Half an hour ago.
Xiangsi Terrace.
Meng Jiaze and Zhu Han stood on opposite sides of the table, each gripping a dice cup like two aggressive roosters. Before rolling, they first had to strip away a layer of the other’s skin with fierce, hateful glares.
Shen Quebai stood by the table with a touch of genuine anticipation, when suddenly, a voice sounded in his ear:
“You aren’t worried?”
Shen Quebai turned to face a beautiful face it was Rong Yi, the son of the Prince of England and nephew to Zhu Hexing’s uncle. He smiled in a friendly, slightly confused manner, “Why would I be worried?”
“They are gambling for an arm.” Rong Yi stared at him intensely, trying to discern whether this innocent, pure face was real skin or a mask. “Regardless of who loses today, the Marquis of Ning’an estate and the Prince of Jin’s estate will be at odds. Everyone here will surely be summoned to the palace to be lectured. You are affiliated with the Prince of Mingxuan’s estate, yet you haven’t even tried to persuade them. What will you say when you get before the throne?”
Shen Quebai lowered his eyes at these words, his long eyelashes fluttering slightly, “I have no voice in such matters.” His tone was helpless, “Young Prince, do not tease me.”
Rong Yi was startled, then immediately realized: everyone present, himself included, truly hadn’t taken this “Princess of Mingxuan” seriously—Shen Quebai had become a discarded son the moment he was sent out of Xuandu, and now, as a male wife, he was even more useless than before.
His own words had been quite cutting.
While Rong Yi felt awkward and ashamed, even beginning to feel pity and wishing to explain so Shen Quebai wouldn’t misunderstand, he heard the other man whisper: “Besides, they won’t really cut off their arms; it’s all just play. Later, everyone will advise them, both sides will give each other a graceful way out, and the matter will pass.”
“…” He is so naive.
Rong Yi felt even more that his cousin had committed a grave sin.
On the other side, the two roosters finally withdrew their eyes, which had nearly popped out of their sockets, and simultaneously raised their arms to roll. The six dice clattered loudly; Zhu Han’s movements were flashy, while Meng Jiaze’s were boisterous, leaving everyone’s eyes swimming.
After an unknown amount of time—perhaps both were tired—four eyes glared, and they dropped their cups simultaneously.
Meng Jiaze exhaled and said, “I’ll open first.”
The dealer opened his dice cup with a hook: three sixes. Then he opened Zhu Han’s: also three sixes.
A chorus of sighs echoed through the room. Someone took the opportunity to say, “It’s a tie! It’s a tie! Both of you have exceptional gambling skills, and we have all witnessed it. Why not disperse? My mother is calling me home for dinner!”
“No one is allowed to leave!” Zhu Han grabbed the table, his gaze like a sword, “The bet is open; there must be a winner and a loser. Again!”
It was June, and the summer heat was already setting in. Meng Jiaze felt his neck turn damp and said coldly, “Bring it on!”
Shen Quebai heard Rong Yi curse, “Fool.”
The two rolled only a few times this round before slamming the cups down. The dealer opened Zhu Han’s first: still three sixes. Meng Jiaze’s was the same.
The principle of “once, twice, three times, the energy fades” applied at the gambling table as well. Both men sat back, releasing a dull thud, neither willing to speak.
Rong Yi stepped forward and pressed his hands on Meng Jiaze’s shoulders but looked at Zhu Han, saying, “Let’s call it a day. Neither of you lost; consider me the loser, alright? I’ll go downstairs and shout that I, Rong Yi, am the grandson of you two living Buddhas. Does that work!”
“No!” Meng Jiaze stood up, “I want his arm!”
Rong Yi frowned and glared at him, “If you lose, he’ll take yours!”
“I’ll give it to him!” Meng Jiaze pushed his hand away and turned to face Zhu Han.
The Marquis of Ning’an estate had only this one legitimate son. Meng Jiaze had been pampered by the estate, was hot-tempered, and played hard; he seemed able to joke with anyone. But right now, he was biting at Zhu Han with his eyes like a small, snarling wolf baring its fangs. He said, “Zhu Han, you owe me a life; let’s settle that debt right here!”
