Yan Xiaodao had taken the dealer’s seat. The third hand that followed was already Mr. You’s last stand.
Elio’s Notes: The title 釜底抽薪 literally means “pulling the firewood from under the cauldron”: instead of fighting the flames directly, you remove what is feeding them—in other words, solve a problem by cutting it off at the source.
You Haodong knew there was little hope left for him, so instead he quieted down. As though merely venting his frustration and resentment, every time he discarded a tile, he pushed it toward the man lying across the table, arranging his useless tiles one by one in neat rows over Ling He’s chest.
Only the crisp clack of drawing and discarding tiles could be heard in the room. Nobody spoke. The situation was starting to look distinctly perverse. Ling He’s chest was almost completely bare, and two precarious rows of mahjong tiles had been stacked between his collarbones and chest.
Ling He stared straight up at the ceiling. He could not even be bothered to move his hands or feet, and this time his fingers were not drawing little signs for Yan Xiaodao either. Yet the lingering ripple of a smile remained at the corner of his mouth. It was as though this man’s heart, liver, lungs, and guts had all been put together differently from everyone else’s. He treated this sort of public humiliation as nothing, showing no trace of shame or degradation whatsoever. He did not give so much as a hair’s worth of thought to that man surnamed You.
Watanabe Yangshan had ordered him put on the gambling table specifically to humiliate him, to make him look filthy and lewd.
Yet somehow nobody present could actually debase Ling He that way. He had stung every last one of them, leaving them unsure where to lay a hand or even where to sink their teeth.
Several more turns passed in the blink of an eye, with chows and pungs coming as they should.
Jian Mingjue had been left out in the cold for quite a while. He had never really come here for the sake of winning the mahjong hand anyway; his real interest lay elsewhere. Now he leaned toward Yan Xiaodao and shot him a look. “Tsk. What an erotic tableau. A feast for the eyes….”
Yan Xiaodao smiled back. “Brother Jian, can you really bring yourself to take a bite?”
Jian Mingjue shook his head vigorously, grinning so broadly his long chin nearly fell into his tea mug. “I really can’t take a bite, but I sure as hell want to get my hands on him!”
His gaze shifted. “With a beauty lying right here, why don’t we make a little side wager? Otherwise, there can only be one winner at the end, and everyone else will just have to stare.
“Whenever one of us calls a chow or pung and makes a meld, we take off one piece of his clothing. How about it? Heh-heh….”
＊
Mai Yunliang reacted more strongly than Ling He upon hearing this. His eyes immediately darkened, the reddened whites lending his handsome face an indescribable mixture of grief and anger. But he forcibly swallowed and suppressed that emotion below his throat, leaving his chest rising and falling uneasily. He looked as though he desperately did not want to participate in a scene like this, as though he felt a painful kinship with Young Master Ling—or, more than anything, as though his own shame had left him unable to sit comfortably with himself.
You Haodong stacked another tile on Ling He, the line nearly reaching his navel, then abruptly snapped in irritation, “Mr. Jian, hurry up and discard. Do you still want to win or not?!”
“Fine, fine….” Jian Mingjue grinned without a shred of shame. “Won’t hold things up. Whoever wins this hand can give Young Master Ling a mahjong tile to ‘eat.’”
Ling He sneered, the smoky corners of his eyes sweeping over Jian Mingjue from the side. “You say that as if you can actually win.”
Sweat was nearly breaking out across Mai Yunliang’s forehead. Some deeply unpleasant memories had struck straight at his nerves, leaving him looking so miserable that he seemed on the verge of retching right there at the table.
Jian Mingjue was talking this way because his hand was already ready. He was waiting on either the Five or Eight of Characters and was also holding a kong.
Yan Xiaodao understood both decent human speech and filthy subtext. He knew exactly what disgusting little game Second Jian was plotting, and he also knew the man was sitting on a hand he fully intended to win.
He genuinely felt like crushing the tiles between his fingers. This round had dragged on long enough. It was about time to pack up and end things.
Ling He turned his smiling face toward him. Those jade-colored eyes seemed to generate a circling magnetic pull that caught Yan Xiaodao’s gaze. He made no sound, yet somehow said everything, shaping the words silently with his lips: “Yan Xiaodao, whether I get out of this room depends on the tiles in your hand.”
＊
Yan Xiaodao suddenly lowered his lashes and, as though nothing were wrong, pulled his phone from his trouser pocket.
