The laughter faded, and with it, the last illusions of civility.  

The feast was over. Plates vanished into black mist, and the candles guttered out one by one until the entire hall was lit only by the faint, red glow of the Ghost King’s eyes.

**Josmar Matuwen** leaned back on his throne, fingers tapping the armrest in a slow rhythm.  

“You know, merchant,” he said softly, “we’ve eaten, we’ve drunk, we’ve spoken. But a true gathering isn’t complete without a little… wager.”

The air grew colder.  

A dozen armored ghosts emerged from the shadows, carrying a long table carved from pale bone. Upon it rested a single deck of black cards—the same kind that had rewritten fates during the previous banquet.

But this time, there were no chairs for comfort, no drinks, no pretense of elegance.

The King’s voice filled the room:  

“This game is simple. Mortals will bet what they own most directly—their flesh.”

The surviving humans gasped. One tried to run. He didn’t make it three steps before the floor swallowed him whole, leaving behind only a faint echo of breath.

“Each round,” Josmar continued, smiling faintly, “you may wager a hand, an eye, a tongue, a heartbeat. Lose, and it becomes mine. Win, and you live a little longer. Refuse to play…”  

He gestured toward the wall, where the marble faces twitched and groaned.  

“…and I’ll add you to my collection.”

The humans trembled, silent and sick with dread.  

Their hands shook as the cards began to deal themselves, slapping down one by one across the bone table.

Joseph sat at the King’s right, calm as ever. He didn’t need explanation.  

He knew exactly how this would go.  

When the dealer’s eyeless stare turned to him, the King raised a hand.  

“Ah, not him,” Josmar said, grinning. “He’s… a special guest.”

Joseph tilted his head. “Appreciated. Though I don’t intend to freeload.”

He reached into the *Ring of All Things* and placed a single glowing bundle of *Mingbi* on the table. The golden paper burned faintly, lighting the entire room with a warm pulse of wealth and death intertwined.

The ghosts leaned forward in awe. The King himself chuckled.  

“You really do believe everything can be bought, don’t you?”

Joseph smiled. “Not everything. Just the things worth owning.”

The game began.  

Round after round, humans cried, screamed, and fell silent as the cards took their toll.  

One man lost both hands and wept blood onto the floor.  

A woman traded her sight for one more turn.  

Another begged for mercy and received none.

Joseph, meanwhile, played quietly, betting *Mingbi* instead of flesh.  

Each time his hand lost, he calmly placed another stack of glowing notes on the table.  

Each time he won, he took nothing back.  

The ghosts whispered among themselves, watching with fascination.  

The mortal who spent fortune like it was breath.

By the final round, only Joseph was left alive.  

The table was drenched in silence, surrounded by the faint shimmer of fading souls.

Josmar stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—deep, genuine laughter that shook the hall.  

“Ha! You, of all people, survived my table again! But I must say, merchant, you’ve lost quite a fortune tonight.”

Joseph leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting.  

“Consider it a donation, Your Majesty. Cultural investment, if you will.”

The King’s laughter only grew louder. “Donation! You amuse me every time we meet.”

Joseph smiled faintly. “Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Josmar stood, motioning for his butler. “Enough games for tonight. Take our guest to the city center—the *Empty Quarter.* Five hundred vacant homes waiting to rot. Let him meet the ghosts who still hold their deeds.”  

The butler bowed low. “At once, Your Majesty.”

The King turned back to Joseph. “You, mortal, are either a fool or a genius. You bleed money where others bleed life. But you live. And in this city, survival is the highest form of wisdom.”  

Joseph rose, straightening his coat. “In business, it’s the same. Losses are investments—if you know what you’re buying.”

Josmar grinned. “Then perhaps one day, you’ll learn to buy even death.”

The throne room echoed with laughter as the butler gestured toward the doors.  

Joseph followed, his footsteps steady, unhurried. Behind him, the faint whispers of the ghosts followed like wind through broken glass.

Outside, the night air of the *Manor of Thorns* was heavy but alive.  

The vines along the walls shimmered faintly as if bowing to him while he passed.  

The butler walked beside him in silence until they reached the waiting *Gui Baojini.*  

When he finally spoke, his tone was quiet, almost respectful.  

“You are the first human to leave His Majesty’s wager alive.”

Joseph opened the car door and smiled. “Then I’ll try to make it a habit.”

He slipped into the driver’s seat, the blue glow of the engine painting his face in ghostlight.  

As the gates of the manor opened, he caught one last glimpse of the towering spires behind him.  

The King’s laughter still echoed faintly, like the hum of a great machine turning unseen gears.

The *Gui Baojini* sped toward the city center, the road ahead glowing faint blue.  

The *Empty Quarter* awaited—five hundred ghost-owned houses, and a thousand new opportunities.

Joseph adjusted the **Ghi Phaerielie** on his wrist, watching its hands tick backward.

“Five hundred houses,” he murmured. “Let’s see how many I can turn into a kingdom.”