The day my uncle kicked me out of the house, I first kowtowed to my aunt, thanking her for taking me in all these years. Then I told my uncle that if he ever laid a hand on her again, I would kill him.
My name is Chu Liu. Since the day I was born, my parents left me in my aunt's care.
At first, my uncle treated me extremely well.
Not because he particularly liked me, of course.
But because my parents would send him money at irregular intervals—payment for raising me.
The sums were large, so large that every time he got drunk, he'd slur happily that I was his personal cash cow.
Back then, I was too young to understand what my parents did for a living.
Until one summer day when I was six, my father returned.
But he didn't walk back—he was carried in.
On that stretcher, my father had no arms or legs left.
The white bandages wrapped around his body were already soaked in blood, a glaring, violent red.
By then, he was barely clinging to life.
With his dying breath, he left me only these words:
"Live as an ordinary man. Stay common, and never touch gambling!"*
That day, I cried until no tears were left.
And from that moment on, it was as if I forgot how to smile.
After Father's death, Mother vanished without a trace.
With no more money coming from my parents, my uncle's treatment of me grew worse—first verbal abuse, then beatings.
His son, my cousin Li Dabiao—five years my senior—joined in.
I remember every single strike.
Over the years, the two of them:
Slapped me 2,436 times
Kicked me 3,487 times
Punched me 2,329 times
Whipped or clubbed me 336 times
Had it not been for my aunt's protection, they might've killed me.
I hated them. I held grudges.
Why else would I remember the numbers so precisely?
Back then, I didn't know how to fight back—but I learned to endure.
When cast out, I didn't end up homeless. Instead, I followed Sixth Master.
(He never told me his real name. After learning mine was Chu Liu, he insisted I call him "Sixth Master.")
He arrived in our town a year after Father's death.
When we met, he declared himself "the greatest magician in the world"—and offered to teach me everything.
And indeed, his "magic" was extraordinary.
Cards, mahjong, dice, dominoes—they danced at his fingertips, appearing and vanishing like ghosts.
So at age seven, I began learning his so-called "magic."
Sixth Master lived with reckless abandon.
Between drilling me in techniques, he spent his days drinking, carousing, and chasing women. Even past sixty, he bedded a new girl almost nightly.
Once, he brought a woman to me—plump-faced, caked in makeup, no older than twenty.
When she began undressing with a practiced smile, I spat one word:
"Get lost!"
It wasn't that I disliked women.
But **my woman** would need to be obedient, loyal, submissive—worshipping me as her king. Like the 'Trump' in a deck of cards.
(Though later, a sweat-slicked lover in my arms would laugh:
"Did you know? That 'Trump' you idolize? It just means 'Joker.'")
On my twentieth birthday, Sixth Master took me to Zuixiang Pavilion, the finest restaurant in town.
In a wood-paneled private room, he puffed his golden-nanmu pipe, silver hair loose as ever.
"Pour the wine."
The 30-year-aged Zhuyeqing swirled in celadon bowls, its aroma curling to the rafters.
"Liu, how long have you followed me?"
"Thirteen years, two months, twenty-two days."
"What did I teach you?"
"The Art of the Swindle."
"And what is that?"
"To deceive the heavens and cross the ocean—to steal the sky and replace the sun."
He nodded, satisfied.
Knocking out his pipe, he raised the bowl:
"Drink this, and your apprenticeship ends. After today, you walk alone."
I'd known this day would come—just not on my birthday.
The liquor burned a fiery trail down my throat.
Then Sixth Master said:
"Remember: You've entered the Lan Dao—the Blue Path of gamblers and cheats. From now on, you're no ordinary man. You are a swindler of the Blue Path."
Irony:My father's last wish was for me to avoid gambling. Yet here I stood—a professional cheat.
"Xiao Liu, one last question: Do you want to be a master… or a lackey?"
"A master." (Who'd choose to be a lackey?)
"Good. Then use your skills. Within three years, make every swindler on the Blue Path know the name Sixth Master—Chu Liu."
Three years? Could I do it?
I'd shadowed Sixth Master to countless gambling dens but never played myself. Did I have the skill?
Still, I agreed.
(He'd always said: "The hardest part of cheating isn't technique—it's keeping your nerve before ten thousand eyes.")
"Go now. The Underworld of the Blue Path awaits."
His tone was light, but I caught the flicker of reluctance in his gaze.
"Underworld? Where is it?" I asked, staring blankly out the window.
He smiled.
"Step outside, and you're in it."