Chương 94: Book 2 Chapter 8: Gambling

Mo Jian sat across from three men at a low gambling table, quietly cheating at madiao. Madiao was an old card game played with thirty-eight long, narrow slips of paper (or spirit beast hide, warded against spiritual sense, in the case of cultivators). Each card bore a symbol etched in ink – rounds, strips, myriads, and honors – with the suits arranged in ascending hierarchy. The goal was simple: assemble a complete suit, and when multiple players succeeded, the highest hand claimed victory. Simple in theory.

In practice, it was a game of sharp eyes, sharper memory, and the occasional willingness to trust luck. Mo Jian was not foolish enough to trust in any of those things. So far, he had won a hundred and fifty mid-grade spirit stones. Across the table, three men stared at him with the kind of smiles that concealed the early stages of eternal and undying hatred. Mo Jian suspected they were already imagining several creative ways to dispose of his body.

The gambling room he was currently fleecing, or the people in the room, to be precise, was one of dozens scattered throughout this district of the Imperial Capital. His only criterion when choosing it from the numerous options Xu Chuanli had presented had been distance, specifically, how close it was to the modest place where he and Bai Ning were staying. They had not chosen the closest gambling house. They had chosen the second closest.

Mo Jian had entered with the expression of a man who had never touched a deck of cards in his life, which, to be fair, was only slightly exaggerated. He had taken a seat when a place opened at the table, asked for the rules in an awkward tone, and fumbled the cards badly enough in the first few rounds to earn a few indulgent chuckles. That part had not been an act. Afterward, however, his "luck" had improved with terrifying consistency. Since then, he had either folded or won every round he had played.

He had begun the evening with a single mid-grade spirit stone, a small luxury he possessed only because he had sold the core of a spirit beast from his storage pouch at the market earlier that day. That single stone had now multiplied into a hundred and fifty. A respectable fortune. A crowd had gathered as his streak continued, cultivators leaning over each other's shoulders, onlookers pressing closer, whispering bets and commentary.

The press of bodies was thick enough that the air smelled faintly of incense, wine, and spirit herbs. For Mo Jian, it was perfect. No one could accuse him of cheating with so many witnesses present. Most of the spectators were Qi Condensation or Foundation Establishment cultivators, though every now and then a Core Formation expert wandered past and paused to watch a round or two. If someone could cheat in front of such a crowd without being caught… Then they deserved to walk away with the pot.

Which, Mo Jian reassured himself virtuously, was precisely what he was doing. Winning, and not cheating. On the table, unseen by anyone else, the Netherworld Scorpion crouched between the cards like a tiny emperor surveying its domain. The creature was wholly invisible and imperceptible to everyone else. With cheerful industry, it tapped each player's cards with its delicate spectral pincers, sending a trickle of information flowing straight into Mo Jian's mind. He knew every hand at the table.

He knew when to raise, when to hold, and, most importantly, when to lose just convincingly enough. So, with the calm expression of a mildly confused amateur, he placed another winning card onto the table. The man sitting opposite him, who had introduced himself earlier as Bao Hu, began to sweat. Bao Hu was in the final stage of Foundation Establishment, a broad-shouldered cultivator who had refused to be impressed or intimidated by Mo Jian's cultivation.

At the beginning of the game, he had loudly declared that, at the gambling table, only luck and skill mattered. He had backed this philosophy by being loud, aggressive, and prone to slamming the table every time he bet. Now, he looked like a leopard that had slowly realized it had become the prey. His thick fingers drummed against the wood, his lips pressed in a thin line, a sheen of sweat glistening on his round forehead beneath the lantern light.

Next to him sat Wei Qian, thin where Bao Hu was broad, quiet where Bao Hu had been loud. A calculating gambler, he obsessively tracked every stone that crossed the table and made the fewest bets of any player. His current hand was terrible; Mo Jian knew this with perfect certainty. Yet it would have been entirely impossible to tell from the man's face.

Wei Qian possessed a flawless expression, utterly unreadable, and Mo Jian privately acknowledged that if he had not been cheating quite so thoroughly, he might have believed the man was sitting on a winning hand. The final player at the table, and the real reason Mo Jian had chosen this group of gamblers to fleece - -or, he corrected himself mentally, educate - was Duan Cai. If anyone ever needed an illustration for the phrase fat, rich, and completely shameless young master, they could simply sketch Duan Cai.

Before Mo Jian had even sat down, the man had announced three separate times, with evident pride, as though it were a virtue, that his father owned the entire establishment. The announcement had apparently served as both introduction and warning, because Mo Jian had watched what happened to those who forgot it.