That movement was unusual at a gambling table, and everyone noticed immediately. You Haodong said coldly, “Trying something funny? Cheating?”
Yan Xiaodao looked up innocently. “How could I? Nobody can see your tiles.”
Only You Haodong’s personal bodyguard stood behind him now, and there were hardly any unrelated people left in the room.
Yan Xiaodao casually sent a message with an image attached, then put his phone away. “Just letting my friend Liang Youhui outside know I’m still alive. Otherwise he’ll think somebody chopped me up so badly I can’t answer.”
You Haodong glared viciously at him. He clearly did not believe a word of it, but he could hardly walk over and snatch Yan Xiaodao’s phone.
Jian Mingjue felt his inner suit pocket vibrate twice and instinctively took out his own phone.
You Haodong was practically speechless. He irritably threw down a tile. These two fucking bastards were both pulling something, and both were shamelessly thick-skinned.
Jian Mingjue lowered his head and read the message: 【At 10:05 p.m. on the fifteenth, these two people entered Room 1608 at the Baiyue Atrium Hotel. They look awfully familiar. Mr. Jian, could I trouble you to identify them for me?】
Immediately below it was a photograph showing the backs of a man and a woman glued tightly together. The date, time, people, setting, and room number were all clearly visible. It was devastatingly complete.
Jian Mingjue jerked his head up and stared at Yan Xiaodao.
His mouth twitched uncontrollably. This time, the joint in his jaw truly seemed incapable of holding up that long chin of his. It was about to drop straight onto the floor.
He stared for a full minute without managing a sound.
Jian Mingjue’s complexion went from yellow to white, then purplish-red, before eventually returning to its original yellow. That face of his was every bit as adaptable as a chameleon; it had long since been tempered through a hundred trials into something indestructible. He finally let out a string of “heh-heh-heh-heh” laughter all by himself.
Fine. Very good.
Yan Xiaodao, you’ve got balls.
Jian Mingjue silently pointed at Yan Xiaodao, fitted his chin back into place, then threw down his tiles and surrendered. Yan Xiaodao returned the favor with an innocent, friendly smile of reconciliation and a shrug.
He really had gone all in now.
This had never been part of Yan Xiaodao’s plan. He had thought it unnecessary. He had no desire whatsoever to get involved in the Jian family’s rotten, flea-ridden mess. He had no grudge against Jian Mingjue and was actually on fairly good terms with Chairman Jian Mingxun. He should not have done this.
So why had he?
There had been no calculation behind it. Perhaps his heart had simply softened at that moment and he could not bear it. Perhaps one of Jian Mingjue’s filthy remarks had gotten under his skin…. Or perhaps it was simply the way Ling He had looked so deeply at him, like a hand threading through flowers and brushing past willows before finding the exact weak spot in his ribs.
Jian Mingjue discarded the Eight of Characters he had just drawn, wearing the miserable expression of someone with a toothache.
Yan Xiaodao pushed down his tiles again and picked up the Eight of Characters his newfound comrade-in-arms had dealt him.
“Wait a second, Mr. Yan!” Jian Mingjue suddenly grabbed Yan Xiaodao’s arm and pinned down the hand holding the Eight of Characters. “What about the side wager we agreed on? Whoever wins this hand gets to ‘feed’ this tile to Young Master Ling and make him ‘eat’ it.”
This was one of the boring sexual games wealthy young wastrels commonly played together in places of pleasure. Whether the object shoved inside was a tennis ball, a golf ball, or a mahjong tile depended entirely on whether they happened to have a tennis ball, a golf ball, or a mahjong tile on hand.
To people like them, using a tiny, delicate mahjong tile was practically an expression of an older brother’s tender affection, pampering, and high regard. It was much smaller than a golf ball, wasn’t it?
Yan Xiaodao took back the Eight of Characters and rolled it between his fingers as he rose. He bent his whole body over the table.
Mai Yunliang lowered his head, unwilling to look at a scene where torture and molestation were being used for amusement.
Yan Xiaodao’s gaze traveled from Ling He’s chest to his neck and finally met his eyes. He turned that peerlessly beautiful face toward him, lightly pinched Ling He’s chin to make him open his mouth, placed the tile against his lower lip, and had him bite down on it.
