Chapter 17: Such Double Standards

After a visit to the Jingzhao Prefecture, it turned out the injustice was a misunderstanding, and the sudden fame was nothing more than a pie in the sky. Song Ji licked the tea stains tinged with a metallic tang from the corner of his mouth, struggling to pick out a piece of cilantro wedged between his teeth.

The tea at Jingzhao Prefecture was hardly inventive—in the words of his second sister, it was simply shocking.

Having resolved the matter, Song Ji left the government office and arrived at the neighborhood crossroads, where he encountered the real debt collector. They exchanged smiles, but the expressions froze faintly around their eyes.

Meanwhile, inside the prefecture, Gouya’s smile also stiffened. “My lord, how could you let Song Ji slip away? That scoundrel is a deadbeat; he still owes me ten wen!”

Liu Wenxu didn’t raise his eyes. With delicate precision, he dipped his brush into ink and wrote gracefully on the rice paper.

“I’ve compensated him for you,” came his voice, tinged with a soft smile, echoing like a serene valley.

He then set the brush down, the paper soaking up the ink, its fragrance lingering.

Gouya recognized the brush and quickly applied a newly learned idiom: “My lord cherishes this Xuanzhou Zhuge brush given by the head of the household. It never touches useless words; once the brush moves, each character is worth a thousand gold.”

Liu Wenxu corrected gently, “Not Zhuge brush, but Xuanzhou Zhuge brush—”

Gouya sighed, finally grasping the concept of misplaced focus—remembering only Lü Buwei but forgetting the Zhuge family.

“Is the person you wrote about an old acquaintance?”

“No, it’s a Zhuge.”

The brush’s owner smiled faintly, but a trace of concealed expectation shimmered in his gaze. He pressed the scroll down lightly, covering the name on the paper.

Xu Chian entered with a report. “My lord, after days of investigating the gambler Jiu Yao’s illicit gains, we have a breakthrough at a private residence in the southern district’s Guiyi Lane.”

Liu Wenxu hurried off with two subordinates.

Liu’s mother came bearing chicken soup but found no one. The wind swept through the window lattice, scattering kapok blossoms across the floor.

She picked up what seemed to be a woman’s garment and turned to the rice paper on the table. The three characters “Song Ruzhao” felt like a gentle spring breeze—warm and tender.

Song Ruzhao’s eyelids twitched involuntarily.

Just as she stepped out of the Song family gate, an arrowhead whizzed past her eye, slicing through the air like a rainbow and embedding itself firmly into a wooden beam.

Pierced to the arrow was a letter, its handwriting uneven and jagged. Song Ruzhao scrutinized it from all sides until finally recognizing the scrawl:

“The weather is fine today. If you don’t repay the debt, Song Ji will be in trouble.”

Signed by the “Nine Wins Gambling House.”

No sooner had she finished reading than a square-faced man poked his head from behind the paper, wearing a cheap grin. “Boss, any news?”

Song Ruzhao nodded. “Sort of.”

Then a round face popped out, even more rotund than a pancake, smiling even more cheaply. “Let me see who dares to mess with my ancestor.”

The square and round faces overlapped and alternated before Song Ruzhao’s eyes, like a pair of complementary puzzle pieces, intertwined and inseparable.

The square-faced man formally introduced himself: “Everyone calls me Brother Dan; you can just call me Junior Dan.”

Song Ruzhao felt a bit disoriented: Have I become a gang leader?

The round-faced man offered an awkward smile. “My surname’s Huang. Folks in the underworld respectfully call me the Emperor.”

Confused by her sudden elevation to dragon kin, Song Ruzhao playfully proposed, “Then should I call you Emperor Junior?”

“Emperor? No way,” he said earnestly. “I respect you as my ancestor; just call me Grandson Emperor!”

“...”

Song Ruzhao was utterly bewildered. She was barely twenty, not ready to be anyone’s great-grandmother!

The “Nine Wins” was the largest gambling house in all of Chang’an, with an endless array of games—from the common dice and cockfighting to the slightly refined six-bo and chupu, the styles were countless.

But who exactly was the “nine” in the name? That was less clear.

