Heavenly Pavilion - 2
“Let’s begin.”
Through the taut, crackling tension, the Golpae tiles were shuffled together. The three men pretended not to watch one another as they stared at the mixing tiles. And Ho Cheon-an…
“Is he picking his nose…?”
Yu Gyeong, watching from the spectator seats, muttered as if he could not believe his eyes.
“I have no choice but to acknowledge his sheer guts, at least.”
“Hmph.”
Yu Gyeong kept his gaze locked on the gambler shuffling the tiles and on the other gamblers who refused to look away from the mixing tiles for even a second, then snorted at Ho Cheon-an.
Let’s see how you wriggle out of this table.
“Hmm.”
Ho Cheon-an flipped open the tiles Hakjo had shuffled for him and let out a quiet snort of laughter. It was the two called Tongso. Golpae used sequential numbers from two to thirty-three with no one; the score basically followed the sum of the numbers, though combinations carried different point values.
“Looks like you’re about to die, doesn’t it?”
The bald Heukjeo sitting beside Hakjo openly provoked Ho Cheon-an. The moment Ho Cheon-an merely glanced his way, however, the bald man’s oily grin froze solid. Cheongseo and Hakjo watched Heukjeo lose the clash of presence in a single exchange and immediately ratcheted their own tension higher.
“One gold.”
Ho Cheon-an placed the basic bet and received his tiles.
Golpae gambling was a contest of the sum of two tiles and their ranking combinations. After receiving the first tile you had to place the basic bet before you could receive the second; after that the betting went back and forth. Once every tile was revealed, betting continued freely.
This Golpae was a sixteen. Since it was a multiple of two, the combination of Tongso and sixteen was fairly strong—mid-to-upper rank on the hierarchy, roughly.
“Die.”
Yet Ho Cheon-an had no interest in what the tiles actually were. Confirming their identity was enough.
He flung his tiles down without hesitation, and the three men exchanged looks. True professionals, it seemed. At least until they had a rough grasp of the tile composition, they were only feeling each other out.
“Your turn.”
“Hmm. Don’t people usually go clockwise for the order?”
“Country bumpkin… In Luoyang the turn always goes left!”
“Fine, whatever.”
Twisting the ordinary rules under the pretext of local custom was normally grounds enough to storm out of a gambling table, but Ho Cheon-an had no intention of picking a fight over it.
Golpae were always shuffled in turn. The three men stared, eyes wide, at the way Ho Cheon-an mixed the tiles. It was an honest shuffle with no tricks whatsoever.
Too few known tiles to pull any techniques yet. Orthodox play.
Hakjo nodded inwardly. The table was progressing smoothly. The iron-blooded composure and courage that had crushed their spirits earlier were reviving. There was, in truth, no reason to be afraid. Hakjo had spent more than twenty years as a gambler in Luoyang and had seen every kind of table, yet even in that long career he had never sat at a table this perfectly arranged.
Once the table began to move as planned, the other gamblers recovered their calm and focused on Ho Cheon-an’s hands.
Eight Golpae had appeared this round—only a quarter of the thirty-two tiles. With the remaining twenty-four still unknown numbers, even if he displayed sleight of hand it would not be enough to seize the table. Perhaps he simply intended to identify every tile first rather than reveal how he worked his techniques.
Sssk.
Watching Ho Cheon-an’s hands move, the three men’s eyes lit up.
The kid knows the basics, at least.
He had placed the highest number from the previous round—thirty-one—into his own second-tile position. He was clearly looking for a possible all-in angle if a high tile came his way.
Thirty-one… a high number, yet not especially favored on Golpae tables where most rankings were built around multiples.
Receiving the tiles Ho Cheon-an had shuffled, Hakjo ran the numbers and nodded to himself. The tile that had gone into Ho Cheon-an’s hand was a fifteen. Combined with the thirty-one that would come as the rear tile, it made a score worth fighting over. Hakjo himself held a ten, and the rear tile coming to him was a twenty—completing a ranking for fifty points.
Those who received their rear tiles each placed their bets.
“I’m in.”
“Call.”
“Call, and I raise three gold.”
“Five from me.”
“Ten.”
By the time the turn reached Ho Cheon-an the bet had climbed to ten gold nyang. He raised the amount in an instant.
“Thirty.”
Thirty gold nyang. The winner of this round would walk away with a profit approaching a hundred gold nyang in a single hand. The three remaining gamblers swallowed hard at the enormous stake. They were suddenly reminded of the sheer size of the table. Still, they managed their expressions and hid their triumphant smiles. Ho Cheon-an’s confident manner made them wonder for a moment whether they had failed to catch some sleight of hand, but…
The signal that came from the gamblers planted outside the table was only one: nothing had been detected except the moment earlier when Ho Cheon-an slipped the thirty-one into his rear position.
You’re only watching us… but in reality the entire gambling house is watching you.
As if the only gamblers of any note in Luoyang were these three. Men of every disguise, watching from countless angles, were all renowned gamblers themselves. Even if you flawlessly deceived the people sitting at the table, it was impossible to deceive every gambler surrounding it.
“Fine—thirty.”
The gamblers unhesitatingly stacked gold pieces equivalent to thirty nyang onto the table. Once every stake was in, they revealed their tiles in turn.
“My, Brother Hak’s tiles have the best luck.”
“Tch, I thought mine were the highest.”
Hakjo answered their banter with a sly smile and prodded Ho Cheon-an, who still held his tiles.
“You’ll have to flip them if we’re going to move on to the next round, won’t you?”
The other two were already pushing their gold toward Hakjo. It was a cheap provocation, but if it could rattle Ho Cheon-an even a little, it was worth it.
