Chapter Ten: The Cockfighting Arena!

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The interior of the cockfighting arena was vast, with a circular ring in the center, about ten feet in diameter, surrounded by a throng of shouting customers. There were well-dressed young gentlemen, corpulent wealthy merchants, and even men in official boots... people from all walks of life gathered here!

Taking advantage of his small stature, Li Zhao pulled Bai Mo along, squeezing right up to the edge of the ring, watching intently.

Someone asked: Did Li Zhao know anything about cockfighting?

Rest assured, as a seasoned player, he was versed in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, cockfighting, dog racing, flowers, birds, fish, insects... proficient in everything. Before crossing over, Li Zhao was already a cockfighting enthusiast, participating in numerous competitions; not only was he experienced, but his keen eye was legendary. With a single glance, he could discern breed, age, temperament, fighting prowess... everything clear as day—he was known as “Eagle-Eye.”

Thanks to his sharp vision, Li Zhao had won many awards: the Golden Rooster Award, the People’s Hundred Chickens Prize, the Jade Chicken Trophy, the Brilliant Blue Chicken Honor, and others.

But let’s not digress. Back to the story.

On the ring, two roosters were already in position. One was a robust, black-and-white speckled rooster, with strong build and lustrous feathers, looking formidable. The other was a white-feathered rooster, with a small head, long neck, sharp beak and claws, just slightly smaller in size.

“Place your bets! Place your bets! Bet first, fight later; fate decides win or lose, no regrets! Gold, silver, copper coins, cloth, house deeds, land deeds, slaves... anything valuable, we accept it all!”

A lean middle-aged man sat beside the ring—he was the chief steward of the arena. Before him was a rosewood table with the betting odds displayed:

Bet on the speckled rooster: two to three payout.
Bet on the white rooster: one to three payout.

“Five strings of coins, I bet the speckled rooster wins.”
“Ten taels of silver, I’m betting on the speckled rooster.”
“I’m all in—a four-tael-eight-mace-two-candareens pure gold bracelet, I bet on the speckled rooster.”
...

In cockfighting, weight is one of the key factors for victory; as the saying goes, size equals strength!

Therefore, despite the lower payout, patrons scrambled to bet on the speckled rooster’s victory. Gold, silver, coins, jewelry piled up instantly, while wagers on the white rooster were few and far between.

“A bunch of fools with ordinary eyes—they deserve to lose everything,” Li Zhao scoffed after careful observation. He placed all fifty copper coins he had on the white-feathered rooster.

Bai Mo was frantic, afraid they’d lose all their money. It would have been better to spend it on daily necessities; their household was impoverished, lacking grain, salt, tea—everything.

Li Zhao smiled calmly, gesturing to Bai Mo not to worry—this round was a certain win.

To judge the strength of a fighting rooster, weight is just one factor; breed, age, fighting experience, health, training—all must be considered.

The speckled rooster was indeed heavier, but it hopped restlessly in its cage, crowing provocatively, full of nervous energy—a clear sign of an inexperienced newcomer.

In contrast, the white-feathered rooster was calm and quiet, conserving its strength—a seasoned veteran, superior in experience, endurance, and skill.

Li Zhao predicted that at first, the speckled rooster would dominate thanks to its size, but once the fight dragged on and its stamina waned, the tide would turn.

Looking deeper, this was likely a deliberate setup by the arena to fleece the patrons.

“Clang!”

“Caw!—Caw!”

“Grab it, grab it... go! Good!”

With the crisp sound of a bronze gong, the match began. The two roosters clashed fiercely in the ring, pecking and biting, feathers flying everywhere.

The crowd waved their fists, cheering for their chosen rooster; some screamed themselves hoarse, wild with excitement.

As Li Zhao anticipated, the speckled rooster, relying on its size, crowed triumphantly and launched repeated attacks, quickly gaining the upper hand and drawing waves of applause.

Meanwhile, the white-feathered rooster dodged and retreated, clearly at a disadvantage, losing many feathers—it seemed destined to lose.

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But it didn’t give up, stubbornly resisting, continuing to circle and wear down its opponent’s stamina, patiently waiting for a chance to counterattack.

“Caw!—Caw!”

After several more rounds, the tide shifted. The speckled rooster, unable to secure victory, exhausted itself and lost its initial vigor, movements slowing.

The white-feathered rooster grew stronger as the fight went on, seizing the opportunity to strike back, pecking fiercely at its opponent’s head. The speckled rooster was soon bleeding, retreating step by step, eventually flying out of the ring, crying incessantly—it conceded defeat!

“Damn, what a useless showpiece! Lost me five strings of coins.”

“Five strings is nothing—I lost my pure gold bracelet, my wife’s dowry. Looks like I’ll be sleeping in the study tonight.”

“Slaughter it and make soup!”

...

Most patrons lost their bets, dejected and cursing. Some bought the defeated speckled rooster for a pittance, planning to chop it up for soup to vent their anger.

Only a few discerning individuals collected their winnings from the house, including Li Zhao: at three-to-one odds, his fifty-coin bet became one hundred and fifty coins, though he only received one hundred and thirty-five coins, as the arena took a ten percent commission.

Of course, the cockfighting didn’t end there—it was just beginning!

Soon, two more roosters entered the ring: one was a persimmon-colored rooster, the other a blue-feathered one. Comparing them, the former was stronger and more spirited; the house set the odds:

Persimmon rooster: two to three payout.
Blue rooster: one to two payout.

