By this point, the tiny territory of the mahjong table had become a battlefield with blades drawn and bows strung.
Directly in front of Yan Xiaodao lay Young Master Ling, a city-toppling beauty reduced to an utterly miserable state, his jade-like body sprawled across the table as though waiting to be hacked into pieces. Whether he was actually cut apart or managed to escape alive now depended on the tiles beneath Yan Xiaodao’s hands.
At this distance, Yan Xiaodao no longer needed to lean forward to study Ling He’s face clearly.
The irises of this man’s eyes really were pale green.
The green glimmer Yan Xiaodao had seen that first night while hanging beside the cruise ship under swaying lights had not been an illusion. Black-haired, green-eyed men were uncommon in everyday life. Blue and green eyes were supposedly recessive traits usually found only among white people, and even people of mixed Chinese and Caucasian ancestry rarely ended up with blue or green eyes. So could this man be of mixed ancestry—and have happened to inherit green eyes as well?
Yan Xiaodao found this entire assignment deeply troublesome. His godfather had told him to keep this person alive, and only now did he truly appreciate what a long-winded pain in the ass protecting someone could be. It really would have been easier to send him out to cut someone down.
Judging by his face, Mr. Ling was actually very young, probably only in his early twenties. But young or not, he was no child. His was clearly the body of a mature adult man: tall, broad, and long-limbed. Even after several days of torment and dehydration, he still occupied the entire table diagonally, creating a heavy, dazzling presence that was impossible to ignore.
The table was two sizes larger than an ordinary mahjong table, yet Ling He’s head still hung uncomfortably over one edge while both lower legs dangled off the opposite side. After being soaked in seawater for so long, neither his appearance nor his smell was particularly appealing. Yet apparently that peerlessly beautiful face alone was enough; everyone around the table endured the rest without complaint….
Jian Mingjue was guarding Ling He’s feet and could barely stack his tiles properly anymore. He dug several tiles out from beneath Ling He’s body, then casually and maliciously rolled the man from his stomach onto his back.
Ling He could not resist with his limbs and simply rolled over, his eyes cold and proud as they looked down upon Jian Mingjue.
Jian Mingjue froze beneath the stare. “Ai—ya, don’t be afraid. I’ll win you over in a minute! Out of everyone at this table, I’m the one person who absolutely won’t hurt your hands or feet!”
Ling He returned a contemptuous look. “You worthless little fool. If you manage to win at cards today, the person rolling out of here without hands or feet will be you.”
Jian Mingjue smacked his lips and said suggestively, “Tsk. Even the sound of you cursing people is beautiful. Later, I’ll listen to you curse me beside my ear every single day.”
Ling He gave him a cold sneer. “Only someone like Second Master Jian—deaf from tinnitus, blind in the eyes, swollen all over and weak in the kidneys—could think being cursed sounds pleasant. You keep a whole line of used-up beauties and a flock of cheap hookers around you. One worthless spendthrift, and somehow you’ve managed to whore your way into becoming a legendary celebrity of the seventy years since the founding of the nation. If the ancestors of the Jian family know what you’ve accomplished from beyond the grave, I’m sure they’re basking in the glory you’ve brought to the family gates and ancestral hall.”
“….” Jian Mingjue’s eyes lit up and his whole body shuddered. “Heh-heh, ha ha ha… damn, you’ve got flavor!”
Yan Xiaodao felt that Mr. Ling was going to die by that merciless mouth of his sooner or later. Still so young and hot-blooded—was this man even twenty? Could he please shut up for two sentences and behave for a moment? Why was he so damn hard to deal with? Halfway through stacking his tiles, Yan Xiaodao realized the count was wrong. At least three tiles were still trapped beneath Ling He’s back.
He reached underneath, and Ling He abruptly stopped talking, cutting him a sidelong look.
Yan Xiaodao said, “You’re lying on the tiles.”
He slid his hand underneath. The back of his hand touched Ling He’s cold, wet clothing, while his nimble fingers found the tiles without touching the man’s lower back or buttocks. Ling He smiled beautifully as he watched him. “Mr. Yan truly is that rare model of a proper gentleman. Palm up, palm down, stirring clouds and rain with those hands—you remain so solemn and self-controlled through all of it.”
A faint expression touched Yan Xiaodao’s lips. “Is there anything here worth losing my dignity or self-control over?”
Ling He immediately struck back, his smile turning one degree nastier. “Mr. Yan, you’ve worked hard these past two days pretending to be a proper gentleman in front of me. How many more days can you stay solemn and self-controlled? Nobody who’s ever seen me has managed to remain a gentleman. Hurry up and peel that layer of skin off your face. Let me see what a beast’s heart looks like beneath a human face.”
“I was never a gentleman in the first place. Why would I need to pretend?” Yan Xiaodao replied coldly. Even with all his usual calm and lack of worldly desire, Ling He was starting to provoke a nameless, wicked fire in him. Fucking hell.
