Chapter 448: Why Do You Have That, Father?
Chapter 448: Why Do You Have That, Father?
They were all in on it together.
From the gambler performing the tricks to the shills planted in the crowd to stir up the atmosphere, and even the tout who had led us here—every single one of them was on the same team.
Aside from the conspirators, the rest of the crowd consisted of people who had already lost their shirts or those who were about to.
"Step up! If you guess which bowl the die is under, I’ll pay out triple your bet!"
The gambler was a slight, middle-aged man, but his eyes were as sharp as any martial artist's.
Father turned to me. "Do you have any money?"
"Don't you have any, Father?"
Father nodded simply. "I’ve never had a reason to carry it."
That made sense. When would the Heavenly Demon ever have a reason to pull out a coin pouch? I couldn't let this precious opportunity to tease him pass me by.
"If you ever lost Uncle Hwi and me, you wouldn't even be able to buy yourself a meal. You'd have to dine and dash, or maybe leave that sword of yours behind as collateral."
Just imagining the Great Heavenly Demon in such a predicament was hilarious.
"If you're done teasing, give me the money."
Father held out his hand. I pulled a single silver liang from the pouch in my robe and handed it over.
"Bet carefully! In this circle, that man is the God of the Blade and the God of Combat. His hands are faster than the eye can follow."
Of course, he couldn't hide anything from Father’s eyes. I only said it so the scammers could hear.
"Alright, I'm mixing them now!"
The man lifted each bowl to show they were empty, then placed the die under one of them. He opened them, closed them, and slid them back and forth. His movements weren't a complete blur, which actually made the trick more deceptive and suspicious.
Eventually, the man’s hands stopped.
"Now, where will you place your bet?"
Father set the single liang down in front of the middle bowl. This was likely the first time in his life he had ever engaged in street gambling.
"Anyone else? No? Then I'm opening it."
When the man lifted the middle bowl, the die was there. His hands were nowhere near faster than Father's eyes.
"You have good eyes," the gambler remarked, remaining composed.
Was his composure because he hadn't truly used his skills yet? Or was it a strategy to let the mark win a little at first, only to bleed them dry later?
The tout who had brought us over sidled up and began to flatter Father. "Master Martial Artist, you truly have incredible eyes."
Father didn't even look at him. The only things holding his interest right now were those three white bowls.
"Alright, mixing again!"
The gambler shuffled the die once more. It moved dazzlingly between the bowls. This time, Father chose the one on the right.
"Anyone else care to join?"
Again, Father was the only one who bet. When the gambler lifted the bowl Father had chosen, the die was there. As he won for the second time in a row, the onlookers let out low gasps of admiration.
Then came Father’s third choice. Once again, he correctly identified the bowl containing the die.
At that moment, I saw it—a flicker of panic on the gambler's face. He had clearly tried to manipulate Father into picking a different bowl, but it hadn't worked.
At the same time, I saw something else: a faint, amused smile playing on Father’s lips. He was actually enjoying playing along with these fools.
"Father! You've won three times in a row."
The crowd was starting to take a serious interest now. The gambler mixed the die again, his movements far more deliberate and cautious this time.
"He got it again!"
The surrounding crowd cheered in admiration. These weren't the shills; these were genuine spectators. From the tout to the shills, their dismay was palpable. The gambler usually never let anyone win four times in a row.
While frantic glances were exchanged between the conspirators, the die was mixed once more. On the fifth round, other people began to follow Father’s lead and placed their bets.
Father was right again. Applause erupted from all sides. Now, even passersby were stopping to watch.
All eyes were on Father. Throughout his life, he had only ever received looks of reverence or terror. Had he ever experienced the expectant, excited gaze of a marketplace crowd? Surely not. These people would never have been allowed to get this close to him.
"Go on, mix them again!"
Father was purely enjoying himself. If he had any ill will toward them, he wouldn't have kept betting only one liang at a time. He could have made things much worse for them. He could have lost ten or twenty liang at first, then suddenly dropped a thousand-liang note on the table. What would happen then? The scammers would greedily accept it, and then he would win.
The problem wouldn't be them losing the money; it would be the fact that they’d lose their lives trying to avoid paying it back. But Father didn't do that. He just kept betting one liang.
When he won the sixth time, the crowd roared. By the seventh time, the gambler’s face had turned completely pale. Finally, the tout stepped in and whispered tentatively.
"Excuse me, sir... perhaps it's time to call it a day?"
