But why?
It would have been much simpler to use solid wooden panels for the box, making it easier to carve and gild the surface. Yet, someone went out of their way to hollow out every side of this box. Strictly speaking, it’s no longer a box but a sealed structure pieced together from six plank-like components.
Moreover, according to the rules, this wooden box shouldn’t even be part of the game. Yet it remained on the table the entire time. Could it have another purpose?
Before Qi Xia could figure it out, Earth Monkey stood up, snatched the box back, carefully wiped it down, and inspected the edges. After confirming it wasn’t damaged, he placed it back on the table.
“If you’re going to touch my things, at least give me a heads-up,” Earth Monkey said with visible irritation. “If you wanted to kill yourself, I’d hand you a knife right away. Why go through the trouble of using a box?”
Qi Xia stared at him, a sinister smirk slowly creeping onto his face.
His crimson-stained face, eerie grin, and slightly trembling right hand made him look like a demon, causing Earth Monkey to instinctively lean back.
“Now I’m finally a little clearer-headed…” Qi Xia said. “Earlier, you told us that ‘Frost’s Descent’ is ‘the twenty-third day of the ninth month,’ right?”
“…Yes,” Earth Monkey confirmed.
Qi Xia nodded. Zheng Yingxiong’s question had pinpointed the most crucial detail—now, it seemed, he understood how to play this game of “high or low.”
Part of the fog had lifted, revealing hidden knowledge.
The twenty-four solar terms weren’t based on the Gregorian or lunar calendars alone but on a lunisolar system.
Thus, whether using the Gregorian or lunar calendar, the dates would shift every year. To deduce the numerical values of all the cards, there were only two possible approaches:
First, knowing the exact year.
Second, knowing the precise date of one specific day.
Traditional festivals were straightforward—their lunar dates remained fixed.
For instance, the “Qixi Festival” in his hand was undoubtedly the seventh day of the seventh month, “Lantern Festival” was the fifteenth day of the first month, “Double Ninth Festival” was the ninth day of the ninth month, and “New Year’s Eve” was the thirtieth day of the twelfth month.
If this were a “high or low” game, Earth Monkey couldn’t possibly use the controversial Gregorian calendar—doing so would make the results unconvincing, complicating the gambling process.
In conclusion, if the game truly relied on dates as the key factor, it would have to use the more stable lunar calendar.
The remaining issue was the dates of the solar terms.
Fortunately, Earth Monkey had provided the most critical clue—”Frost’s Descent” fell on the twenty-third day of the ninth month.
With that, knowing the exact year became unnecessary. Even if the year was fictional, they could reverse-engineer the dates based on Earth Monkey’s information.
Every solar term was spaced fifteen days apart. Once that was clear, the entire year’s twenty-four solar terms could be mapped out. Now, the cards on the table transformed into sets of numbers in Qi Xia’s eyes.
He glanced at the “seventh day of the seventh month” in his hand, then at the “fifteenth day of the seventh month” on the table, and finally at Earth Monkey’s “twenty-first day of the fifth month.”
Once this round ended and Earth Monkey announced the highest card, the full rules of the game would unravel.
Qi Xia wiped the blood from his right cheek and looked up. “Earth Monkey, shall we continue?”
Earth Monkey noticed the man’s gaze had completely changed from when he first entered, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why.
“‘Spring rain awakens spring, clear skies and grain rain; summer fills with awns, summer heat connects. Autumn dew meets autumn, cold frost descends; winter snow, winter snow, minor and major colds.’” Qi Xia, his mind now sharp, recalled the sealed knowledge effortlessly. “In the first half of the year, they fall on the sixth or twenty-first; in the second half, on the eighth or twenty-third. ‘End of Heat’ and ‘Frost’s Descent’ are sixty days apart, so ‘End of Heat’ is the twenty-third day of the seventh month.”
All dates in the first half of the year fell on the sixth or twenty-first, while the second half’s dates were on the eighth or twenty-third. Combined with the Gregorian months, these were the dates used in the game.
Finally, Qi Xia understood the meaning behind Earth Monkey’s earlier words.
He had said that over the years, those he encountered either had gambling skills but no knowledge, or knowledge but no courage—no one had ever been able to play a full game with him.