Song Ji had been tangled in debts for so long, only now realizing the sign wasn’t a blessing for patrons to win, but rather a nickname coined by the boss himself—Jiu Yao.

At the cockfighting arena, cheers rose and fell amid the chaos. Jiu Yao’s sharp eyes caught a resemblance between the newcomer’s almond-shaped eyes and Song Ji’s, though he couldn’t place which young lady from the Song family she was.

Rumors helped narrow it down: definitely not the second sister, the eldest maid, nor the inexperienced youngest sister.

It had to be the sharp-tongued third sister, who had recently made a name for herself in the capital’s mysterious cases.

Behind her were two underworld leaders—Brother Dan and Emperor.

Jiu Yao stroked his dark stubble, amusement glinting in his eyes as the three approached.

He spoke with an imposing air: “I hear Song Third Lady has learned the craft of a coroner through difficult cases. Now, she comes to collect her own brother’s remains?”

The stern-faced Zhan Ye smirked proudly. “Old gambler Jiu, open your eyes wide. This is the Song family’s second lady.”

Jiu Yao’s aura intensified. “Oh, how the two of you have fallen, mingling with someone who’s clearly a few cards short of a deck.”

“...”

He sat cross-legged on the rush mat, fiddling with chupu pieces. Song Ruzhao, graceful as a willow in the forest, cast a gaze that seemed to look down on the world. “Who’s the one with the problem? Let’s compare, shall we?”

“Fine! I won’t bully a simple-minded young lady. Let’s have a straightforward game of chupu,” Jiu Yao declared confidently.

A wave of his hand summoned a set of five tossing pieces, carved from chupu wood, rounded and sharp at both ends, with a flat broad middle—like a plump almond pressed flat.

The “almond” had two sides: one painted black, the other white.

Song Ruzhao had heard of the five-wood game before. To test her knowledge, she pointed at one side. “Is it true that if all black are thrown, it’s called ‘Lu’, the highest rank?”

“Four black and one white is called ‘Zhi’, second to Lu; the rest are mixed colors,” Jiu Yao explained patiently, sharing his secret skill with her.

“If I win, will you release Song Ji?”

“That’s boring. If I win...” His gaze darkened with desire, “why not just come with me?”

Immediately, Emperor and Zhan Ye drew their knives, stepping to either side. “Shameless scoundrel!”

Song Ruzhao remained calm. “In other words, if I win, you come with me.”

The guards cheered louder. “Yes! Our master is so commanding!”

Jiu Yao thought: Appetite and desire are human nature. Why does her being commanding make me shameless?

What a pair of double standards.

But, in truth, no matter who won, the outcome was the same.

The dice cup was thrown, Jiu Yao focused completely. He had relied on this skill for years, mastering the crafting of chupu, the arm’s arc, controlling speed and sound, perfectly judging each toss’s landing.

Revealing the results, though one piece wobbled uncertainly, its angle confirmed the highest score—all black!

Yet the black side gently flipped over, revealing the white face.

Four black and one white: Zhi.

Brother Dan shouted, “Jiu Yao’s hand shook, only got a Zhi! Mark it down!”

Song Ruzhao’s delicate fingers lightly tossed next, landing four whites.

One black side still wobbled.

The black side attempted to flip again, history seemed set to repeat. Jiu Yao cheered, “A tie—”

Emperor was even happier. “Look, the black side can’t flip!”

Brother Dan shouted, “Second lady threw a Lu! Mark it down!”

Jiu Yao found it strange—two biased dogs were one thing, but even the chupu he personally carved was double-standard?

After five rounds of the same repeated history, Jiu Yao was frustrated; his luck was poor today.

“I, Master Jiu, refuse to accept this! Bring out the general of food and clothing—”

A proud, imposing rooster made a grand entrance.

Resembling an ostrich, with white feathers and a red crest, it wore a brocade robe embroidered with auspicious cloud patterns—immaculate and pristine.

The most eye-catching were its claws, adorned with a pair of golden bracelets, dazzling and exquisite—more refined than the emperor’s own.

Jiu Yao thought: Since people can’t do it, I’ll send in a chicken instead!