Since they were all so insistent, Edward Harris naturally accepted it calmly. He knew all too well the importance of money; in his previous life, the reason he hadn’t done well was simply because he had too little of it. Perhaps the biggest difference between Edward Harris and people of this era was that he believed in money, even worshipped it!

William Harris had thought he would lose face today, but unexpectedly ended up gaining plenty of it. Although it was thanks to Edward Harris’s help, after all, they were real brothers. So he didn’t mind at all and was in high spirits. He and Brian Clark and John Bolton were already good friends, and the reason they had provoked him was just for fun. So at noon, William Harris ordered a table full of good food and wine, and any awkwardness between them quickly vanished.

“Third Brother, later I’ll take you to an interesting place. Now that you have money in hand, you can have some real fun. It won’t be a wasted trip out of the house with me.” After eating and drinking their fill, William Harris pulled Edward Harris along with Liu and Zhang out of the Wulin Tower.

“Han, don’t lead Zhongwei astray. Let him sit this one out; the three of us can go.” Brian Clark’s impression of Edward Harris was getting better and better. So young, yet so clever, steady in action and proper in speech—it made him feel protective.

“Drinking, eating, whoring, and gambling—every man has to go through it. He’s still too young, so I won’t take him to the brothels yet. In a couple of years, we brothers will go to the Red Mansion together.” William Harris had drunk too much today and spoke without restraint.

They didn’t need to spell it out—Edward Harris already knew where they were headed. They’d just eaten and drunk, and he wasn’t old enough for whoring, so that only left gambling!

Chapter 7: A Kind of Gambling Called “Pooling”

The first paper currency to appear in the Southern Song was called jiaozi, initially issued in the Sichuan region. Later, when the Southern Song government wanted to issue it in the southeastern coastal areas, it failed due to lack of preparation, and they had to rename it huizi, which came in denominations of one thousand, two thousand, and three thousand wen. Later, they added five hundred, three hundred, and two hundred wen notes. In this book, unless otherwise specified, all paper currency is referred to as huizi.

In a small alley not far from the Wulin Tower, a curtain hung over a doorway, with several sturdy young men in short jackets standing outside. A bamboo pole was slanted above the gatehouse, with a large character “赌” (gamble) written on it, making it obvious what kind of place this was.

William Harris and the others were clearly regulars here. As soon as they were spotted from afar, the staff nodded and bowed, calling them “masters” with practiced ease, and when they reached the curtain, someone quickly lifted it for them.

As soon as he entered, Edward Harris almost choked—the stuffy smell inside the gambling den nearly drove him back out, and the lively atmosphere was something he wasn’t used to at all.

Gambling dens are always lively, and most of that comes from their unique soundscape. A gambling den is like a large orchestra: the dice and bowl clashing are the highest notes, whistles replace violins, clapping is the snare drum, pounding the table is the cymbals, stomping is the timpani, the clattering of mahjong tiles can stand in for several harpsichords, and the various pitches and tones of farting are enough to fill in for tubas, trumpets, trombones, French horns, clarinets, oboes, flutes, piccolos, bassoons, saxophones, and all other missing wind instruments. Then there’s the multi-part chorus of shouting and yelling, led by the tenor’s “Fuck your mother!”

Edward Harris kept frowning, but William Harris, Brian Clark, and John Bolton were all extremely excited, as if they’d been injected with chicken blood. To their ears, the noise was the most wonderful music in the world, and they completely forgot about Edward Harris the moment they stepped through the door.

As soon as William Harris heard the sound of dice hitting the bowl, it was like twenty-five mice were scratching at his heart, and his feet unconsciously carried him into the crowd. Brian Clark and John Bolton were clearly more interested in pai gow; hearing the shouts from that direction, they quickly ran over, completely forgetting about Edward Harris behind them...

By the time Edward Harris had gotten used to the environment, he realized he’d lost track of the other three. After all, Edward Harris was only twelve years old, and gambling dens were for adults. He couldn’t squeeze into the crowd like they did, nor could he stand on the outskirts and look for them. Since he couldn’t find them, Edward Harris stopped searching. Though only twelve, he had the mental age of someone with decades of experience. He’d never been in a gambling den in his previous life, so this was a good chance to observe.

He couldn’t get into the crowded areas, so he headed for where there were fewer people. Sure enough, he found a table in the corner, with only a small circle of people around it—just enough for him to squeeze in and watch.

“Bet as much as you want, win as much as you bet! Place your bets, hands off when you’re done!”

Edward Harris wasn’t familiar with the games in the gambling den, so he had to watch for a while. Gambling dens cater to the masses, so the games couldn’t be too complicated. After watching twice, Edward Harris understood the rules.