This deck required far too much. Gambling skill alone wasn’t enough.
After all, each card bore only two characters, yet players had to determine their relative values. Without sufficient knowledge, this step alone would stump anyone.
The only thing Qi Xia still couldn’t reconcile was the name “Synodic Month.”
If he remembered correctly, the synodic month—also called the lunar month—represented the cycle of the moon’s phases. How did that relate to this game?
If he had to explain, the sun was “yang,” and the moon was “yin.” When ancient people devised the lunar calendar, they referenced the waxing and waning of the moon.
“So it really is the ‘lunar calendar’…”
But why?
It would have been so much easier to use wooden panels directly to make the box, making surface engraving and gold stamping more convenient. Yet, someone went out of their way to hollow out every side of this box. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a box anymore but a sealed structure pieced together from six wooden panels shaped like boxes.
Moreover, according to the rules, this wooden box shouldn’t have been part of the game at all. Yet, it remained on the table the entire time. Could it have another purpose?
Before Qixia could figure it out, Earth Monkey stood up, snatched the box back, carefully wiped it, and inspected the corners. After confirming it wasn’t damaged, he placed it back on the table.
“If you want to touch my things in the future, do me a favor and ask first,” Earth Monkey said with a hint of displeasure. “Even if you want to kill yourself, I’d hand you a knife right away. Why go through the trouble of using a box?”
Qixia stared into the other’s eyes, a faint, sinister smile slowly spreading across his face.
His crimson face, eerie grin, and slightly trembling right hand made him look as unsettling as a demon, causing Earth Monkey to instinctively lean back.
“Now I’m finally a bit clearer-headed…” Qixia said. “You just told us that ‘Frost’s Descent’ is the ‘twenty-third day of the ninth month,’ right?”
“…Yes,” Earth Monkey replied.
Qixia nodded. Zheng Yingxiong’s question had pinpointed the most critical issue. Now, it seemed he knew how to proceed with this “comparison of sizes.”
Part of the fog had lifted, and the hidden knowledge began to emerge.
The twenty-four solar terms follow neither the Gregorian calendar nor the lunar calendar but a lunisolar calendar.
So, whether viewed through the Gregorian or lunar calendar, the dates change every year. If one wanted to deduce the numbers on all the cards, there were only two possible methods:
First, know the exact year.
Second, know the exact date of one specific day.
Traditional festivals were straightforward, as the “lunar calendar” dates remained fixed.
For example, the “Qixi Festival” in his hand was undoubtedly the seventh day of the seventh month, “Lantern Festival” was the fifteenth day of the first month, “Double Ninth Festival” was the ninth day of the ninth month, and “New Year’s Eve” was the thirtieth day of the twelfth month.
So, if they were comparing sizes, Earth Monkey couldn’t possibly use the controversial “Gregorian calendar.” Otherwise, the answers would be unconvincing, making the gambling round even more difficult.
In summary, if “date” was indeed the key to this “comparison of sizes,” the relatively fixed “lunar calendar” would inevitably be used.
The problem now lay in the dates of the various “solar terms.”
Fortunately, Earth Monkey had provided the most critical piece of information—the date of “Frost’s Descent” was the twenty-third day of the ninth month.
With this, there was no need to know the exact year. Even if the year was fictional, they could work backward based on the information Earth Monkey had given.
Because all the information would become clear: each solar term is fifteen days apart, so the dates of all twenty-four solar terms for the year were now known. In Qixia’s eyes, the cards on the table had transformed into sets of numbers.
He glanced at the “seventh day of the seventh month” in his hand, then at the “fifteenth day of the seventh month” on the table, and finally at the “twenty-first day of the fifth month” in Earth Monkey’s hand.
Once Earth Monkey announced the holder of the highest card after this round, the full rules of the game would become clear.
Qixia wiped the blood from his right cheek and raised his head. “Earth Monkey, shall we continue?”
Earth Monkey noticed that the man’s eyes were completely different from when he had first entered the venue, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had changed.