Twice during the games, Duan Cai had stripped a player down to their last stone, and both times the aftermath had been the same: a lazy flick of his fat fingers, a word to the staff hovering nearby, and the loser had been hauled out by the collar like unwanted rubbish, their protests swallowed by the noise of the room before the door had even shut behind them. It was done without regard for ceremony or dignity, with the losers not even allowed the basic courtesy of getting to leave on their own feet.

Just the blunt, cheerful disposal of people who had served their purpose and were no longer interesting. It had not seemed to affect Duan Cai's appetite in the slightest. He had eaten through all of it; the begging, the humiliation, the sound of a grown person weeping, with the incurious contentment of a man enjoying a pleasant afternoon. At the start of the day, he had been jolly and flushed, his face purple from drink and laughter.

As the rounds progressed, that purple had deepened steadily, through red, then through a sustained and worrying crimson, and was now approaching toward a shade that defied easy description. Duan Cai was losing, constantly and spectacularly.

The man appeared wholly unfamiliar with the concepts of moderation and strategy, and the only thing preventing him from resorting to his natural young master instincts, like having Mo Jian thrown out, accusing him of cheating, or manufacturing some loud scene, was almost certainly the fact that Mo Jian himself was a Core Formation cultivator. Even Duan Cai was not quite stupid enough to provoke someone of equal realm inside his father's gambling hall. And since his pride would not allow him to simply walk away…

well, out of the hundred and fifty mid-grade spirit stones Mo Jian had won so far tonight, Duan Cai had contributed more than ninety. The man was a veritable spirit-stone mine, wrapped in luxurious silk and swaddled in generous layers of human flesh. How he had ever reached Core Formation was genuinely beyond Mo Jian's understanding. Though, considering how enthusiastically he stuffed wine and food into his mouth, Mo Jian suspected the answer involved his father stuffing cultivation resources down the same path.

Across the table, Bao Hu stared at his cards for a long moment. His thick fingers tapped the table once, twice, before he finally exhaled and pushed his hand forward.

"I fold." He had learned a very vivid lesson tonight: going up against Mo Jian was an excellent way to watch one's purse steadily shrink. To his credit, he seemed capable of learning from experience, at least for the moment. Wei Qian required even less deliberation. The thin gambler barely glanced at his cards before laying them face-down on the table.

"I fold as well." No hesitation. Whatever Wei Qian valued most in the world, it was clearly not gambling. Duan Cai, however, reacted very differently. The already flushed young master turned an even deeper shade of purple as he looked at his two companions.

"Cowards," he spat, fat cheeks trembling.

"Both of you!" Then his gaze snapped back to Mo Jian. The rolls of flesh beneath his chin quivered with indignation.

"There is no way your luck holds again," he hissed.

"I refuse to believe it. Bring it on." Mo Jian inclined his head slightly. Then, with the composed, modest expression of a man attending to an entirely ordinary chore, he spread his cards across the table. A perfect hand. Myriads, arranged from the highest to the lowest. Silence fell over the table like a blade. Then Duan Cai exploded.

"DAMN IT!" He slammed his hand onto the table so hard the wooden surface lurched dangerously to one side, the scattered cards jumping from the impact. A ripple of groans, whistles, and delighted laughter spread through the crowd packed around them. Some cursed under their breath at losing side bets, while others clapped and cheered. Once again, the newcomer had beaten the usual winners. Mo Jian calmly gathered his winnings, another ten mid-grade spirit stones, with his usual dignity.

That is to say, outwardly he appeared the very picture of a composed cultivator: modest, restrained, and entirely irreproachable. Inwardly, however, he was cackling like a lunatic. The sweet, intoxicating thrill of victory was simply too delightful. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. On the table, the Netherworld Scorpion twitched its tail in evident delight. In many ways, Mo Jian's goal for the day had already been accomplished.

Earlier that day, Bai Ning had spent time making inquiries about local cultivation sects throughout the district. Among the many names she'd gathered, one had surfaced repeatedly, spoken with quiet and consistent approval: the Flower Valley Sect. Despite the gentle sound of its name, the sect was not located in some scenic valley or secluded mountain grove. Instead, it occupied a modest complex tucked into a busy, and thoroughly urban part of the district.

Its disciples looked less like hardened cultivators and more like ordinary schoolchildren going about their studies. Still, its reputation was excellent. More importantly, the sect offered something extremely valuable: for an entry fee of two hundred mid-grade spirit stones, it guaranteed that any accepted disciple would reach at least Foundation Establishment within three decades. For someone like Xiao Hua, that opportunity was priceless.

Mo Jian had already secured half that amount earlier in the evening at a cricket-fighting pit, an experience he still found faintly surreal. Cultivators who could fly through the sky and shatter boulders with a flick of their sleeves, crowding around wooden boxes to bet on insects. But strange or not, gambling was gambling, and Mo Jian had his methods. He had simply allowed the Netherworld Scorpion to sting his opponent's cricket.

