Chapter 122: What God Does a Gambler Worship?

Yang Meng struggled to sit up, leaning against the wall. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and frowned as he took a drag.

Who exactly was that young man? How could he tell Yang Meng’s identity just by glancing at his Dark Domain? How did he know the necromantic arts? There was something profoundly mysterious about him!

Could it be that he wasn’t really a young man, but instead an ancient demon who had lived for millennia? That would explain his brazen confidence.

Thinking that way made Yang Meng feel somewhat better.

But what was this “River of the Underworld” he mentioned? Was there such a place in the netherworld? As far as Yang Meng knew, the underworld had only the “River of Forgetfulness” — also called the Nai River by some — but no one ever spoke of a “River of the Underworld.”

Where could such a river exist? The River Acheron, known as the River of Woe, did exist near Mount Olympus, but that was half a world away, located in the Balkans, a realm of Western deities. This young man was clearly a native here.

Yang Meng couldn’t figure it out no matter how hard he tried.

The only thing he understood clearly was how weak he truly was.

He had thought himself invincible, but that fellow had defeated him with a single kick!

Where was justice in that?

Before Yang Meng could finish his cigarette, Long Mingyang and Duan Sheng gradually woke up. Seeing Yang Meng smoking, they hurriedly asked, “Where’s that guy?”

Yang Meng gave a bitter smile. “He left.”

“You drove him off?” Long Mingyang’s eyes widened.

Yang Meng shook his head. “He left on his own. Don’t ask me anything—I can’t explain it. You two go check if Taoist Yunhe is all right. I’ve got several broken bones; moving’s a problem for me right now.”

Duan Sheng rushed to Taoist Yunhe’s side and checked. “He’s breathing but unconscious.”

Long Mingyang looked at the bloodied bodies scattered around. “What are we going to do? This situation’s spiraled out of control.”

Yang Meng turned to Long Mingyang. “Old Man Long, do me a favor—help me up. I’m not quite steady enough to stand on my own.”

Long Mingyang hurriedly helped him to his feet. “Little Yang, what are you planning?”

Suppressing the fierce pain, Yang Meng reached into his pocket and grabbed Yidi’s wine gourd, taking a hearty swig. Although this wine was known for healing internal injuries, its effect on external wounds was unknown to Yang Meng. Yet, after just one gulp, the pain lessened considerably—so it did aid recovery externally.

Not an instant cure, but a start.

He patted the restrained Lu Liling, relieved that the young man’s imprisonment wasn’t too strong. Yang Meng could free Lu Liling, though he couldn’t perform the effortless sealing and unsealing gestures the young man had. What cultivation level did that fellow possess?

Lu Liling broke free from her bonds and looked at Yang Meng. “Mr. Yang, just now that was...”

Yang Meng waved her off. “It’s nothing. He’s gone.”

“What about my daughter?” Lu Liling asked anxiously.

Yang Meng replied, “From what he said, he didn’t take her. Let’s hurry to check.”

They hadn’t yet entered the inner hall, but there was already a pool of blood and three corpses on the ground. As Yang Meng, leaning on the wall, walked inside, the scene was nauseating:

Three headless bodies lay there. One, with dark skin and strange tattoos, was likely the necromancer. The other two, a man and a woman, were both naked, kneeling in a worship posture. Judging by the scene, their heads had been severed during some ritual.

Duan Sheng glanced at the headless male corpse. “This must be He Yongye.”

Yang Meng, curious, asked, “How do you know?”

Duan Sheng pointed to the man’s back. “He used to be a gambler, then went straight and became a broker. His records show a tattoo of Li Qingzhao on his back.”

Yang Meng suddenly understood. Many gamblers pray for good fortune. But gambling is considered irregular wealth, while the civil god Fan Li and the martial god Guan Yu represent legitimate wealth, so praying to them is ineffective for gambling.

It’s like those who run nightclubs often have a statue of Guan Yu for show. If you seek luck from illicit means, how could the legitimate gods protect you?

So, which gods do gamblers worship? Some turn to Han Xin, praised for his undefeated military campaigns. Legend says he invented gambling to entertain his soldiers.

Others worship Li Qingzhao, celebrated as the greatest female poet in history. Besides her literary genius, she was a top scholar and art collector, co-authoring the authoritative “Record of Metal and Stone” with her first husband. When her second husband Zhang Ruzhou was caught in corruption, she courageously divorced him—a rare act in those times.

