Chapter 380: Lighting the Sky Lantern

After she said this, I finally had a sudden realization and immediately understood what was about to happen. I suddenly remembered some strange tales I had heard back then, in which my grandfather had mentioned this concept.

The so-called "lighting the heavenly lamp" is a term from old-time casinos. It was actually called "lighting the lamp," a gambling technique meaning that if you spot someone at the table with extremely bad luck, you bet against them—if they bet on big, you bet on small; if they bet on banker, you bet on player. You're not betting on your own luck but on their misfortune. That unlucky person is your "lamp." Some people are born with terrible luck, losing every bet, and are specially hired to be "lamps," sacrificing small losses for big gains.

From the perspective of probability theory, this doesn't hold up—probability theory doesn't acknowledge any such thing as luck. Yet, "lighting the heavenly lamp" absolutely works. Every gambler knows that after losing the first hand, you're likely to keep losing in a streak. The world is just that way.

During the Qing Dynasty, among the circles of wealthy patrons in Jiangnan, the stakes were huge and unrestrained. Those with bad luck could lose their entire fortune in a single night. In such settings, the term "lighting the lamp" wasn't grand enough. Moreover, those idle rich kids loved to provoke each other—you dislike me, I dislike you—and they'd trade insults even before gambling began. One would say, "Second son of the Wang family, don't be cocky. I'm taking you as my lamp today." The other would always retort with added spice, "You take me as your lamp? I'll take you as my heavenly lamp!"

Over time, it directly became known as "lighting the heavenly lamp." In fact, this was quite fitting—lighting the heavenly lamp meant burning yourself to ashes, just like they gambled away everything in one night.

Later, the term spread beyond the industry and entered common use. When it came to the auction and bidding business, its meaning changed. I remember my grandfather told a story about the leader of the Old Nine Gates, who made a name for himself in Beijing and won his wife by lighting the heavenly lamp during an auction. I had almost forgotten that story, but the old lady's prompt made me remember.

In auction bidding, lighting the heavenly lamp seemed to mean reserving the whole venue. Inside a booth, there were two main seats—left and right. The right seat was the lamp-holder's seat. If someone sat in the right seat of any booth, it meant that no matter what item was being sold in this round, and no matter the final bid price, they would automatically top the bid. In other words, no matter how you played, they were determined to have that item.

This was generally a tactic used by nobles and royalty to pick up girls, common during the Qing Dynasty. Political marriages spared no expense—since they held power, money was trivial. So young princes chasing princesses liked to come here. Sometimes, if two princesses didn't get along, their respective suitors would have to compete in lamp lighting. It wasn't about who bid higher, but whose boyfriend could hold out. There was no time limit for lamp dueling, but one could withdraw the lamp. However, if one side withdrew, they would lose all face, which, in that era, was worse than death for those idle rich heirs.

But when a solo lamp was lit, it was brutal. Once lit, you had to bear it until the auction ended. No one knew how high the price would go. The only way for other bidders to win the item was to "pop" the lamp—bid wildly to drive the price to a level the lamp-lighter couldn't afford. Once that happened, the item would go to the previous highest bidder, and the lamp-lighter had to pay some price for their actions, sometimes money, sometimes body parts like fingers. In any case, the cost was extreme, because the backstage boss had to make it clear this wasn't a game. So anyone lighting the heavenly lamp had to assess their own worth—it wasn't something just anyone with money could play.

Fortunately, the rules of lamp lighting also prevented reckless bidding. Businessmen knew that only prices within a reasonable range would work—if a pair of slippers cost 100 million, that would be ridiculous, and others wouldn't play with you. Moreover, if you bid too high, even if you successfully popped the lamp and the item passed to you, you might not be able to pay your own bid, which meant you'd have popped yourself, with no good outcome. So their bids were still within rational limits; completely absurd prices rarely occurred. Additionally, there was a bidding increment limit and an auction time limit. Thus, most auctions ended when the suitor was extremely pained but still able to pay. This was also a safety measure—if you dared to financially destroy a prince's son, the prince would send troops to raid the shop.

In this round, each item auctioned was one lamp. Back then, the leader of the Old Nine Gates lit three lamps and burned through half a year's income. In the end, the woman he was pursuing probably thought, "Lighting three lamps already made him famous all over the capital. If he lights more and drains his family's wealth, how can I marry him?" So she stopped him. Predictably, the next day he successfully proposed. My grandfather said the hallmark of a smart woman is knowing how far to take things.

But this time, the entire auction was for one single top-notch item. Old Madam Huo was determined to win it and wouldn't stop until the end. If I lit this lamp, I'd probably lose everything and still not have enough.

In an instant I was completely stunned, entering a dazed state. Cold sweat poured down like rain, and something churned in my stomach, burning all the way into my lungs. I quickly took a

My mind was a mess of countless thoughts. Before I could sort out even a single thread, a worker walked around the venue striking a gong. In an instant, the entire place fell silent. Evidently, the auction had officially begun.

I didn't catch a word of what the lady in the qipao was saying. In my daze, I only heard that each bid had a minimum of one hundred thousand and a maximum of one million. My mind buzzed, and everything after that became even muddier.