“All right.”
Ho Cheon-an calmly tossed his tiles down, and the three men’s eyes flew wide.
Thirty. Thirty-one.
It hadn’t been a fifteen? Without using technique, a thirty could never have appeared. The three glanced toward the outer gamblers. Seeing those eyes waver, Hakjo felt the urge to squeeze his own shut.
Dozens of gamblers had surrounded the table with eyes wide open… and not a single one of them had witnessed Ho Cheon-an working a technique?
“I don’t actually like going all-out from the very first round.”
At Ho Cheon-an’s words the three flinched.
“Even martial artists fighting a life-or-death duel sometimes yield the first move or give three free exchanges. Starting a gambling table by slamming everything from the opening is a bit rude, don’t you think?”
“What kind of nonsense…”
Heukjeo muttered before he could stop himself. In gambling, what could possibly be more important than seizing the initiative?
“But today the amount I need to take is what it is… so I’ve decided to throw away face and go full power.”
Ho Cheon-an stretched out an arm and dragged the gold that had been sitting in front of Hakjo over to his own place. Then he casually tapped the remaining stack of Golpae.
“What are you waiting for? Shuffle already.”
“…You bastard.”
Hakjo’s face twisted. If no one had seen Ho Cheon-an use a technique… had he really used it only once? Or twice, three times?
If so, the remaining stack of Golpae could be in a completely different order from the sequence Hakjo thought he knew. The only tiles they could be certain of were the eight just revealed.
“If you’re overflowing with confidence, you have to pay the price.”
Hakjo squeezed his eyes shut at Ho Cheon-an’s words and picked up the tiles. Yes—that was right. If they had simply followed the normal order without forcing the issue, they could have steadily chewed through three rounds of Ho Cheon-an’s gold. The moment he took a defensive stance, however, they had immediately grown greedy and twisted the turn order.
They had laid the table this way because they were confident they would win no matter what the opponent’s skill level was.
And now they were paying the price. Only eight tiles were confirmed; the remaining twenty-four had plunged into a labyrinth. Until the Golpae returned to Ho Cheon-an’s hands, an equal contest of reading the tiles would begin.
Hakjo shuffled while organizing his thoughts.
The turn order was Ho Cheon-an, Hakjo, Heukjeo, Cheongseo.
Even though Hakjo was currently shuffling, and even though Heukjeo’s turn still remained after him, both Hakjo’s and Heukjeo’s gazes landed on Cheongseo. Cheongseo’s turn came just before the tiles passed to Ho Cheon-an, so Cheongseo would have to work a technique while shuffling and deceive Ho Cheon-an. Otherwise Ho Cheon-an would, with the majority of the tiles already identified, display techniques that more than a hundred people failed to witness, and the situation in which only Ho Cheon-an knew the composition of the tiles would continue.
Hakjo’s round ended as a four-gold-nyang table. Because no one knew the composition, no one dared bet freely.
Heukjeo’s round that followed likewise ended as a four-gold-nyang table. Heukjeo had deliberately built his hand only from the already-revealed numbers, so the outcome was obvious and no one put money down.
Then the tiles finally reached Cheongseo’s hands—the real one.
“Your gambling skill is impressive. Where might you be from?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Hmph. Acting high and mighty for a mere gambler.”
While Cheongseo shuffled, Heukjeo openly needled Ho Cheon-an, and Hakjo threw out various questions, trying to shake Ho Cheon-an’s concentration as much as possible.
Ho Cheon-an, however, simply watched Cheongseo’s shuffle with an unbothered expression.
Cheongseo set the tiles down, sweat pouring from the tension. The deception had to work. If Ho Cheon-an had seen through every trick, the entire flow of the Golpae table would collapse.
The round Cheongseo shuffled also became a four-gold-nyang table, ending with Ho Cheon-an taking three gold nyang.
And at last the tiles entered Ho Cheon-an’s hands.
The moment he began to shuffle, the entire second basement of the gambling house held its breath. Gamblers disguised as ordinary customers, gamblers disguised as servants or attendants—every one of them abandoned the risk of their cover being blown and focused solely on Ho Cheon-an’s hands.
Then Ho Cheon-an bet ten gold nyang. Hakjo, Heukjeo, and Cheongseo all twisted their faces at the stake.
“If you want to see someone else’s tiles, you have to pay for it.”
“…Fine. Ten nyang.”
Had Ho Cheon-an fallen for Cheongseo’s deception or not? And had he used technique to arrange the tiles for himself or not? To answer those two questions they needed to see both his front and rear tiles. Ho Cheon-an knew that perfectly well, which was why he had demanded a ten-gold-nyang bet as the price of the answer.
Then Ho Cheon-an’s tiles were revealed.
Fifteen. And thirty.
“…Maximum score.”
Cheongseo’s face went deathly pale. Hakjo and Heukjeo squeezed their eyes shut. A heavy atmosphere settled over the second basement of Heavenly Pavilion.
Cheongseo’s deception had failed, and the clear proof that Ho Cheon-an had grasped the composition of the tiles and used technique was laid bare for all to see.
The master of this table, Ho Cheon-an, opened his mouth.
“If I’m going to fill five hundred nyang I have to keep the rounds moving. Hurry up and shuffle.”
A ten-year veteran of Murim Cheonha, an eight-year drifter in this other world, the Sichuan nangin Ho Cheon-an.
The man who had perfected every gambling technique until he could even deceive the markings of heaven itself.
In gambling, at least, no one could ever surpass him—the undefeated man.
Gambling God Ho Cheon-an had begun to play in earnest.