Volume 1, Chapter 18: I Am the Imposter

The heir of Marquis Cheng’en? Isn’t that Luo Chen? With that realization, Jiu Mu sat back down.

“I heard he nearly died a few days ago, and then married a marquis’s daughter to bring him luck.”

“That’s right. I saw the wedding on the street that day.”

“I heard the bride was brought back from the countryside. Maybe they couldn’t bear to part with their real daughter and found a fake to take her place.”

Jiu Mu listened carefully, a cold sneer forming in her heart. She wanted to reply, “Exactly, I am the imposter.”

The shopkeeper noticed the crowd’s murmurs and gestured for everyone to quiet down and listen.

“This game of chance is unlike any before. The bet is on whether the heir of Marquis Cheng’en will live past the New Year. Those who guess correctly will receive their winnings accordingly.”

Will he live past the New Year?

What a cruel wager. What grudge must Luo Chen have incurred to be used as the subject of such a bet?

Jiu Mu was about to inquire about who was behind this when she overheard a nearby table whispering.

“Who dares to bet on the lifespan of the heir of Marquis Cheng’en?”

“It doesn’t matter. The rules of Starfall Pavilion’s gambling always forbid revealing the house.”

So this place was called Starfall Pavilion. Jiu Mu made a mental note. She had entered just because it looked grand but hadn’t paid attention to the name.

Since the house’s identity was secret, there was no point asking further. When the marquis and his wife learn of this, they would undoubtedly investigate.

“Everyone, you may begin placing your bets.”

The shopkeeper and four others took their seats around the table, which was laid out with cards marked with different time intervals.

One month, two months, three months, four months — the divisions were precise. It seemed the house was certain Luo Chen wouldn’t live to the New Year.

Just then, someone asked, “Why only four months?”

“The house says a seer predicted the heir won’t live past twenty. Four months from now, he will turn twenty,” the shopkeeper explained flatly.

“What if he doesn’t die in four months?”

The shopkeeper pointed to a blank card. “You may also bet here, writing your own time. Should you guess correctly, the house will pay ten times your wager.”

Ten times the payout — this caused murmurs once more.

“How do we know the house will even live four months? What if they die before the bet ends? Who will pay us then?”

Jiu Mu spoke up, drawing the attention of everyone present, though she remained indifferent.

To hell with four months. With a poison doctor like her personally involved, Luo Chen could live four years, even forty years, without trouble.

In her heart, she had already marked the house as someone trying to ruin her reputation and made a mental note to repay them harshly.

The shopkeeper cleared his throat, “Please rest assured, sir. No matter how long it takes, as long as Starfall Pavilion stands, we will honor all payouts.”

Despite the assurance, no one stepped forward to bet immediately; most likely, they were watching cautiously.

After all, the house obviously didn’t want Luo Chen to live past twenty. Placing a bet now might bring trouble.

“I’ll join in for some fun,” said a man in a sapphire blue robe, stepping out from a nearby private room.

He waved a folding fan and leisurely circled the table before stopping in front of “one month.”

“Since I’m the first to bet, I’ll place mine on one month.”

“Since Brother Han bets one month, I’ll put mine on two months,” another responded.

Following the first, others quickly began placing their bets.

From the surrounding chatter, Jiu Mu learned that the first to bet was Han Teng, the second son of the Minister of Rites, and he had a history with Luo Chen.

“Hey, you who just said the house wouldn’t last four months, why don’t you bet?” Jiu Mu looked up to see Han Teng grinning slyly at her from the second-floor railing.

His leering smile made Jiu Mu feel an urge to teach him a lesson. With that thought, she headed upstairs.

Those gathered at the table stepped aside upon seeing her, clearing a space.

“Sir, would you like to place a bet?” the shopkeeper asked politely.

“Yes. I bet the heir of Marquis Cheng’en will not only live past the New Year but will enjoy good health and live a long life,” Jiu Mu said, pulling out several silver notes from her sleeve and placing them on the table.

“Ha ha... good health and a long life? Are you joking?” Han Teng laughed uproariously, as if hearing the funniest joke.

Jiu Mu looked at him coldly. “Is that so funny?”

“Of course it is. You say a sickly man will live long? Absurd,” Han Teng laughed even more shamelessly.

Though no one spoke, their mocking smiles were clearly aimed at Jiu Mu.

“I advise you to watch your words. Mocking another’s lifespan invites retribution,” she said with a slight curl of her lips.

“Retribution? Don’t scare me,” Han Teng replied disdainfully.

Jiu Mu ignored him and took a brush to write the characters “Long Life” on the blank card.

“May I ask your name, sir?” the shopkeeper counted the silver notes.

“Mu,” she answered casually. They could guess which Mu she was; she didn’t care.

The shopkeeper recorded it and handed her a receipt. “Mr. Mu, you have wagered 30,000 taels of silver. Here is your receipt. Please keep it safe.”

Thirty thousand taels? Jiu Mu hadn’t realized she had that much.

These silver notes were given by Sang Lin before she left, saying that as the marquis’s daughter-in-law, if she saw something she wanted, she shouldn’t be short of money.

She understood that Sang Lin was trying to impress Luo Chen through her. She hadn’t planned to use the money, but now, facing this matter, she chose to bet his wealth against his life.

Sang Lin, a mere attendant, casually laid down 30,000 taels. His master must be quite wealthy.

“Thank you,” Jiu Mu took the receipt and turned to leave downstairs.

“Thirty thousand taels, surname Mu... Could it be...” Han Teng started but abruptly stopped speaking.

Suddenly, he felt his throat tighten, as if something blocked his chest, making it impossible to breathe.

After a moment, he managed to catch his breath and sighed, “That scared me.”

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with me?”

Han Teng found he’d lost his voice. No matter how hard he tried to shout, not a sound came out.

People nearby noticed and asked, “Brother Han, what’s wrong?”

“I... I...” Han Teng flailed helplessly but couldn’t produce a single sound.

“Could it be that Mr. Han is really facing retribution?” someone whispered.

Han Teng froze, recalling what Mr. Mu had said just now.

Ignoring everything else, he pushed through the crowd and ran downstairs.