Throughout the whole process I was completely unaware, my mind in utter chaos. I didn't even know how I'd spent a full hour. What suddenly snapped me awake was Poker-face, who placed his hand on my shoulder, startling me into a shiver.

I turned to look at him. He wasn't looking at me but gazing down at the floor below with no expression, as if none of this had anything to do with him, exactly like a cold-blooded bodyguard. I suddenly felt that Fatty might have gone too far in his coaching, but his hand was squeezing my shoulder hard, clearly with some intent.

I didn't know what he meant. Was he seeing that I was dazed and trying to reassure me that he was here? But with that squeeze, maybe by conditioned reflex, I suddenly really did calm down.

The scene was dead quiet, as if the bidding had stopped. I turned to look at Fatty. Not knowing the meaning of "lighting the sky lantern," Fatty was completely absorbed in the atmosphere, wiping sweat with a towel — obviously excited by the spectacle. I steadied myself, picked up my tea, and asked him what was going on. He said, "Holy shit, almost a hundred million!" I immediately spat out a mouthful of tea all over his face.

He didn't mind at all, wiping his face with his hand and continuing: "Now it's break time. There's a second half later, with the minimum bid raised to two million each time. Damn, your Fatty Grandpa has really seen something today." He pointed at the qipao-clad hostess, who was in the middle of the stage checking the records just taken. "This girl is amazing. When people bid here, they ring bells. At the start, all the bells were ringing, everyone was bidding, total chaos. But this girl never misheard a single ring — in less than half a second, she instantly knew which bell rang and which rang first. Her ears are divine. If she gets married, her husband definitely wouldn't dare call his mistress." Then he pointed at the pink shirt. "That kid is also impressive. He kept playing on his phone the whole time, never even looked up. The last bell before the break was rung by him. Looks like he's determined to win and doesn't even want to waste energy on bidding." Then he pointed at Old Mrs. Huo. "That old lady hasn't bid once. Looks like she's waiting for the stakes to go up before playing big."

I cursed inwardly. No sense of brotherhood! Couldn't they ease up a bit? They see I'm about to light the sky lantern and don't pity me at all. Every damn one of them spends money without a care. But it doesn't matter anyway — I couldn't pay even a tenth of that. A billion or a hundred million makes no difference to me. Even if I end up disgraced, even if they show mercy and don't cut off my hands or feet, I couldn't come up with a random one million to pay.

No need to think about it then. Since I can't pay anyway, I'll just have to weasel out of it. The safest move seems to be to run off later.

I whispered to Fatty the meaning of lighting the sky lantern. Fatty found it unbelievable too and got nervous: "Then what do we do? Damn, no wonder the old lady was so calm. So we're the ones footing the bill."

I said quietly, "What else can we do? This time the old lady is deliberately trying to make us look bad. We've stirred up big trouble. I say forget about clues and whatnot. Saving our skins is the priority. Think it over — let's find a chance to slip away."

"Slip away?" Fatty paused, a bit reluctant. "Can't be that serious, right? Under the emperor's nose, what can they really do if we weasel out? We were fooled by that old lady anyway. Besides, we've only seen the first half. Maybe there's still a good show. It would be such a waste to leave after paying such a huge price without seeing it through."

"Good show my ass. If we don't leave, that's when the real show starts," I said angrily. "If it's not serious, we escape and that's that — there'll be other chances. But if it is serious, damn!"

"Alright, I'll take a lap and see if there's a way to slip out." He nodded, then looked at the qipao lady. "If it comes to that, we'll jump down to the stage, take that woman and the goods hostage. This girl has such good ears, she should be worth a lot."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the qipao lady below froze, then raised her head, looked in our direction, and furrowed her brows.

Our eyes met. My heart skipped a beat. I thought, "No way — she heard that?" I quickly made a quieting gesture to Fatty while discreetly pointing at the qipao lady below.

Fatty couldn't help laughing: "You actually take that seriously? No matter how sharp her ears are, they can't be that sharp. She's just very admiring of you, sneaking a peek at you."

As he spoke, he pinched his throat and whispered softly: "Sister, we're about to make a run for it later, can you hear me? If you can, come catch us, or it'll be too late."

As soon as he finished, I saw the woman in the qipao looking at us with an even stranger expression. I felt something was wrong. Damn it, it seemed she really could hear. I quickly told Fatty to shut up, but it was too late. She suddenly shouted, pointing at us, and the workers beside her immediately looked our way and charged up the stairs.

Damn, I cursed inwardly, she really heard! Fatty was also stunned, watching the people rushing up, suddenly at a loss. In a flash of thought, Poker-face beside me shot past like lightning, leaping straight down from the second-floor balcony.

I was stunned. Gasps erupted all around. As he hit the ground and rolled up, another wave of gasps. Turning my head, I saw the pink shirt guy with one hand on the balcony railing, the other in his pocket, also flipping down, blocking Poker-face. On the other side, Fatty let out a roar, grabbed a stool, kicked over a screen, and charged at the hotel workers rushing in.

The scene descended into chaos.