Ten strings of cash! Edward Clark's eyelids couldn't help but twitch. You have to understand, his predecessor had left him with a huge mess, and there was no way to clean it up without money. Besides, gambling on football in the Song Dynasty didn't seem to be illegal, and with two wealthy merchants willing to be the suckers, why should he push the money away?

“Mr. Harris, I can't guarantee a win, but in short, everyone will give it their all. If we still lose, then it must be fate.” Although the temptation of ten strings of cash was great, he still spoke cautiously. After laughing it off, he quickly slipped away and found the youngest teammate to ask about the rules of the match.

It wasn't until the very last moment before the official match that the Bateng Club people finally arrived, fashionably late. Seeing these people in bright red jackets nonchalantly playing with the ball, their skills truly honed to perfection, Edward Clark felt a jolt in his heart—his confidence dropped from eighty percent to fifty. After trying out the ball earlier, he had thought that as long as his teammates worked together, they could surely win. Now, it seemed far from that easy.

“Remember, once you get the ball, make sure to pass it steadily to Second Brother. The rest is none of our business!” Charles Baker clearly had a blind admiration for Edward Clark. Once the sixteen team members gathered, he shouted loudly.

With the sound of a gong, Edward Clark’s first cuju match in the Song Dynasty officially began. The match used a best-of-five format—whichever side scored three points first would win, so the competition was fierce. Although it was just an informal match among commoners, there were still small groups of idle men watching from the sidelines, and even a few graceful women.

The kickoff was by the Longqing Club. After the round ball was passed among the players, it quickly reached Edward Clark, the team leader. From that “wind-flowing eye,” he spotted a gap in the opponent’s defense and, without warning, kicked the ball through with a whoosh. The ball sailed over the net, scoring the first point, and his teammates erupted in cheers.

However, just as the ball was about to hit the ground, a burly man from the other side suddenly charged out, let out a roar, and used his knee to knock the ball up at an angle. A handsome young man nearby quickly hooked the ball with his foot, caught it steadily, and then passed it to someone else. After a round, Bateng Club also sent the ball over the net, scoring a point.

After one round, Edward Clark finally understood that Song Dynasty cuju emphasized skill and accuracy, with almost no physical confrontation, which took some getting used to. But after a few more rounds, he gradually found his old feel for the game, and all those fancy moves he’d abandoned in the past began to resurface. When it was his turn to kick, he deliberately showed off a few tricks, drawing gasps of amazement, then suddenly sent the ball over the net with a powerful kick. The ball shot through the wind-flowing eye, and an opponent who tried to block it was struck hard in the face, blood immediately welling from his forehead.

With blood suddenly on the field, Bateng Club became agitated in the following matches. No matter how they kicked, the ball kept hitting the net and bouncing back. For a full quarter of an hour, they didn’t score a single point. The once-confident owner of Baxian Restaurant, Henry Parker, could no longer sit still, shouting and jumping in rage on the sidelines. You should know, if Longqing scored one more point, the match would be over.

Just when everyone thought Longqing had victory in hand, Edward Clark suddenly noticed that several of his teammates looked off. He was about to ask when those players suddenly clutched their stomachs and collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. As luck would have it, the opponents nearly kicked the ball over the net several times. According to the rules, if Longqing couldn’t catch the ball, they’d be ruled to have lost in an instant.

“Useless! You useless lot, get up right now!” Seeing victory slipping away, Benjamin Harris immediately stormed to the sidelines, shouting furiously, “If you lose, Longqing Club will never survive in Bianjing again. Even if you die on the field, you must win this match for me! Andrew Clark, kick these people up for me!”

Hearing these harsh words, Edward Clark felt a surge of burning anger rush to his head. If it weren’t for the fact that the match was still on, he would have loved to drag the detestable Benjamin Harris out and give him a good beating. But reason held back his impulse. He glanced at the now-energized Bateng players, then turned his gaze to his own teammates.

Benjamin Harris’s words clearly spurred the fallen players. After just a moment, they staggered to their feet one after another, just as the opponent’s ball barely cleared the net. Though their steps were unsteady and their bodies weak, they forced themselves to keep the ball in play with their knees. When the ball finally reached Edward Clark, the five or six of them could hold on no longer, collapsing to the ground, gasping for breath, their eyes fixed on Edward Clark, hope written all over their faces.

Edward Clark had already noticed Henry Parker’s sly grin from the sidelines and immediately realized the dirty trick behind his team’s losses. Burning with anger, he swung his left foot and struck the edge of the ball with all his might. With a powerful spin, the ball shot like lightning through the wind-flowing eye, striking three opponents in succession before finally landing quietly.

Chapter Eight: Merchants Value Profit Above All