This time, many learned from the previous round and bet their silver on the blue-feathered rooster, hoping to recoup their losses.

After some consideration, Li Zhao wagered all one hundred and thirty-five coins on the persimmon rooster.

Cockfighting is like warfare—upsets do occur, as in the famous battles of Guandu, Red Cliffs, and Feishui. Those legends endure, but such cases are rare.

More often, the stronger side wins—that’s the way of strategy!

...

As expected, the second match ended with the persimmon rooster victorious.

Li Zhao’s one hundred and thirty-five coins became one hundred and eighty-two!

In the third round, he won again: at four-to-one odds, one hundred and eighty-two coins turned into six hundred and fifty-five, though this time the house paid him in equivalent pieces of silver rather than coins.

Copper coins were too heavy; once the amount grew, people exchanged them for gold or silver ingots for convenience.

Fourth round: a white-tailed rooster and a purple-feathered rooster, the former at two-to-three odds, the latter one-to-two.

“Master, which rooster should we bet on this time? Let’s hurry!” After three consecutive wins, Bai Mo’s face was beaming, appetite whetted, urging Li Zhao to place his bet.

Even some nearby patrons noticed Li Zhao, seeing him win three rounds in a row and eager to follow his lead, hoping to win back some money.

Li Zhao took note, so after brief deliberation, he placed the smallest piece of silver on the white-tailed rooster—others followed suit.

Unexpectedly, after a fierce battle, the white-tailed rooster... lost!

What happened? Had Li Zhao misjudged?

Not at all—he lost deliberately this round. Why?

First, trend-following is taboo; it can offend the arena’s owner. To run such a large establishment in the county, the proprietor must be no ordinary figure—offending them would spell trouble.

Second, the crowd was too mixed; some looked downright unsavory, not just thugs but also local bullies, who had lost so much they were seeing red.

If Li Zhao kept winning, he would attract unwanted attention; if someone coveted his winnings, he and Bai Mo might not make it home safely.

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Thus, Li Zhao intentionally lost a round—knowing when to advance and retreat, preserving his own safety.

“Damn, lost again! Turns out he’s just a foolish kid.”

“I said so—a teenager can’t have much insight. His earlier wins were pure luck!”

...

Sure enough, after losing, the crowd shook their heads and sighed, thinking they’d been misled, and stopped following his bets.

Li Zhao smiled calmly, moved with Bai Mo to another spot, took out a large piece of silver and placed a bet—this time he won.

From then on, he stuck to this principle: every three or four wins, he would deliberately lose a round. When he won, he kept silent, quietly pocketing his winnings; when he lost, he stamped his feet and beat his chest, wailing as if he’d lost everything.

This strategy succeeded, and he attracted no unwanted attention.

But during the betting, one patron caught Li Zhao’s eye—a man in his early thirties, scrawny, with shifty eyes and a rat-like face. People called him “Daylight Rat.”

“Daylight Rat” was a nickname for master thieves, those skilled enough to steal in broad daylight.

While others wagered silver or coins, the Daylight Rat had no cash, instead pulling items from his bundle: crescent earrings, octagonal goblets, enamel pendants—all with exotic designs, likely stolen from a Western merchant.

Wu’an County was near Chang’an City, just a day’s journey by water; Western merchants were frequent visitors.

“Damn it, lost again... Out of stuff? Thud!”

The Daylight Rat’s luck was terrible; his items were soon lost. Frantically rummaging in his bundle, he found nothing, though its weight showed something remained.

Desperate, he tore the bundle apart, and from a hidden compartment tumbled a rectangular iron ingot, dark and faintly patterned, weighing three or four pounds, which he slapped onto the betting table.

“Daylight Rat, have you lost your mind—trying to pawn a hunk of scrap iron?”

“Yeah, play if you’ve got cash, otherwise get lost! We don’t take junk metal, ha ha!”

The crowd burst out laughing, mocking him mercilessly. Though they had lost plenty themselves, seeing another lose worse brought twisted satisfaction.

The Daylight Rat’s face turned green with frustration, but he found nothing else in his bundle.

‘Hmm, what’s this?’

Unlike the ignorant gamblers, Li Zhao’s sharp gaze instantly recognized the iron ingot as something special—not raw iron, not wrought, not refined... what was it?

Generally, the more valuable an item, the safer its hiding place; the earrings, goblets, pendants were all kept outside, but this iron ingot was hidden in the lining—its value must exceed the others!

Though unsure what it was, Li Zhao was certain it was a treasure—he had to acquire it, as it might be useful someday.

“Fifty coins—I’ll take it. I happen to need a paperweight for my study, and this size is perfect.”

“No way—I stole it off a Western merchant, must be valuable, at least worth a tael of silver!”

“Bah, it’s still just a chunk of iron. Fifty copper coins, take it or leave it—don’t think I’m a fool!”

“Don’t be angry, young master—I’ll sell, I’ll sell!”

The Daylight Rat’s eyes were red with loss. The deal was struck—money for goods. The iron ingot went into Li Zhao’s pocket, and no one suspected a thing, thinking the young man had simply won too much and was getting cocky.

Unfortunately, the Daylight Rat’s bad luck persisted; his fifty coins were quickly lost, and he left in despair.