That day, Zhang Duan, who had just drunk heavily the night before, felt utterly sluggish and only managed to get up when the sun was already high in the sky.
Scooping a ladle of cold water from the well, he washed his face while cursing under his breath.
“To hell with it, not even a single person around here knows to care about me.”
As the cold water hit his face, Zhang Duan suddenly shuddered and remembered the little girl from the Xie family whom he had failed to capture earlier.
She was truly beautiful—far more stunning than any official’s daughter he had ever seen.
If only that day he had…
Someone was banging on the door from outside. Zhang Duan opened it to find Zhu Jin, a lackey who always followed him around. Without a word, Zhang Duan delivered a kick to him on sight.
His head was still foggy from the hangover. Though his kick landed, it didn’t faze Zhu Jin much—Zhang Duan himself nearly lost his balance and stumbled.
Zhu Jin’s expression darkened briefly but quickly shifted to a fawning smile as he reached out to steady Zhang Duan. “Ah, Brother Zhang, what’s got you so upset at this time of day?”
Rubbing his temples, Zhang Duan snapped, “Good-for-nothing fool! If you’d done your job properly that day and kept watch, would the Xie family girl have managed to escape?”
Ah, so it was about that. Zhu Jin quickly said, “I was just about to bring this up, Brother Zhang. The manager from the textile workshop came by looking for you, asking what to do about this season’s cloth stock.”
Zhang Duan didn’t have a clue about running a business. In his eyes, shops and properties were nothing more than treasure troves—they should naturally generate profits on their own. If they didn’t make money, he’d just sell them off and rob another one.
So he casually replied, “Just tell him to handle it himself. But if there’s a loss, I’ll come for his head.”
Though Zhu Jin felt contempt in his heart, he kept his face cheerful and accommodating. “Understood, Brother Zhang. Are we heading to Lankang District today?”
Of course, Zhang Duan said yes. Zhu Jin followed behind, showering him with flattery.
“Brother Zhang, your luck’s been amazing lately. Honestly, who cares about that Xie family girl? With enough money, women will flock to you in droves.”
Zhang Duan snorted coldly, but he secretly enjoyed the remark.
When they reached the entrance of Lankang District, the servant boys immediately greeted him with enthusiastic invitations.
—Of course, who wouldn’t fawn over a patron who came every day to lose money?
Naturally, even a pig can’t be slaughtered every day. The casino staff knew well the art of fattening the prey before slicing it slowly. Occasionally, they’d let him win a small amount, making Zhang Duan think he was actually profiting.
“Master Zhang, are you playing Guanpu again today?” one of the boys asked.
Guanpu was a form of gambling. The stakes could range from something as small as a pot of wine or a single boot to something as large as carriages, land deeds, or even servants.
There were many variations of Guanpu, but the simplest method was the one played at Lankang District: a dice cup with three dice. The side with the higher total points would win. Both parties had to submit their stakes to the casino for verification beforehand, ensuring no one could renege.
“Of course! Lead the way and bring me two pots of wine while you’re at it,” Zhang Duan ordered.
The boy promptly agreed.
Zhang Duan didn’t even need anyone to guide him—he could walk through the casino blindfolded.
At the Guanpu table, a game was already in progress. A dense crowd surrounded the table, making it impenetrable. Zhang Duan drank his wine as he watched. By the time he finished a pot, the crowd at the gambling table had dispersed with a clamor.
The losers shuffled away with grim faces, while the onlookers buzzed with excitement.
“That guy in the veiled hat is amazing—how many rounds has he won so far?”
“Must be six or seven rounds by now. His luck is incredible…”
In the casino, wearing a veiled hat to cover one’s face wasn’t unusual.
The Yongchao explicitly forbade officials from gambling. Yet, games like Guanpu, where items were gambled, sat in a gray area between permissible and prohibited. It wasn’t uncommon for officials to disguise themselves and join in.
Hearing the crowd’s chatter, Zhang Duan grew intrigued. He pushed through the crowd to the gambling table and exclaimed, “Come on! Let’s play!”
The young man in the veiled hat was already packing up his winnings. He coldly said, “Find someone else.”
Zhang Duan, gripped by his gambling fever, fancied himself skilled and loved a challenge. He quickly urged, “Hero, wait! Let’s have one more round!”
Only then did the young man turn back and reply, “Just one round.”
The dice officer, catching Zhang Duan’s eager expression and seemingly worried the young man might change his mind, swiftly prepared the table and placed the dice cup.
The dice officer asked, “What are your stakes?”
The young man casually picked up a token he had just won—a fine horse.
It was a grand wager. Not to be outdone, Zhang Duan put up ten bolts of silk.
In the first round, the young man won as expected and turned to leave again.
Having lost, Zhang Duan, of course, was unwilling to let him go and begged him to continue.
The young man glanced around the room and said, “Winning too much makes me afraid of harming my karma. But as you all saw, I wasn’t the one seeking to gamble today—it was this gentleman who insisted. If he loses, don’t blame me.”
The spectators, ever eager for drama, jeered, “Once you’re at the table, there’s no blaming others! Don’t spout nonsense, young man!”
Even the dice officer chimed in, “Sir, you’re overthinking it.”
Zhang Duan inwardly spat, What nonsense! It’s only been one round. Who wins in the end is still undecided!
Surely, the next round would be his victory!
Unfortunately, until his chips were completely gone, Zhang Duan lost every single round—ten rounds in total. Only once did he tie with the young man’s points.
The small dice cup seemed almost enchanted in the young man’s hands, as if it could only ever roll fives and sixes.