Why would gamblers worship Li Qingzhao?

Because besides her talent, she was known for two other things: a fondness for wine and gambling. During the chaotic war years, whenever free, she played a game called “Ma Diao,” the precursor to modern mahjong. She was reputed to be unbeatable at it and even authored a book on the game, along with an essay explaining that she invented this form of gambling.

Thus, gamblers split into two camps: those from rough backgrounds worship Han Xin for battlefield victories, and the more cultured worship Li Qingzhao. He Yongye clearly belonged to the latter.

Yang Meng looked at the female corpse beside him. “Who is she? His daughter?”

Duan Sheng shook his head. “Probably his wife. Though headless, I saw her at the owner’s banquet here.”

Yang Meng pursed his lips, silent. Another story of a young woman paired with an older man.

Women’s preferences change with age.

When young, they favor older men—mature, considerate, and worldly. Young women mature faster than their peers and often fall for men with richer life experience. Older men also tend to have better careers and financial standing.

But as women age, they too, like men, prefer youth. Nowadays, many young idols have wealthy “mama fans” backing them.

On the altar lay several small black objects the size of rats. Yang Meng approached and nearly vomited: they were charred infants, seeming like stillborn or aborted children.

He took a deep breath—this was pure wickedness!

“Using stillborn children to nurture little ghosts is a common method of the Black-Clad Achan. But there’s a problem—some children died too young, their souls not fully formed, so they need soul borrowing, where the soul of another child is bound inside the ghost body,” came Yunhe’s voice behind him.

Yang Meng turned to see Taoist Yunhe frowning deeply, seriously examining the little ghosts on the altar.

If it weren’t for the large bump on his forehead, his words would carry more weight.

“Master Yunhe, you really know a lot. You were quite bold earlier, stepping up like that,” Yang Meng said sincerely.

Last time was similar. Though this old Taoist seemed a bit scatterbrained and not very skilled, he was righteous. Before Zhao Yun was knocked unconscious, he had tried to stop her and allow others to escape. This time, facing that mysterious young man, knowing he was no match, he still charged in.

Such courage in that moment was rare. For that alone, he deserved praise.

Yang Meng expected Yunhe to argue with him again, but Yunhe instead carefully inspected the corpses.

Yang Meng was speechless. What’s the point of looking so closely? You think you’re Song Ci, the great Song dynasty magistrate?

He didn’t interfere but turned to Long Mingyang and Duan Sheng. “You guys really aren’t scared? There are dead bodies everywhere!”

Long Mingyang took a deep breath. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t unsettled. But like you said, I’m not afraid of the dead. The living are far scarier.”

Yang Meng gave a thumbs-up.

Lu Liling, seeing Yang Meng chatting calmly nearby, grew anxious. “Mr. Yang, I can sense my daughter’s soul is trapped inside these little ghosts! But I don’t know which one!”

Yang Meng waved her off. “Don’t worry—I’ll figure something out.”

He had already noticed this problem. The souls of these infant corpses were trapped inside, but recklessly extracting them could cause them to dissipate. They needed something to lure and contain the souls.

“Anyone here carrying jade?” Yang Meng asked.

Long Mingyang replied, “I have a jade ring. Will that do?”

Yang Meng shook his head. “I mean traditional soft jade, not hard jade.”

“I have a Bagua jade pendant from Nanyang,” Yunhe suddenly said.

Yang Meng quickly responded, “That’ll work!”

Yunhe took the pendant from his belt and handed it over. Yang Meng examined it. “An old piece. Don’t worry, I’ll return it after.”

He held the pendant before the little ghosts, chanting softly to draw their souls into the jade.

Afterwards, Yang Meng pocketed the pendant and noticed a small knife on the altar. He grabbed it and told Long Mingyang, “Old Man Long, it’s time to call the police. And if possible, keep me out of this.”

“No need to call the police!” The voice came not from Long Mingyang but from Yunhe.

Yang Meng and the others looked at Yunhe, puzzled. How could such a serious matter not require the authorities?

Yunhe looked at them and said, “There are things ordinary people don’t know. Many extraordinary individuals exist in this world. The state has departments that oversee them. My senior brother belongs to such a division. Even if you call the police, this matter would ultimately be handled by them. I already requested help earlier. The reason I risked my life to act was to buy time for reinforcements. They might have arrived already.”

“They haven’t just arrived—they’re here!” Yang Meng toyed with the knife. “Gentlemen, how long do you plan to wait?”