Since the insect was an ordinary bug and not even a spirit beast, the result had been immediate and decisive. Victory had come quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. He had been somewhat blatant about it, and while his cultivation realm ensured that no one was foolish enough to try something like dragging him into an alley to break his knees, the establishment had still asked him, very politely, but very firmly, to leave. Thus he had wandered here, to the second-closest gambling parlor to their inn.

Second-closest, specifically as a precaution against exactly this sort of outcome. He was learning. Now, with tonight's winnings added to his earlier success, Mo Jian had enough to pay the Flower Valley Sect's full entry fee for Xiao Hua, with a comfortable surplus remaining. For the first time in quite a while, he was no longer completely destitute. Which, he reflected, was always a pleasant development.

And if Bai Ning had experienced similar success tonight, or even something far more modest, their finances would be secure for the foreseeable future Mo Jian slid the last of his winnings into his storage pouch with practiced ease, the faint chime of spirit stone against spirit stone a sound far more pleasant than music. Across the table, Duan Cai was breathing heavily.

The young master stared at the empty space where his fortune had been stacked, his face cycling through colors Mo Jian could not name with confidence. For a moment, he genuinely wondered if the man might burst a blood vessel. He offered him a polite smile.

"I would love to-" take more of your money, he did not say" -keep playing, but I think I am done for the day. Another time, perhaps." He rose smoothly from his seat. Around them, the crowd began to disperse, people realizing the show was over. A few groaned quietly at the anticlimax, others muttered under their breath as they drifted back toward the other tables. But Duan Cai did not move. Instead, he leaned forward slowly, his thick neck rigid, a tight rictus stretched across his face.

"No way," he said. Then, louder-"Again." The word landed on the table like a thrown brick. Bao Hu groaned under his breath. Wei Qian closed his eyes with the expression of a man watching an entirely predictable disaster arrive precisely on schedule. Mo Jian's smile faded. The mildness drained from his face as though wiped away by an invisible hand. Quietly, inexorably, the pressure of his aura began to spread through the gambling hall. The wooden floorboards creaked. The doors groaned softly on their hinges.

The low tables trembled faintly, their legs rattling against the floor. Above, the small charms hanging from the ceiling began to sway in a wind that did not exist. The dispersing crowd reacted immediately. Those who had already turned away froze in place. Others began drifting back toward the table, curiosity rekindling at the promise of a far more interesting spectacle. After all, a gambling match ending was disappointing. But a clash between cultivators? That was worth watching.

Mo Jian, however, had no intention of engaging in an actual fight. This was merely a demonstration: a warning. The hierarchy among cultivators in the Imperial Capital was paradoxical. It was simultaneously more rigid than in the Thousand Shattered Islands and yet, in practice, far more constrained. Back home, no Foundation Establishment cultivator would have dared linger to watch a duel between Core Formation experts.

Here, the ever-present threat of city guards and civil officials ensured that any fight would be broken up long before it escalated. Everyone lived under the eye of the Eternal Emperor, so even the boldest display of power had limits. Mo Jian's goal was simple: remind Duan Cai exactly who he was dealing with. A man at the final stage of a realm the young master had likely reached more by accident of birth than skill.

A clash here would end predictably, in Mo Jian's favor, and the reprisal from the city guards, given the gathered crowd, would certainly not favor the son of a gambling den owner. Mo Jian watched the carefully contained pressure of his aura press against the other man, feeling the realization sink into Duan Cai's mind, like a stone sinking through water. The young master's color deepened further, but beneath the bluster, something deflated.

Yet, despite the humiliation, Duan Cai rallied for one last desperate gambit.

"Give me a chance to win it back," he said, voice tight with equal parts anger and desperation.

"One hand. Winner takes all. I'll double the pot to two hundred mid-grade spirit stones." Mo Jian paused. Despite himself, and despite having every intention to leave, he did the mental arithmetic. Two hundred stones was significant, even accounting for tonight's comfortable earnings. But this is how gambling starts, Mo Jian, he scolded himself internally. He had no intention of becoming an actual gambler.

He had come here to earn money, and in the process, found himself in a position to teach a thoroughly unpleasant man a small lesson. He should quit while he was ahead. Besides, if he took the double pot, Duan Cai would have enough grievance to involve his father. Mo Jian doubted a successful businessman would go to war on behalf of a grown son's gambling debts, but Duan Cai's looks and personality had to have come from somewhere. He shook his head firmly.

"No. My luck has been good tonight, and I have no intention of tempting it through hubris. I am done." He let his gaze sweep once across the table.

"Unless someone intends to stop me?" He let the question hang in the air. The crowd, sensing the tension, reacted more intelligently this time. The gambling room emptied itself so quickly that Mo Jian could have sworn there had been a sudden sale on the Potion of Immortality outside. Duan Cai ground his teeth, visibly struggling with the urge to act, but in the end, some fragment of good sense prevailed. He forced a grotesque smile and clasped his hands in a caricature of a cultivator's salute.

