Chapter Seventy-One: The Treasure-Gathering Ghost Goblet

“Brother Zhang, the goods are here!”
A cheerful shout broke the awkward atmosphere between us.
A-Mao, true to his reputation as a fleet-footed runner, had already fetched the goods in no time.
Before telling the story of the Treasure-Gathering Ghost Goblet, I had made up my mind: if Xiao Wei refused to listen to reason and insisted on getting the tattoo after hearing the tale, I would disown him as a brother from that moment on.
Fine, this is the path you’ve forced me onto.
“Lie down. I’ll tattoo you!”
I gritted my teeth, my heart twisting painfully within me. I never imagined my relationship with Xiao Wei would fall to such a state. It was truly lamentable.
“Brother Zhang, the boss asked me to pass along a message.” After handing me the jar of vengeful spirits, A-Mao spoke in his usual blunt manner.
“What is it?”
“Boss Jin said, if you always lose at gambling, you lose money. If you always win, you lose your life. The outcome of gambling isn’t decided at the table, but beyond it.”
These words stabbed into my heart like a sharp knife. I glanced at Xiao Wei—he was scratching his ear, clearly not listening at all.
“Heh, the spirits in this jar came straight from the casinos,” A-Mao continued, “Boss Jin’s words have never failed among countless gamblers. Take care, Boss Xiao Wei.”
A-Mao was an old hand who’d spent years on the streets, not just dealing with unclean things, but also mingling with all sorts of characters. He understood this truth thoroughly.
Yet this simple principle was lost on Xiao Wei, who neither understood nor cared to listen.
No matter. I’d just have to find a way to drag him away from Brother Wang’s circle, force him to leave that life of debauchery and excess.
Xiao Wei lay down on the tattoo bed, muttering under his breath:
“Now that’s more like it! Xu, we grew up together, you can’t keep secrets from your brother. My fortune is your fortune. When I strike it rich, you’ll have your share.”
At this moment, he was blinded by his desire for wealth; every word from his lips was about money and power.
I signaled for him to be quiet, took a fine needle and pricked his finger, squeezing out a drop of blood into the jar of spirits.
Instantly, a chill wind swept the room. The ceiling fan above us shook violently, and the light bulb flickered, crackling loudly.
I knew the spirits in the jar were especially fierce. I looked to A-Mao.
A-Mao shrugged. “That spirit was a casino regular. Luckless, he squandered a fortune, lost his wife and child, but never repented. He kept haunting those places, piling up debts until no one would lend to him. In the end, he gambled with his own fingers—twenty thousand per finger—and lost six. Homeless, he died out there, but his spirit lingered, circling the casinos day after day. The boss asked me to capture it.”
That such a gambler’s soul was now in our hands—it was a darkly fitting match for Xiao Wei’s current state.
The wind raged on, the curtains by the window flapping with sharp snaps. Whispered voices began to drift from within the jar.
“Banker! Banker! Bet on the Banker!”
Even as a spirit, the poor soul could not let go of the gambling table.
Old Liao retrieved a talisman from his bag, formed several hand seals in silence, and suddenly the talisman ignited in his palm. He hovered the burning charm above the spirit jar; as it burned to ashes, the black dust settled, and the voices inside the jar gradually faded away.
“Excellent work, Brother Liao!” A-Mao exclaimed in awe, giving a thumbs-up.
“Just a little trick,” Old Liao replied, scratching his head bashfully.
“Are you done yet? When are you going to start the tattoo?”
Xiao Wei sat up on the tattoo bed, impatience clear in his tone as he pressed us to hurry.
Old Liao, seeing his kindness thrown back in his face, was furious and looked about ready to storm over and beat him.