Father looked at him. I wondered what he was thinking as he looked at these people. I couldn't be sure, but it was clear he hadn't started this to torment them. He had simply joined in because it looked fun.
"Very well."
Father handed the winnings to me. "Let's use this for dinner."
"With this much, we can enjoy a feast."
Just then, the gambler spoke up. "How about one last round? All or nothing with everything you've won today?"
The tout looked shocked and rushed over to whisper something in his ear. It seemed like he was telling him not to get emotional and just end it, but the gambler ignored him. And there was no way Father would turn down a situation like this.
"Mix them."
Given the stakes, the gambler would surely use his ultimate trick—a method that was impossible to lose.
Three overturned bowls. Father chose the middle one. Since all the previous winnings were on the line, the amount was quite substantial. Judging by the gambler’s smug expression, the die was definitely not in the middle.
"Alright, I'm opening it."
The moment the man lifted the middle bowl, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. The die was sitting right there, in the spot that should have been empty.
Even his final trick had failed.
The gambler, the tout, and the crowd were all stunned. None of them expected him to win this final round. The spectators erupted in cheers.
"As expected! My father is the best!"
I turned to the gambler. "Well then, pay up."
For a moment, the gambler sat there in a daze, speechless.
"Please, wait just a moment." The tout’s eyes darted around frantically. The moment they decided the money was too precious to part with, their fates would be sealed.
Eventually, the gambler pulled a pouch from his robe and handed it over. "Here it is."
This gambler had lost the bet involving money, but he had won the bet involving his life.
"Just how did you do it?"
Father replied as he took the money. "Have you ever shared your techniques with others? I am the same."
I burst out laughing at Father’s response. It was the first time I’d ever seen him banter with a common gambler like that. But the surprises weren't over. Father handed half of the winnings back to the gambler.
"Why are you giving half back?"
To the gambler's confused question, Father replied quietly. "There will be times when you should let people go by returning their money. When that happens, give them back half and send them on their way."
In that instant, Father’s gaze changed. It was no longer the soft, indulgent look he had used while playing with the scammers. It was a heavy, overwhelming gaze that a mere gambler could never hope to withstand.
The moment he saw that look, the gambler’s head bowed instinctively. "I... I will surely keep that promise!"
Leaving the man bowing deeply behind us, we resumed our walk.
"That was impressive."
"Impressive? He won't keep that promise anyway." Father didn't believe the gambler's word for a second.
"He will."
"He might for a time or two. But eventually, he'll forget the fear of this moment."
Father was fundamentally a man who didn't trust people. There was no way he would trust a street gambler.
You're right, Father. Perhaps that's true. But he might just keep that promise for the rest of his life. You only say that because you don't realize how terrifying your gaze actually is.
"Then why did you give him the chance?"
After a brief pause, Father answered. "Because I'm in a good mood today."
Hearing those words, I stopped in my tracks.
Could your mood possibly be as good as mine? As good as mine, seeing you enjoy yourself like this for the first time? As good as mine, hearing you express that feeling to me?
"Since we won money, dinner is on me."
"Shall we buy that dinner and eat it in the carriage as we travel?"
Father looked at me and then nodded. He understood my intent.
The gambler had accepted defeat gracefully, but the tout might regret losing that money and unleash thugs on us during the night. Moreover, they had seen that our coin pouch was full. If we killed those thugs, someone else would be behind them, and they would come after us too. Then the very thing the Strategist worried about would happen—one thing leading to another, a never-ending chain of conflict.
We might get dragged into things eventually as we travel, but not now. Our journey had only just begun two days ago.
Father, no matter how much fate tries to pull you in, we can simply step out of its way.
*
The next day, our carriage was racing toward Shaanxi. Father was sitting quietly with his eyes closed, while I watched the scenery outside. Gazing at the wildflowers blooming along the river, I suddenly asked him.
"Father, are you good at fishing?"
Father nodded without opening his eyes. He had a confident expression, as if to say, Is there anything I'm not good at?
"How about fish for dinner tonight? Let's have a contest to see who catches the biggest fish. The loser has to do everything from cleaning the fish to cooking it—oh, and the cleanup afterward. If you're not confident, you can forfeit now."
Without opening his eyes, Father spoke to Hwi. "Pull the carriage over by the river."
Father was a man who had left all his worries back at the Main Headquarters. Hwi pulled the carriage up to the riverbank.
"What's the biggest fish you've ever caught, Father?"
A surprising name came out of Father’s mouth. "The Golden-Scaled Star Fish."
