a blind cat hitting a dead mouse, but he’d gotten it right.

The Scholar Ghost opposite played a 3, and Xiao Li shouted: "'3s come and 3s go, but a straight will lay them low! Elder Wang, play the straight!'"

Wang Er-Ma threw out the 5-9. The Scholar Ghost couldn't cover it, and Xiao Li clapped his hands, laughing: "My poem worked!"

Unexpectedly, the Scholar Ghost on the right suddenly slammed down four 5s—a bomb! Black smoke billowed, and two avatars drifted out, circling the table before pouncing on Xiao Li’s paper, as if trying to erase the words.

"Don't touch my poetry!" Xiao Li scrambled to protect the paper, but in his haste, he knocked over the soup bowl. The broth spilled across the table, turning his paper into mush.

"My card-memory poem!" Xiao Li was on the verge of tears.

"Don't cry!" Wang Er-Ma pulled his cards back. "The spill is a good thing! You forgot your lines, but the opponents can't remember their cards either!" He was right; the Scholar Ghost opposite was busy dodging the soup, dropping two of his cards, and by the time he picked them up, he’d forgotten where he was in the game.

"Exactly!" Meng Po came over to help wipe the table. "The soup touched the cards, it has the 'forget-worry' flavor, the opponents will forget too!" She handed Xiao Li a new sheet of paper. "Write again! Make the characters bigger this time!"

Xiao Li took the paper, wiped his face, dipped his pen in the soup, and wrote: "'Soup spills on the table, no need for fright, the opponents are even more forgetful than I might!'" He placed the paper down and puffed out his chest. "See? How fitting!"

Wang Er-Ma was amused. While the Scholar Ghost opposite was busy reorganizing his hand, he gave Old Zhou a look: "Bomb!"

Old Zhou took a deep breath and threw out four 3s. *Boom!* Black smoke erupted, and this time a chubby avatar drifted out, landing right in the middle of the opponent's card pile and knocking two cards to the floor.

"It's the Big Joker!" the red-jacketed ghost shouted. "He has the Big Joker!"

The Scholar Ghost turned pale and scrambled to pick up his cards. Wang Er-Ma seized the chance to play his straight: "Won!"

"We won!" Xiao Li jumped up, tossing his paper into the air. This time, the wind didn't catch it; it landed right in the hands of King Yama, who had appeared behind the crowd at some point, a sunflower seed in his hand.

"This poem is written with... great spirit," King Yama said, looking at the paper and then at Xiao Li. "Your memory method is more effective than the Judge’s counting method."

The Judge protested, "My counting is correct! It was just that there was one extra card... I didn't mean to!"

"Enough, enough." Wang Er-Ma patted Xiao Li’s shoulder. "From now on, don't write poetry. Just follow me and shout. We’ll win for sure."

Xiao Li nodded, his eyes sparkling. "Alright! From now on, I’ll be the 'Calling-out Ghost'!" He pulled a sunflower seed from his pocket and gave it to the little ghost in the red jacket. "Here, thank you for helping me count."

The little ghost took it, peeled it, handed it back to Xiao Li, and scurried back into the crowd.

The Judge brought over the final results book and set it on the table. "The 'Master Ma Team' wins! Prepare for the prize!" He looked down at the names, then up at Wang Er-Ma, and suddenly shrieked—he had counted Xiao Li as part of the opposing team again.

"What's wrong?" Wang Er-Ma asked.

"No... nothing." The Judge shoved the book into his pocket. "Miscounted a name, doesn't matter! Hand out the prize!" He turned and ran toward King Yama, his back hurried and flustered, as if afraid of being discovered.

Xiao Li leaned in and whispered, "Elder Wang, did the Judge miscount again?"

Wang Er-Ma laughed. "Who cares? As long as we won." He looked at Old Zhou, who was carefully placing the four 3s he’d used for the bomb back into his card box, a faint smile on his face. When he’d bombed them earlier, he hadn't cried.