Chapter 43: A Gambling House in the Western Market

Inside the luxurious private room, the round table was a chaotic mess. The five meat dishes, two vegetable dishes, and a whole fish had been reduced to a few stray leaves.

“Third Brother, you’ve really suffered, haven’t you…”

It was hard to imagine that, despite being a dignified fourth-rank viscount—lacking a fief, perhaps, but still drawing a government stipend every year—Sun Fugui’s friend always appeared as though he’d been starved for days, reincarnated from a hungry ghost. It really wasn’t necessary… truly, it wasn’t…

*Burp…*

“That was satisfying. I haven’t eaten so well in ages.”

Feng Jingzhe gave a contented belch, rinsed his mouth with tea, and finally turned his gaze on Fugui.

“You’ve only been gone a few days, but your waistline’s already grown another notch…”

“Third Brother, don’t tease me! Let’s talk about you. How many times have I come to see you? No matter how I pleaded, they wouldn’t let me in. I even tried to catch Changsheng outside a couple of times, but he wouldn’t say a word about your situation. After that, he started avoiding me altogether…”

As he recounted his recent experiences, Sun Fugui’s face betrayed genuine concern.

“Don’t mention it. Due to a little carelessness, my family has all but put me under house arrest. Sneaking out tonight was a real risk…”

The business about tricking his mother into hiding in a cesspit was too embarrassing to confess, so Feng Jingzhe brushed it off with a wave of his hand and a light remark.

“By the way, I have a question. That night, after we left the Warm Jade Pavilion, did anything unusual happen nearby?”

The moment he asked, Sun Fugui’s expression visibly changed. He hurried to peek out the door, then closed several windows for good measure.

“Third Brother, even if you hadn’t brought it up, I was going to mention it. Something major happened that night—twenty-three people died in Cat Alley. Other than five or six who had their limbs broken, almost everyone else had their throats slit…”

Feng Jingzhe’s brows furrowed into a single knot.

“Do you know who these people were?”

“I heard they were all river workers…”

“Could it have been the Canal Gang…”

Having been in Chang’an for some time, Feng Jingzhe had picked up on the city’s various factions.

“To be precise, most of the dead were grain porters for the canal.”

Feng Jingzhe turned his teacup thoughtfully, as if recalling someone.

“If I remember correctly, that Wang, the one who wanted to win over Meng Xiaodie, his family trades in rice, doesn’t it?”

“More than trades—he’s the chairman of the Chang’an Grain Guild. He’s quite influential in certain circles…”

Sun Fugui didn’t press for details, simply waiting for Feng Jingzhe to speak on his own.

“You guessed right. Those people came for me that night. The five or six with broken limbs, that was my doing, but I don’t know who killed the rest. In fact, I didn’t even know they were dead until you just told me…”

That answer was enough for Sun Fugui. The fact that Feng Jingzhe admitted to breaking their limbs was proof of trust.

“Third Brother, this is a big deal. I’ve heard the Canal Gang is offering a heavy reward, demanding blood for blood. You know those river folks—normally they’re a loose rabble, sometimes even fighting among their own halls. But when there’s real trouble, they’re as united as anyone, and even the authorities can’t handle them…”

“I know. Let’s keep this between us. There’s no need to dwell on it—when the time comes, old and new scores will be settled together.”

Remembering there was another person involved that night, Feng Jingzhe asked if any of the dead was an old woman. Upon hearing the answer, he let it go—the killers had been considerate enough to deliver him home; surely they hadn’t harmed the old lady.

“Fugui, for some very special reasons, my family strictly forbids me from practicing martial arts! As you now know, I’ve secretly trained myself, but after that night, I realized I’m still lacking in real combat experience. Do you know any way I could improve my skills without exposing my identity?”

Feng Jingzhe had asked offhand, not expecting much, but the sudden widening of Sun Fugui’s eyes told him otherwise.

“Of course, Third Brother. If you want to hone your skills without revealing your identity, nothing beats the underground gambling rings in Chang’an…”

“Underground gambling rings?”

“Exactly! Gambling isn’t illegal in Great Wei, but if it’s called ‘underground,’ you know it’s something special.”

Sun Fugui himself had only been once, and that was in the Western Market. The place was notorious for its colorful mix—a tangle of mule and horse stables, with all manner of inns.

To the west were the Qiang tribesmen, to the north the Wolf Slaves, to the east the Donghu and traders from Yingzhou, to the south the mountain barbarians, and even farther, foreign merchants with golden hair had come to do business.

With so many different peoples thrown together, conflict was inevitable. In the past, bloodshed was rampant—if there weren’t bodies in the canal every morning, it was strange.

Then, a capable individual stepped forward and moved all disputes into the ring. Any grievances were to be settled on the platform, and afterward, no further vengeance was allowed. Bookmakers sprung up to take bets on the fights.

Under this system, the Western Market gradually developed its own order. The authorities, seeing this, were happy to turn a blind eye and leave things be.

Over time, as fights to settle grudges became less common, the bookmakers—having tasted the profits—began to offer their own prize purses.

As expected, there were plenty of people desperate for money. Those confident in their martial prowess flocked to compete, and the city’s young scions found themselves with yet another place to spend their time.

After learning the backstory of the underground gambling den, the well-fed Feng Jingzhe was naturally eager to see it for himself. With time to spare, the two hailed a carriage straight to the Western Market.

Half an hour later, they stood at the entrance of a horse-and-mule inn. The air was thick with the stench of animal dung, and the evening breeze carried the odor straight to one’s head.

Rubbing his stinging, watering eyes, Feng Jingzhe pointed inside.

“Are you sure this is the underground gambling den you mentioned?”

“No mistake, Third Brother—just follow me in. There’s a whole other world inside.”

Fat Sun thumped his chest and strode ahead confidently.

They passed through a large tile-roofed building that resembled a warehouse, and upon emerging inside, it was exactly as Sun Fugui had promised—a hidden world revealed.

Connecting to the warehouse was a structure more than three times its size. The décor was far from luxurious, but the layout was similar to a professional boxing arena Feng Jingzhe had seen in his previous life.

A massive ring dominated the center of the space, with seating on all four sides at a thirty-degree angle. Most remarkable of all, the uppermost row boasted so-called VIP booths, separated by wooden railings.

The only real difference was that, instead of ropes, the ring was surrounded by an iron cage reaching nearly twenty feet high…