It was a legendary spirit creature. It was likely larger than a human.
"Does that actually exist?"
"I caught it and even consumed its inner core."
"Ah! Well, I can't beat a Golden-Scaled Star Fish."
I might lose in terms of size, but I would win in terms of rarity. The Ten-Thousand-Year Fire Carp—the ultimate king of all spirit fish. Of course, I couldn't catch it now. The Fire Carp could only be obtained at a specific time and place, which I would visit much later.
"I'm quite the fisherman myself, you know."
I wasn't joking. I had spent so much time searching underwater for that damn Fire Carp that my skin had practically turned prune-like.
"Alright, let's start by making rods."
I used my lightness skill to scout the area for bamboo. I cut down the two best stalks I could find, one for Father and one for me.
"Which one will you choose?"
"You choose first."
"You're being quite generous. I won't go easy on you."
Despite my words, I chose the slightly inferior of the two stalks. No matter what, I couldn't take a better one than Father's. I pulled out a dagger and began whittling the bamboo into a fishing rod.
"You can't blame your equipment later."
"You should take your own advice."
"Uncle Hwi, did you hear that? You have to judge fairly. You can't go stretching the fish Father catches later!"
Hwi laughed at my words. He was exactly the type of person who would try to use martial arts to stretch Father’s fish if it were smaller than mine.
"But Father, aren't you going to make yours?"
Father just sat there, watching me make my rod.
"You're not planning on catching them with martial arts, are you? That's not allowed. We have to catch them fairly with rods."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you making one? No matter how much you look at me, I'm not making it for you. You have to make your own. Are you planning to blame the rod later?"
Even so, Father didn't budge. Eventually, I threw up my hands.
"Fine, I lose. I lose."
I set aside the one I was working on and started making Father’s rod first. Naturally, I put more care and effort into his than my own. Father watched me in silence. Once the rod was finished, I took line and hooks from my luggage and did the finishing work.
And so, two fishing rods were completed.
"Here is your weapon, Father. Take your pick." I held out the two rods with a solemn air.
"I don't need them."
Father reached his hand out toward the carriage. What an ominous gesture! Suddenly, Father’s large leather pouch inside the carriage unfastened itself, and something flew out toward us.
It was a piece of bamboo about the length of an adult's forearm.
Shuuuuuk.
As Father manipulated the bamboo, it extended like a magic staff. To my surprise, it was a fishing rod. It looked both flexible and sturdy, and even a glance told me it was no ordinary item.
"What is that?"
Then, a shocking name escaped his lips. "It is the unique weapon of the Old Fisherman of the East Sea."
The Old Fisherman of the East Sea was a legendary master who had roamed the Murim with nothing but a fishing rod. His rod was known to be the perfect fishing tool. There was even a saying that if anyone could catch a blue whale with a rod, it would be with the one belonging to the Old Fisherman.
"Why do you have that, Father?"
"He lost to me in a duel long ago, surrendered his rod, and retired."
"You were the one who made him retire?"
"It was his own pride that made him retire."
I was deeply moved. It wasn't because Father had defeated the Old Fisherman in his youth. It wasn't even because I was seeing that perfect rod in person. I was moved by the fact that Father had actually packed it.
I could picture Father late at night, picking out that rod from the Heavenly Demon Treasure Vault and tucking it into his pouch. As he packed it, he must have thought that he might end up fishing with me.
"I mean, if you had a rod, you should have said so. You just had to let your son work like a dog."
Perhaps he simply enjoyed the sight of his son putting his heart into making a rod for him.
"And the rod of the Old Fisherman of the East Sea? That's cheating!"
"Now, who was it that said we shouldn't blame our equipment?"
Father and I stood side by side at the riverbank. Our fishing match to catch the biggest fish began.
"Well then, shall we start?"
"You're going to smell like fish tonight, so sleep far away from me."
"I was going to say the same to you. I'll just have to endure the smell coming from you, Father. I'll prove that a true master doesn't blame his tools."
I mean it. Even with that rod, it won't be easy to beat me.
Our fishing lines flew out over the river, which sparkled in the sunlight. The curves created by the lines were more beautiful than any arc drawn by martial arts. As the bait hit the water, gentle ripples spread out before the surface returned to a calm stillness.
The soft sound of flowing water filled the air. The sound of a water bird flapping its wings carried on the river breeze. The surroundings were incredibly quiet and peaceful.
It was my first time fishing with Father.