Another hand began. By now, everyone at the table was slightly distracted, unable to focus completely on their tiles or avoid Ling He’s glaring presence.
The man was astonishingly beautiful yet also vicious and unbearably arrogant, showing none of the panic or disorder of someone trapped at the end of the road. The poisonous snake’s tongue flicked in every direction, provoking and fanning flames as though he still felt he was not dying quickly enough.
You Haodong did not want to speak, but the sharp light beneath his lowered lids kept sliding across Ling He’s body. His skin and bone structure truly were beautiful….
Superstar Mai was even more uncomfortable, as though sitting on needles. Without comparison, perhaps the difference would not have felt so striking. Yet the two most handsome men at this table could hardly have been more different in temperament.
Every trace of Ling He’s meanness, flamboyance, pride, and absolute refusal to yield spread from the four corners of the card table like poisonous vines, entangling and sweeping through everyone’s emotions and nerves. Those without strong enough minds became even more hesitant and confused, while the weakness of people accustomed to living in shadows had nowhere left to hide.
Whenever Mai Yunliang’s eyes happened to meet Ling He’s, he immediately looked away—only to be unable to stop himself from secretly glancing back. Each time, he was directly routed by Mr. Ling’s contemptuous stare, which came sweeping down upon him like a blade.
Ling He was absolutely no rag doll. Mai Yunliang was the one who looked like a paper doll with nothing but a pretty skin and enough breath to stay alive….
Yan Xiaodao finished his cup of water. His foul mood had made him thirsty, but he discovered that the little teapot beside him had been swept onto the floor when Ling He came crashing down from above. There was nothing left to drink.
Mai Yunliang’s reflexes were even quicker and more attentive than those of the male servers. He immediately dropped his tiles and leaned over to pour Mr. Yan more tea.
As he bent forward, Ling He’s gaze suddenly swept up from below with a sharp swish and pinned him. Ling He watched him pour the tea with intense contempt and mockery, hurling a giant word at him from between his brows and eyes: PATHETIC.
Yan Xiaodao felt that Mai Yunliang was actually a decent person. He might lack masculine blood and presence, but he was kind by nature, merely trying to find a way to survive, and he had no intention of hurting anyone.
Yan Xiaodao smiled at him, lifted the cup, and said, “Thank you.”
Ling He gave Yan Xiaodao a completely free, enormous eye roll. His green eyeballs practically rolled right into the cup of tea.
Mai Yunliang felt dejected and bored. He casually discarded a Three of Bamboos, then realized he had played the wrong tile; he had not even finished clearing the Honors from his hand. A faint jealousy began to grow inside him—but what exactly was he jealous of? That Young Master Ling was even more beautiful than he was, naturally exquisite without any artificial embellishment, yet also so aggressive and verbally brilliant that he illuminated the entire hall and stunned everyone in it?…
You Haodong drew and discarded quickly all the way through.
Yan Xiaodao divided part of his attention to working out whether his opponent was holding Characters or Bamboos. He was worried that You Haodong might once again build his hand too quickly, while Yan himself might not be lucky enough to self-draw another winner. In a fast hand like this, the important thing was getting ready first; an early ready hand gave you the best chance of winning.
Unfortunately, You Haodong was still seated immediately before him, holding him down from upstream and discarding with extreme caution and stinginess. Now the bastard threw out a completely useless Seven of Bamboos.
Yan Xiaodao drew his tile. His gaze swept casually across Ling He’s body, and by pure chance he suddenly noticed that the fingers of the hand lying on his side of the table had been moving the entire time.
The movement was extremely subtle. Had Yan not looked closely, he would almost have missed it.
Ling He’s head was turned slightly to one side, and the steadily receding wall of tiles happened to lie near the corner of his eye. From that angle, he could see every hand that reached forward to draw, provided his close-range vision was sharp enough, he watched with enough concentration, and he was not farsighted with age.
Yan Xiaodao rubbed the tile he had just drawn with his thumb. Without looking, he already knew it was an awkward Five of Bamboos. Should he discard the Five of Bamboos or the Three of Characters?
His seemingly careless gaze remained on Ling He’s hand as he slowly studied the character being traced by that long, slender index finger.
Ling He was drawing a Three of Bamboos.
Yan Xiaodao did not have a Three of Bamboos in his own hand at all.
He understood. You Haodong, who had drawn before him, must have picked up the Three of Bamboos and kept it rather than discarding it.
Without changing expression, Yan Xiaodao discarded the Three of Characters. Ling He’s damp hair clung to his face, which was turned slightly toward Yan. The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. This time, in an unusual display of conscience, he did not spray any venom in Yan Xiaodao’s direction.
Over the next two turns, Yan Xiaodao read Four of Characters and Two of Dots from the shapes Ling He traced.
The two of them secretly passed information beneath everyone’s noses, and Yan Xiaodao’s hand rapidly went ready.