＊
When Mai Yunliang finally looked up in a daze, he froze. Amid the noise of the room, he seemed to turn silently to stone, unable to stop himself from looking at Yan Xiaodao several more times.
“Ha ha ha….” Jian Mingjue let out three helpless bursts of laughter. “Mr. Yan really is a master lover. Such tenderness toward beauty, winning a man’s heart with one move—even the most poisonous snake would have all its fangs pulled out by you…. Ha ha ha, impressive, impressive! Your older brother admits defeat today!”
Jian Mingjue was a fence-sitter who knew how to keep both sides happy. There was no need to offend either man. He spread his hands toward You Haodong, who looked ready to explode. “Aiya—Mr. You, little Brother You, wins and losses are perfectly normal at the gambling table. If you want every sort of person, I’ve got a whole deck of cards….”
You Haodong knew there had to be something going on between Yan Xiaodao and Second Jian. They were plainly colluding under the table and working hand in glove. But what could he do?
They had not even finished the full rotation, but there was no need to play the remaining hands. Yan Xiaodao had already won.
You Haodong knew perfectly well that he had suffered a crushing defeat today and that the situation was lost. If he kept struggling, he would only embarrass his father even more. He had traveled on the Cloudtop many times before and was a regular passenger, but this particular trip really had been an errand assigned by his father. Otherwise, he would never even have known about this so-called “big fish.”
His father had sent him aboard with men to test out this Young Master Ling and see what he was capable of. If they could capture him, they should. If they could not, they still could not allow him to fall into anyone else’s hands. Who could have expected him to be this troublesome and difficult, leaving You Haodong with nothing but bad luck?
Now there was clearly no chance of getting Ling He, but he still had to preserve the bearing of a wealthy young scion. Otherwise, word would get out and people would laugh. He was the respectable legitimate son of the city’s second-ranking official. How could he fail to beat some bastard thug working under Master Qi? You Haodong put on his tea-colored sunglasses, withdrew from the table with a dark expression, and took his bodyguard with him—but at the same time he resorted to one last dirty move. He suddenly heaved upward from underneath and flipped the entire mahjong table.
The man lying on top was completely unprepared.
Ling He had no chance to brace himself. As the tabletop suddenly went vertical and threw him toward the floor, he still stubbornly tried to put out his hands and catch himself.
The square solid-wood table was extremely heavy, made of fine Sumatran mahogany. You Haodong clearly did not care whether he strained his own shoulder joint or back. He put all his strength into the move, too much strength, and the overturned table came crashing straight down toward Ling He.
Yan Xiaodao was less than five paces away and did not hesitate at all. He lunged forward and caught Ling He across one shoulder before he hit the floor. Ling He was like a boneless shadow-puppet figure; every inch of his tall body collapsed across Yan Xiaodao’s shoulder, his legs falling last and striking the floor like heavy hammers with a bang painful enough just to hear.
Yan Xiaodao blocked the heavy table with his other arm. The right elbow bearing the entire load visibly trembled once, but held. Small chunks and splinters of wood burst outward and danced through the dim light as a whole pile of mahjong tiles came raining down over both men with a crash-clatter….
At that moment Yan Xiaodao realized something was wrong. In truth, he had noticed it long ago. Had Ling He been drugged? His lower body seemed almost paralyzed.
Both of Ling He’s hands were digging into Yan Xiaodao’s arm with considerable force, his nails nearly gouging into the flesh. He was obviously using everything he had to try to move his body, yet he did not budge an inch.
Jian Mingjue glanced over and said regretfully, “What a pity, Mr. Yan. How have you still not figured it out?”
Yan Xiaodao said, “What?”
Jian Mingjue played prophet once again. “The man’s a cripple. His legs are ruined.”
“…” Yan Xiaodao froze. Even though he had already suspected it, something still clenched hard inside him before his thoughts fell into a blank, bewildered sea. His legs are ruined?
This Young Master Ling had such an eccentric temperament. When he was not speaking, his thin lips pressed tightly together and his entire body seemed wrapped in sharp fangs and outward-pointing thorns. The impression was so completely at odds with the weak, useless feel of his lower body that Yan Xiaodao found it impossible to connect the two.