I quickly stopped Old Liao. “Forget it. Let him have his way today. After this, I have no brother left.”
“Oh, is that how it is? Xu, you think you’re so great now and you’re done with me? I was just your lackey all along—use me when you want, throw me away when you’re done. Fine, finish this tattoo, and if I come back to you again, I’m a fool!”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Suit yourself. Let’s begin.”
Xiao Wei said no more, lying back down.
I’d revised tattoos before, but this time was different: turning a yang tattoo into a yin one, making the old design part of the new. Xiao Wei’s Lucky Coin was inked on the back of his hand, and since the original design couldn’t be altered in size, I could only tattoo the Treasure-Gathering Ghost Goblet on his wrist, making it look as if the goblet was wrapped around his wrist, the coin floating above on the back of his hand.
With the plan set, I disinfected the area and started needling. The technique for this winding tattoo was delicate, and since Xiao Wei was no ordinary client, I was especially meticulous. Just outlining the design took over half an hour; soon, the goblet’s form began to emerge.
The design was ancient in style, particularly the goblin head at the rim. As I worked, I felt a subtle sense of dread.
Once the outline was complete, I grabbed the jar and slapped it down onto Xiao Wei’s wrist.
The jar seemed to come alive, clinging tightly to his wrist. I tried to pry it off, but it didn’t budge.
I’d never encountered anything like this before—I broke into a cold sweat, panicked.
Yet Xiao Wei lay motionless, oblivious to what was happening.
The mouth of the jar bit into his wrist, leaving angry red marks as a sinister rustling came from inside.
Suddenly, a black mist rose slowly from the jar, creeping up his arm with a constant hissing sound, wrapping tightly around his forearm.
Then, with a twist, it burrowed into the new tattoo.
With a soft clatter, the jar fell away—the black mist was gone, vanished into the inked design.
It seemed all was back to normal. I seized Xiao Wei’s hand and examined the tattoo closely. The goblin head at the goblet’s rim was now glossy and dark, its eyes aglow with pinpoints of red, lifelike and vivid.
Old Liao and A-Mao watched in silence, both sensing this tattoo was unlike any before—it was as if the spirit had willingly merged with the ink.
Xiao Wei, seeing the tattoo finished, leapt from the bed and sat in a chair.
He grabbed a deck of playing cards scattered on the coffee table—leftover from a recent game between me and Old Liao.
He picked a card at random, flipped it over—a Joker.
A glint of gold seemed to flash in his eyes. He shuffled the deck, drew again—it was another Joker.
He grew more excited, pulled a die from his pocket, tossed it on the table—six.
He tried again, and every throw landed on the highest number.
“Incredible,” Old Liao muttered, dumbfounded. I was just as stunned.
I’d heard of yin tattoos affecting luck, but always drawing the highest card? It was uncanny.
If mathematicians saw this, they’d be spinning in their graves.
Xiao Wei stared in a daze, then suddenly burst out laughing.
“That’s it! That’s exactly what I wanted. Xu, say no more—you’re a true brother! When I strike it rich, you’ll get your share!”
His laughter was manic. Without another word, he strode out of my tattoo shop.
“Tattoo done, and he’s gone. So mercenary...”

Old Liao handed me a cigarette and sighed.
I took it, lit up, and inhaled deeply. The smoke stung my eyes, making them wet.
A sense of loss welled up inside me—this must be what it feels like when friends become strangers.
After seeing A-Mao off, Old Liao and I leaned against the doorframe, smoking quietly. My hand brushed against a strange bump on the wall beside the door.
Stepping outside for a closer look, I discovered a bizarre blood-red mark on the wall next to my shop’s entrance.
“What’s that?” Old Liao noticed it too and came over to examine it. Five horizontal lines, interlaced and crooked.
“Could it be a thief’s mark?”
I’d often read that thieves sometimes left marks outside doors to case houses for burglary.
“Doesn’t matter, just paint over it,” Old Liao said, grabbing a can of white wall paint from the storeroom and brushing it onto the mark.
Strangely, the blood-red lines wouldn’t cover up at all. In fact, the paint slipped off the mark like running water.
I fetched a scraper to try and chip off the wall.
Again, nothing—those red lines seemed to have fused with the wall, impossible to remove.
“Look, this mark isn’t all the same color.”
Following Old Liao’s finger, I saw it: one of the horizontal lines was bright blood-red, like fresh blood; the other four were dark red, almost black.
“Maybe... we should ask Brother Lin?”
I nodded and dialed Brother Lin’s number. After several rings, there was no answer.
It seemed he was off on one of his mysterious errands again.
What now? This strange symbol made me uneasy, my instincts screaming it wasn’t something simple. Unless I could remove it or get some answers, I wouldn’t feel at ease.
Suddenly, another person came to mind—a man with hair tied up and sharp, fox-like eyes.
On impulse, I dialed his number.
“Damn, why are you calling now? I’m in the middle of a ranked game!”
The familiar voice answered—Hu Jiajia was gaming again.
“I’ve come across a weird symbol here, can you take a look?”
“Hang up and call me on video—hurry, I can’t go AFK in ranked!”
I started a video call and pointed the camera at the symbol. A-Ji’s face grew grave.
“That’s a ghost talisman. Looks like someone has cursed you.”