Chapter 133 — Gambling
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 2 of 4
The Mongolian horse was among the finest warhorses. With a mount like that, Wei Fan was full of confidence about the next day's ride.
"Don't worry, brother-in-law," he said with a smile. "They're just a pair of youngsters, for all their noble rank. We'd never stoop to their level."
"You'd need the skill to stoop to their level!" Wang Qinghai said, caught between laughter and exasperation. "I doubt you even know, do you? The Heir of the Duke of Yingguo can draw a bow of at least three dan, and his mount is called Feidu—a Wusun horse, said to cover a thousand li in a day. It was a gift from the Duke of Dingguo for his tenth birthday. The Song family has several more—rouge horses and Yanqi horses. The most famous are Hongyu, Fuyun, Chidian, Juechen, and Pingshan. Our family's Juequn was bred from one of the Song family's rouge mares—sired by the same dam as the Songs' Hongyu."
Of the rest he knew nothing, but the Wang family's Juequn he had seen with his own eyes—tall and sturdy, and when it ran it flew like wind and lightning. He had envied it no end, and secretly vowed that one day he too would find a way to get a fine horse like Juequn.
Wei Fan gave a dry laugh.
Zhang Yuanming seized the moment. "There's always a mountain beyond the mountain, a sky beyond the sky. From now on, you'd do well to keep your wits about you in all things."
This brother-in-law of his treated him well.
Wei Fan hastily assented.
Zhang Yuanming gave the two a few more words of caution, then saw them out.
Song Yan was playing pai gow with Zhou Jinping, the youngest son of Zhou Shaochuan, Earl of Donglin; Feng Zhi, the eldest legitimate grandson of Feng Jian'an, Earl of Yong'en; and Dong Qi, Heir of the Earl of Guang'en.
A great heap of broken silver and silver notes already lay on the table—two thousand taels at the very least.
Gu Yu, Zhang Xuming, and a crowd of other sons of the nobility gathered round the gambling table to watch, yet there was not a sound to be heard; you could have heard a pin drop.
Zhou Jinping was about twenty, with regular features, except that his eyes darted this way and that, giving one the impression that he was sly and not quite to be trusted.
He felt the tiles in his hand, glanced at Song Yan—seated at his ease in the grand armchair, who had barely looked at his own tiles before laying them face down on the table—then at Feng Zhi, whose face was ashen, and Dong Qi, whose expression was grave. He felt his tiles once more, then threw down the four in his hand and announced loudly, "I'm out!"
Two matched pairs—a six and a five—enough to make up a Double Goose and a Tiger Head.
The Double Goose ranked fifth, below only such hands as the Supremely Honored Treasure and the Double Heaven.
A murmur ran through the onlookers.
Feng Zhi's face turned uglier still; his eyes seemed to spit fire. "You fucking won't even follow on a Double Goose—are you a spineless bastard or what?"
Zhou Jinping sneered. "Song the Elder has already won three Supremely Honored hands in a row, and I still haven't seen a Ding Three. If you've got the guts, follow him yourself—I can't afford it."
"Then I'm out too!" No sooner had the words left his mouth than Dong Qi flung his four tiles down on the table as well.
A Heaven tile, a motley five, a plum blossom, and a red top—enough to make a seven-point set and a ten-point set.
Still no motley three in sight.
Everyone held their breath.
Feng Zhi's face went from green to white and white to green; it was a good while before he slammed his tiles down on the table. "I'm not raising either."
His were two plum tiles, an Earth tile, and a motley nine—enough to make a double plum and an Earth King.
A double plum ranked sixth in strength.
Zhou Jinping gave a soft snort.