Ling He’s face was only inches from Yan Xiaodao’s as he scrutinized every change in his expression. For perhaps half a heartbeat, something like humiliation, bleakness, and pallor flickered faintly across Ling He’s face. But the weakness vanished in an instant, disappearing between his brows. His low, almost murmured voice entered Yan Xiaodao’s ear. “Disappointed? Want to curse somebody? Feel like all that trouble tonight was for nothing, and you ended up with defective goods that didn’t match the description… Mr. Yan?”
Jian Mingjue sighed as though he knew everything. “Ai, eight or nine times out of ten, life doesn’t go the way you want. You think you’ve got a giant flawless diamond, then—what the hell—it turns out one corner is missing and there’s a hole underneath! Look at the front and he’ll charm you to death; look at the back and he’ll scare you to death! Mr. Yan, I’d already heard about it. He’s been crippled for years.”
Watanabe Yangshan’s oxygen mask had slipped crookedly to one side. At the last moment, he finally found a powerful scrap of psychological consolation and echoed Second Jian’s words. “That’s right. He’s just a useless cripple…. No matter how formidable he is, he’s still a broken man. Heh-heh-heh….”
You Haodong hurriedly found himself an exit as well, shaking his proud rooster tail. “Mr. Yan went to all this trouble just to get a useless cripple? Who the fuck wants a paralyzed man? Take him.”
Yan Xiaodao had half of Ling He draped across one shoulder. He truly was alone and unsupported, while the room around him was packed with people watching from every side. He neither advanced nor retreated.
Young Master Liang Youhui, always thoughtful and forever appearing with help just when it was needed, seemed to have finished his late-night snack and returned because he was still worried. He pushed open the door. “Xiaodao, finished playing?”
Yan Xiaodao finally had a helper. He immediately assigned him a job. “Youhui, help me carry this man out.”
Then he turned back toward the casino owner. “Mr. Watanabe, thank you for accommodating me today. What we agreed on still stands. You’ll get every cent. When there’s time, I’ll come speak with you properly about the port and ship business.”
This was Liang Youhui’s first time seeing Young Master Ling. Before he had even gotten a proper look at the man’s face, Yan Xiaodao’s order had already frightened him. “M-me? Carry him?”
Yan Xiaodao thought it was perfectly obvious. “He can’t walk. Of course you carry him.”
Liang Youhui said, “I… what? Why do I have to carry him?!”
Young Master Liang found this unreasonable demand utterly absurd. It was not that he lacked warmth or chivalry, nor that he was unwilling to help someone in trouble. Tell him to throw down a stack of money—fine. Tell him to open his checkbook—fine. Tell him to carry a full-grown man on his back—absolutely not. Young Master Liang, born to wealth, delicately raised, refined, and romantic, had never carried another person in his life.
Besides, Liang Youhui was not especially tall, around 177 centimeters.
Mr. Ling, lying on his back on the floor, had never stood next to anyone for comparison, but by eye he was at least 183 centimeters. Liang Youhui felt that however beautiful the man might be, he was still one giant sack of potatoes: huge and unwieldy. There was absolutely no way Liang could carry him.
Why did Yan Xiaodao want Liang Youhui to carry him?
To leave this private gambling room, they would have to pass through several doors and follow a long, twisting corridor before they could finally get out of the casino. Right now, both sides of the room were packed with people, unfamiliar black-clad men shifting everywhere, their identities and intentions impossible to read.
Watanabe Yangshan wanted to keep Ling He.
You Haodong wanted to keep Ling He.
In truth, Jian Mingjue wanted very badly to keep Ling He too.
Every one of the people blocking their way had bad intentions and their own private calculations.
If Yan Xiaodao were alone, he was confident he could stroll directly out of this casino without a single person around him being suicidal enough to step forward and cross blades with him.
But with a Young Master Ling who could not take a single step and depended entirely upon Yan to keep him safe, how was he supposed to get both of them out of here intact?
Yan Xiaodao turned his head and fixed his eyes on Watanabe Yangshan. He wanted to drag the old bastard out of his wheelchair, throw him onto the sofa, and take the chair.
Just then, Ling He propped himself up on one elbow and grabbed Yan Xiaodao’s suit trousers, looking up at him with genuine intensity. It was as though he knew exactly what Yan Xiaodao was thinking. In a tone that allowed no argument, he said, “I’m not sitting in that old coffin-stuffer’s wheelchair.
“I don’t need anyone else carrying me. They’re clumsy and fussy. I don’t trust any of them.
“Mr. Yan, I want you to carry me.”
Leave a Reply