Chapter Thirty: The Wager

"To every soldier there is a general, to every flood, a rampart—such bold words from the son of Mo!"

At the gates of the Imperial Academy, a throng of students surrounded Qin Huaiyu, their voices brimming with fervor.

"Indeed, these are the very words spoken by the son of Mo—I heard them with my own ears," Qin Huaiyu deliberately fanned the flames, provoking the crowd.

"The son of Mo has gone too far! If he had simply admitted defeat, perhaps we would have spared him. Now, let him prepare to be humiliated a hundredfold!" the leading Confucian student spat through clenched teeth.

"Wang Ling! Don't get too confident. If you ask me, the son of Mo is hardly an easy opponent," Qin Huaiyu added, stirring the pot further.

"And so what?" Wang Ling replied, his pride unshaken. "This time, I've invited the top talents from all six halls. We'll make sure the son of Mo's reputation is ruined, so he won't dare show his face here for three years."

"Brother Fang, do you dare to place a wager?" Qin Huaiyu revealed his true intention. "Today, I am the house, putting up five hundred taels. If you bet on the Academy students and win, it's a payout of one to 1.2. For every hundred taels, you win one hundred twenty."

"And what of the son of Mo?" Wang Ling asked.

"If the son of Mo wins, the payout is ten to one," Qin Huaiyu declared.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. A tenfold payout if the son of Mo triumphed!

"Hmph! Even if the payout were a hundred times, it would still just be their money handed to us!" Wang Ling sneered.

"I'll wager ten taels that the son of Mo will lose—no harm in earning a little extra money." Wang Ling produced a silver ingot and placed it before Qin Huaiyu.

"Very well!" Qin Huaiyu deftly pocketed the silver and recorded Wang Ling’s name and stake in his ledger.

"Come one, come all! Don't miss this chance! The Academy students swear to make the son of Mo bow his head, while the son of Mo claims to stand firm against all comers! Ten to one if you bet on the son of Mo, one to 1.2 if you bet on the Academy!" Qin Huaiyu shouted to the crowd.

"The son of Mo is so arrogant, I can't stand it. Five taels on his loss!"

"Three taels on his loss!"

"Twenty taels on his loss!"

...

The students were ablaze, each wagering heavily, every single one betting on the son of Mo's defeat.

"All right!" Qin Huaiyu’s smile broadened as he collected the money, recording names and amounts as the bets were placed.

When this group of students dispersed, another batch, having caught wind of the commotion, rushed over.

"I'll wager twenty taels!"

"I'll wager fifty taels!"

"I'll wager thirty taels!"

...

This group was clearly wealthier. At first, Qin Huaiyu was delighted to collect their stakes. But as more and more silver changed hands, he began to sweat—everyone was betting on the son of Mo’s defeat. Though he hadn’t tallied the total, the bags of silver at his feet must have held four or five thousand taels by now.

"Huaiyu, this is bad! They’ve enlisted Kong Huisuo and his gang. What do we do if we lose with so much money at stake?" a dark-faced youth ran over, his voice trembling.

"Yuchi Baolin, you coward! What did we agree to when we started? Worst case, we tighten our belts for two months!" Qin Huaiyu snapped.

Cheng Chumo, silent at his side, glanced at the pile of five hundred taels they’d pooled together—much of it borrowed. If they lost it all, life would indeed be hard for some time.

"Do you think the son of Mo can win?" Cheng Chumo asked gravely.

Qin Huaiyu thought back to the scene he’d witnessed the previous day. After a long silence, he nodded with conviction.

"I may not be good at much, but I can read people well. Yesterday, I deliberately mentioned today’s challenge in front of the son of Mo. He was utterly unperturbed, as though these opponents were beneath his notice."

"Contempt," Cheng Chumo mused, frowning.

"Exactly—contempt, like a general facing a challenge from a common soldier." Qin Huaiyu nodded.

"So perhaps it’s not a lost cause," Cheng Chumo said, his eyes flashing with excitement as he looked at the five thousand taels. "If we lose, we eat humble pie at home for a couple months. But if the son of Mo wins, we’ll be rich."

"Let’s bet!" Qin Huaiyu declared, steeling himself.

Yuchi Baolin nodded in agreement. Though they were all scions of noble families, they seldom handled such sums. Five thousand taels of silver was worth the risk.

At that moment, a group approached the Academy gates, surrounding a youth in white.

"Kong Huisuo!" Qin Huaiyu glared at the newcomer.

"So it’s you sons of generals running a gambling ring, debasing the Academy’s good name as well as your own," Kong Huisuo sneered, his contempt plain.

"I’m the house here. Mind your own business. If you’re not betting, get lost," Qin Huaiyu retorted without a trace of courtesy.

The Academy was divided into two factions: descendants of civil officials and descendants of generals. There was no peace between them. The scholars scorned the generals’ sons as ignorant and privileged; the generals’ sons mocked the scholars as poor and pedantic. The rivalry had simmered for years. Kong Huisuo hadn’t planned to join the scheme against the son of Mo, but when he learned Qin Huaiyu was running a betting table, he couldn’t resist. As a scion of the Kong family, he would suppress the Mo lineage for his ancestors and put the generals’ sons in their place.

"Who says I won’t bet?" Kong Huisuo gracefully placed a gold leaf on the table, his tone chilly. "I’ll wager on myself to win."

"As long as you bet, I’ll take your wager!" Qin Huaiyu replied, hand slamming on the table. Their eyes locked, sparks flying.

"I’ll wager fifty taels!"

"Eighty taels!"

"One hundred taels!"

The followers behind Kong Huisuo shouted their bets on his victory, the stakes climbing higher and higher—soon, the total was approaching ten thousand taels.

Qin Huaiyu’s heart pounded, but outwardly, he remained calm and unruffled.

"Son of Mo, I must be mad to trust in you!" he screamed inwardly.

"What a lively scene!"

Suddenly, a voice cut through the commotion. A black-clad youth strode over, his steps light. He glanced at the two rival factions, then at the heap of wagers on the table, a faint smile playing at his lips.

"Five hundred taels, on the son of Mo to win."

He laid five gold leaves neatly on the table, gleaming in the sunlight.

"Who is this, so brazen?"

The Academy students stared at the black-clad youth as if he were mad. With the whole Academy betting on the son of Mo’s defeat, he had the audacity to wager on his victory—he was challenging the entire Academy.

"Mo Dun!"

Qin Huaiyu’s face flushed with embarrassment. He had made Mo Dun the subject of his wager, and now he’d been caught red-handed.

"The son of Mo!"

All eyes locked on the newcomer—the long-fallen scion of the Mo family, appearing for the first time before the Confucian sanctuary, stirring the winds and clouds.

"The son of Mo is here!"

The news spread like wildfire, sweeping through the entire Imperial Academy.