Zhang Duan, known for being a scoundrel, was no better as a gambler. His eyes bloodshot, he slammed the dice cup onto the table and roared, “You must be cheating!”
Before the young man could respond, the dice officer sharply retorted, “Master Zhang, those words put us in a difficult position.”
What a joke—casinos only existed to fleece gamblers, and Lankang District would never tolerate cheating on its premises. The dice officer’s eyes were sharp as blades.
Zhang Duan took a deep breath and turned to Zhu Jin. “Go, bring the deed for the textile workshop.”
Zhu Jin tried to dissuade him but failed, so he had no choice but to comply.
Having committed countless misdeeds, fortune had yet to favor Zhang Duan.
For someone who had been frequenting gambling dens since his teenage years, it was finally his turn to suffer a massive loss—he was cleaned out completely.
Zhang Duan collapsed onto the floor, utterly defeated, while the young man, seemingly in good spirits, sifted through his winnings.
“Silk, land deeds—all such mundane things. Hm, this deed for the textile workshop is interesting. Why isn’t the name on it ‘Zhang’?”
Those who knew Zhang Duan’s background burst into laughter.
“It’s something he robbed! Probably hasn’t even had the chance to properly legalize it yet!”
To lose and then be ridiculed—it ignited Zhang Duan’s fury. He cursed loudly and barked, “One more round! This is the final round!”
The young man leisurely wiped his hands and said, “What are we gambling for? Your boots?”
His words were sharp, venomous even, but the gamblers in the crowd—who weren’t known for their conscience—burst into waves of laughter at his taunt.
“Spread the word! Zhang Duan’s betting his boots against someone else’s land deed!”
The mockery continued to pour in. Zhang Duan stood up, slamming the table with force. “I still have a three-courtyard estate and fifty taels of silver. If I lose, all of it will be yours.”
His face turned a deep red, though whether it was from the alcohol or his gambling fever was unclear. Either way, the rational string in his mind had long since snapped.
The young man, calm as ever, shook the dice cup slowly and said, “If you win, everything will be returned to you.”
Zhang Duan held his breath, waiting for the dice officer to call, “Open.”
He lost again.
This time, the fear of losing everything, of being utterly destitute, finally overcame his gambling addiction. Cold sweat soaked his back.
But the people around him paid him no mind.
Losing gamblers were a dime a dozen here, hardly worth any attention.
Feeling like his soul had been ripped apart, Zhang Duan stumbled his way back, only to realize he had nowhere to go.
A quick search of his pockets revealed he had one last silver coin. Staggering, he made his way to a dark alley to find a woman he was familiar with.
Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was his raging blood and indulgence, but that very night, Zhang Duan died on top of the woman.
—
Xie Miao’er picked up the deed, stared at it for a long time, and then exclaimed with delight, “I recognize it, of course I do!”
Seeing her bright smile, Lu Huaihai allowed himself a small, subtle grin.
It had been worth spending the entire day in that filthy place, waiting for the prey to walk into the trap.
Everything he won that day had been handed over to the casino to be sold off at a low price. The staff, well-versed in handling such transactions, made quick work of it. By appearing unconcerned with wealth and eager to dispose of his winnings, he solidified his image as an “official in disguise gambling not for money but for thrills” in the eyes of any observers.
Later, he had Li Chenglan step in and buy back the property that belonged to the Xie family.
As for the unexpected delight of Zhang Duan dying from a “horse-riding wind” (a euphemism for dying during intercourse), Lu Huaihai had no knowledge of it yet as he left Lankang District. His original plan was to settle accounts one by one.
Xie Miao’er was filled with emotion, unsure where to even place these precious items.
The dead could not come back to life, but the textile workshop and the Xie family’s estate were the fruits of her late father’s many years of effort. If they could be managed well, it would bring comfort to his spirit in the afterlife.
Now that the family properties were returned, she could eventually bring her stepmother and younger siblings back from the countryside.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Xie Miao’er began stammering, “I… Young Master… this… I… I don’t even know how to thank you.”
She had never told Lu Huaihai anything about the Xie family’s situation, yet he had remembered it all.
Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, rippling like waves of emotion.
Lu Huaihai’s heart skipped a beat.
What was happening? Why was she crying?
Caught off guard, he instinctively stepped closer and blurted out a stiff, “Don’t cry.”
Xie Miao’er sniffled, then raised her head, her gaze inadvertently landing on his left shoulder again.
Thinking about how someone as good as him had met such a tragic end in history, she felt a pain in her chest sharper than the heart ailment she once suffered.
Lu Huaihai remained silent for a moment before finally saying, “I won’t use my kindness to demand repayment from you. You don’t need to worry.”
She wasn’t worried at all.
Xie Miao’er thought to herself quietly.
In her previous life, as she lay on her sickbed, tossing and turning, she had often read the cold, clinical accounts of history books. Trapped in her room day after day, it felt as if she had lived an entire lifetime with him—witnessing the tides rise and fall, understanding the clash of swords and the roar of warhorses. It was his story that gave her the strength to endure each day.
And now, here she was, in this time and place, with him treating her so well…
Xie Miao’er gathered herself, wiped away her tears, and said, “To know kindness and repay it is the right thing to do.”
She emphasized solemnly, “I will definitely repay you.”
In this lifetime, she would never let Lu Huaihai walk down the same path to that tragic fate.
Of course, Lu Huaihai had no way of knowing her thoughts. Her vow to repay him landed in his ears with a completely different meaning.
Ah, women.
Lu Huaihai sighed. “There’s no need. If you really want to repay me, then…”
He glanced at the table, where the embroidery threads she hadn’t yet tidied up were still scattered. “How about giving me the pouch I asked for earlier?”