"Then... you must come back someday, Fellow Daoist, so I may avenge my losses." The words sounded thoroughly unconvincing, and from the expression on his face, even Duan Cai did not seem to believe them. Mo Jian inclined his head politely, offered final nods to Bao Hu and Wei Qian – both of whom had frozen the moment it appeared their seniors might clash and were still, as of yet, maintaining impressive impressions of decorative statues – and turned to leave.

The narrow stone steps leading up from the sunken gambling parlor opened onto the street, and the breeze hit him immediately, carrying the mingled scents of simmering herbs, roasted meats, and incense drifting from small shrines tucked between storefronts. The sun was high in the sky, gleaming off the gray cobblestones slicked slightly from the morning rain. Shadows of the tightly packed buildings stretched in sharp angles across the street, painting the busy thoroughfare with a patchwork of light and dark.

The street itself was impossibly crowded. Mo Jian had to weave carefully to avoid bumping into merchants balancing baskets of produce, low-level cultivators haggling over talismans, or mortals simply rushing to finish their errands. From time to time, a cultivator of higher realm would drift past, but they kept to themselves where they could. Most of the truly powerful cultivators traveled via the sky lanes, soaring above the chaos, leaving only a few grounded; people who had some other purposes in mind, like him.

He resisted the urge to whistle, instead stepping into the steady flow of the crowd, following a cultivator in black robes and a wide straw hat. His pace was unhurried, and he made no effort to conceal his aura. Immediately, a few people instinctively gave him extra space, sensing the Core Formation presence among them. The atmosphere of the street was alive with sound and motion. Children darted between stalls, their laughter mingling with the calls of merchants hawking herbs, potions, and talismans.

Steam rose from vendors' grills, curling lazily in the sunlight, carrying the warm, savory scent of roasted meats and spiced bread. Paper lanterns swayed gently from balcony eaves, and the faint tinkle of a temple bell echoed from somewhere deeper in the district. Up ahead, a narrow fork branched off from the main street, barely wide enough for a single person to pass. Crooked wooden buildings leaned toward each other from both sides, their shadows meeting in the center of the worn cobblestones below.

It was a small, forgotten alley; an addendum to the bustling city where some poor mortals had carved out a little room for themselves, unnoticed by most. Without hesitation, Mo Jian slipped into the side street, moving a few paces until the noise of the main road dulled behind him. The crowded thoroughfare vanished from sight, replaced by the narrow throat of the alley. Here, the city felt older. The cobblestones were uneven and worn smooth by generations of footsteps.

The leaning wooden buildings on either side nearly touched above his head, their upper balconies jutting out so far that only thin ribbons of sunlight slipped through the gaps. Laundry hung from ropes strung between windows, swaying faintly in the breeze, and somewhere deeper in the alley a pot simmered over a charcoal stove, releasing the quiet smell of boiling rice. The noise of the market district faded into a distant murmur, a constant, muffled hum like the ocean heard from far away.

Mo Jian stopped and turned around, folding his hands behind his back. Then he waited. It took a full minute. For mortals, a minute was nothing. For cultivators, whose movements could split stone and cross rooftops in a breath, it was practically an eternity. But crowded districts like this forced even the swiftest practitioners to move at the pace of the street. Eventually, his tail arrived. Mo Jian had noticed the furtive Foundation Establishment cultivator following him the moment he left the gambling parlor.

The woman had done her best to blend into the crowd, but to someone of his realm, her nervous aura had stood out like a candle in darkness. In many ways, he was impressed by the audacity of Duan Cai. Sending someone to tail him… for what purpose, exactly? What had the young master expected a Foundation Establishment junior to accomplish against a Core Formation expert? It made little sense. But the moment the follower stepped into the alley, Mo Jian's expectations shattered entirely.

The woman who entered looked nothing like what he would have expected from an employee, or enforcer, of a gambling establishment. She was thin, her robes simple and worn. Her hair had been hastily tied back, loose strands clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen, as if she had been crying for quite some time. She froze the moment she saw him standing there, waiting. Her eyes widened in pure shock, like a rabbit realizing it had run straight into the hunter it had been trying to avoid.

Mo Jian blinked. Then, before he could say a word, the woman suddenly threw herself forward. She collapsed to the ground in front of him, pressing her forehead against the cobblestones with a desperate thud.

"Senior!" she cried. Her voice cracked with raw panic.

"Please, please save this poor woman and her son from the despicable clutches of that fiend Duan Cai!" Mo Jian stared down at the prostrate figure, momentarily stunned.

"I beg you," she continued, her voice trembling, "teach me your secrets of winning at his rigged table!" Mo Jian blinked again. Say what now?