“Oh, come on,” Zhu Han let out an incredulous laugh, “Little Marquis, I always wondered why you were so aggressive whenever you saw me—so you were holding a grudge. And what kind of life is that!” Zhu Han scoffed, “A little girl from a mountain village? She wouldn’t even be worth a single tael of silver in the hands of a slave trader. What kind of life is that? That’s grass—cheap grass! And wait…” He looked at Meng Jiaze incredulously, “Don’t tell me the Little Marquis was bewitched by that cheap grass?”
“Shut your mouth!” Meng Jiaze trembled all over, turned around in place, and suddenly drew the sword from Rong Yi’s waist, charging over. Rong Yi hurriedly chased after him, and the spectators panicked. People trying to mediate, people blocking others—the second floor turned into a chaotic mess.
Shen Quebai retreated amid the noise and accidentally stepped on someone behind him. He turned in panic to apologize, only to find Yan Chao standing behind him, having arrived at some point.
Yan Chao reached out and steadied him, saying, “Five years ago, Little Marquis Meng ran away from home. When he fled Xuandu, he encountered a rainstorm. The mountain roads were difficult, and he fell from his horse, breaking his leg. He was discovered by a little girl from a hunter’s family, who called her grandfather to save him. Later, the old man passed away, leaving the girl alone. To repay the favor, the Little Marquis brought her back to the estate to raise her, ensuring she was well-fed and clothed. Once, when he was out drinking at another estate and returned late, his servants came to pick him up, and the girl followed. But when the Little Marquis came out, he couldn’t find her. He searched the entire estate and finally found her corpse.”
Yan Chao paused, “She had nothing on her but the red marks left by a rope… she had been brutally abused to death by Zhu Han. She was only nine years old that year.”
Meng Jiaze had carried this burden for five years.
Shen Quebai looked at the chaos. Zhu Han was gambling for face, but what Meng Jiaze wanted was the piece of skin and flesh that had been gouged out of him in his youth.
“Enough!” Rong Yi grabbed Meng Jiaze by the neck and pulled him back. They crashed onto the table, and the sword flew out, landing at Shen Quebai’s feet.
Shen Quebai glanced at it and silently watched the drama unfold.
Zhu Han’s left hand had been sliced open, and blood flowed freely. He was helped up and said viciously, “For the last round, I’ll replace myself with someone else. If she loses, I’ll give you a chance to take your revenge.”
With that, a woman in an elegant dress walked up, wearing gold bracelets on both arms. Her eyes were sharp; at a glance, one could tell she was a regular at such dens.
Meng Jiaze panted as he scanned the room. The group of wastrels who usually shouted and hollered all tacitly averted their eyes; no one dared to gamble on his behalf. He pushed aside Rong Yi, who knew nothing of gambling, and looked at Shen Quebai, who was watching him gently.
That look caused Meng Jiaze’s eyes to turn red. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt as if he’d been driven mad.
“Quebai,” he said aggrievedly, “You gamble for me.”
Shen Quebai was the least suitable person present to gamble for Meng Jiaze.
He was linked to Zhu Hexing; if he won, how would he coexist with the Prince of Jin’s estate in the future? For his own sake, Shen Quebai shouldn’t win, and besides… the others watched his honest, quiet, and sluggish appearance; did he look like someone who knew how to gamble?
Meng Jiaze really had been driven out of his mind by anger.
Meng Jiaze realized this immediately and wanted to take it back, but Shen Quebai stepped forward and approached the table. He was committed now; he stammered, “Quebai, do you know how to gamble?”
“I’ve played a few rounds.” Shen Quebai sat down, took the dice, and covered the cup.
Seeing his movements were clean and practiced, Meng Jiaze felt a bit of joy and whispered in his ear, “I can barely stand straight here; it’s all up to you. You have to give it your all, Quebai. If you win, I’ll cover all your food and play in Xuandu from now on. If the Prince of Mingxuan treats you poorly, you can come to my place anytime! If you want to find a partner or engage in some romance, I can cover for you!”
Shen Quebai stroked the lid of the cup, his eyebrows raised slightly at these words, “Then I shall thank you in advance, Little Marquis.”
Yan Chao, who had excellent hearing: “…”