You Haodong had unfortunately drawn a miserable collection of ones, nines, and Honor tiles that neither father nor mother could love. But at the end of the road, another path suddenly opened before him: he decided to build Thirteen Orphans.
He already held eleven of the required orphan tiles, lacking only the East Wind, White Dragon, and Red Dragon. If he completed a giant hand like that, he could turn the entire game around.
What he did not know was that Mai Yunliang was using a pair of East Winds as his pair, while one Red Dragon had already been discarded and Jian Mingjue and Yan Xiaodao each held another. The Red Dragons were nearly dead.
Inside his head, You Haodong chanted, Red Dragon, Red Dragon, give me a fucking Red Dragon already….
Mai Yunliang drew a tile and frowned. Another useless Red Dragon. He had no choice but to discard it.
The moment You Haodong saw that lonely red-marked tile fall into the discard pool, his face went green and his jaw clenched hard. Mai Yunliang froze, instantly anxious, wondering what he had done wrong this time to offend the local moneybags.
The table abruptly fell silent for a moment. You Haodong pretended to reach toward the wall to draw, but his hand suddenly shot toward Ling He instead. Ling He’s head was pointed in that direction; You grabbed him by the hair from behind, yanked his head upward, then wrenched it backward, bending his neck into a terrifying angle.
You Haodong seized Ling He from behind and dragged him inch by inch toward his side of the table. Ling He’s face immediately went pale. Sweat seeping from his temples joined the water on his neck and ran down over his collarbones, yet he bit his lip hard and made no sound.
Their faces became inverted reflections as they stared at one another. You Haodong slowly leaned down over Ling He from above and pinched his chin. “Move that finger one more time and I’ll chop off the whole hand.”
Ling He gave a soft little “Ah,” as though genuinely surprised. Held between two iron fingers, his voice remained lilting and airy. “So Mr. You ‘also’ knows how to use a blade to chop people up? What kind of blade? Are you any good with it? Need someone to give you pointers? Go on, take it out and chop something.”
The emphasis landed squarely on the word “also.” The provocation and deliberate attempt to fan the flames could not have been more obvious.
You Haodong’s chest genuinely hurt from anger. He restrained himself and glanced at Yan Xiaodao, sitting only five feet away in the seat below him—Boss Yan, known throughout the underworld as Jinmen’s First Bladesman. You Haodong truly did not dare chop.
You Haodong let go. Ling He’s hair fell loosely across his forehead again, his face still damp. He turned toward Yan Xiaodao and gave him another smile of perfect mutual understanding.
A dim light shifted deep in Yan Xiaodao’s eyes. That smile really was poisonous. It scratched straight at the heart….
Mai Yunliang had been so frightened just now that he nearly knocked his tiles onto the floor. He lowered his head and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. Soon it was his turn to draw and discard again. He knew the other three players were all ready and were watching him. He hesitated between a Six and a Nine of Bamboos, feeling that either one might deal into somebody’s hand. Discard or not? His head was starting to hurt.
Yan Xiaodao looked at Mai Yunliang and said pleasantly, “Just throw one, Mr. Mai. It’s fine.”
Mai Yunliang quickly glanced at Yan Xiaodao, grateful. Without realizing it, he had also been somewhat dazzled by Yan Xiaodao’s handsome, easygoing presence. As though tossing away a burden, he discarded the Six of Bamboos.
Yan Xiaodao laughed openly. With a light jolt from beneath the table, he pushed his tiles forward and won again. You Haodong’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in disbelief. He swept his own tiles away with one furious hand and glared viciously at Mai Yunliang for dealing into the winning hand, nearly blurting out, You useless decorative vase, biting the hand that feeds you!
Mai Yunliang knew he had made a terrible mistake. His handsome face fell into awkward misery. At this point, no matter whom he tried to please, he would end up offending someone else.
“Ha ha ha ha…” Ling He burst into laughter powerful enough to send a shiver through everyone present. The sound rose freely from his chest and curled all the way up to the ceiling, echoing again and again through the enclosed card room. The laughter itself seemed almost demonic, vibrating against everyone’s eardrums and refusing to fade. Reflected in Ling He’s eyes was Yan Xiaodao’s helpless, embarrassed expression, as though he wanted to walk over and cover Ling He’s mouth. That only made Ling He even more delighted. Sprawled across the gambling table, he laughed until demonic winds seemed to rise on all sides, thoroughly and gloriously enjoying himself.
You Haodong felt that he badly needed to tear the oxygen mask off old Watanabe’s face, strap it onto his own, and swallow a dose of fast-acting heart medicine.
Watanabe Yangshan, meanwhile, might already have died of rage and no longer needed the oxygen mask at all.
Elio’s Notes: The chapter title 炮打城楼 literally means “cannon fire on the city tower,” but it also plays on mahjong terminology: 点炮 means to deal another player the discard they need to win. Ling He’s “stirring clouds and rain” remark uses 云雨, a classical euphemism for sex, turning Yan Xiaodao’s careful hand movements into a deliberately suggestive joke.
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