“Spring rains awaken spring, clear skies and valley skies; summer fills awn summers, heat connects. Autumn dew reveals autumn, cold frost descends; winter snows snow winters, small and great cold.” With a clear mind, Qixia swiftly recalled the long-buried knowledge. “The first half of the year meets on the sixth and twenty-first; the second half meets on the eighth and twenty-third. ‘End of Heat’ and ‘Frost’s Descent’ are sixty days apart, so the date of ‘End of Heat’ is the twenty-third day of the seventh month.”
All dates in the first half of the year fell on the sixth and twenty-first, while those in the second half fell on the eighth and twenty-third. Combined with the Gregorian months, these were the dates used in this game.
Qixia finally understood what Earth Monkey had meant before the gambling began.
He said that over the years, the people he encountered either had gambling skills but no knowledge, or knowledge but no courage, so no one could play a round with him.
This deck of cards required far too much—gambling skills alone were far from enough.
After all, each card bore only two characters, yet they had to use these characters to compare sizes. Without sufficient knowledge, one would be stuck at this very step.
Additionally, the one thing Qixia still couldn’t figure out was the name “Shuo Wang Yue.”
If he remembered correctly, Shuo Wang Yue was also known as the synodic month, representing the cycle of the moon’s phases. What did it have to do with this game?
If he had to explain it, the sun was “yang,” and the moon was “yin.” When the ancients created the “lunar calendar,” they referenced the waxing and waning of the moon.
“So it really is the ‘lunar calendar’…”
The moon going from fully bright to completely dark was seen by the ancients as a “reverse” process. Thus, they used the original form of the character “逆” (nì, reverse), “屰,” combined with “月” (moon), forming “屰月,” which became “朔” (shuò, new moon).
When the moon was brightest and visible overhead, the ancients called it “月满” (yuè mǎn, full moon), which was “望” (wàng). As explained in *Shi Ming·Shi Tian*: “望, the name for the full moon.”
So, “Shuo Wang Yue” referred to the thirty-day period from one “朔” to the next “朔,” or from one “望” to the next “望.”
Since it depended on the moon’s phases, these thirty days were called a “month.”
The calendar created based on the moon’s phases was considered “yin,” hence it was called the “lunar calendar.”
“In other words, the name of this game itself revealed the method of comparing sizes to us from the very beginning…”
Qixia narrowed his eyes slightly, feeling that he could temporarily control his chaotic mind.
He looked at the cards on the table. The deck contained only thirty-plus cards, each with two characters, totaling no more than sixty characters.
But if one were to study it seriously, it was far more complex than Western playing cards or tarot cards. If this game weren’t called “Shuo Wang Yue” but “Solar Calendar,” the gameplay would be entirely different.
Qixia marveled at Earth Monkey’s prowess as a representative of “intelligence.” Moreover, the short, stout Earth Monkey before him likely had even greater capabilities. If he could be recruited, he would be immensely useful—but the smarter someone was, the harder they were to control.
Focusing on the game at hand, Qixia knew that as long as Earth Monkey announced the holder of the highest card when the round ended, he would deduce the rules of this round.
The plan was progressing more smoothly than expected, thanks largely to Zheng Yingxiong’s help.
After everyone placed their “secrets,” Earth Monkey spoke again, “Does anyone else want to place a bet?”
Unaware of the rules, no one had the confidence to gamble on the sizes and shook their heads.
But Earth Monkey slowly curled his lips into a smile and looked at Qixia.
“What?” Qixia asked.
“I’m raising the bet,” Earth Monkey said.
But why?
It would have been simpler to make the box directly from wooden pieces, making it easier to carve and gild the surface. Yet, someone went out of their way to hollow out every side of this box. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a box anymore but a sealed structure pieced together from six wooden panels shaped like boxes.
Moreover, according to the rules, this wooden box shouldn’t have been part of the game at all, yet it remained on the table. Could it have another purpose?
Before Qǐ Xià could figure it out, Dì Hóu stood up, snatched the box back, carefully wiped it, and inspected the corners. After confirming it wasn’t damaged, he placed it back on the table.
“If you want to touch my things in the future, do me a favor and ask first,” Dì Hóu said with clear displeasure. “Even if you want to kill yourself, I’d hand you a knife right away. Why go to the trouble of using a box?”
Qǐ Xià stared into the other’s eyes, a faint, eerie smile slowly spreading across his face.
His crimson-stained cheeks, sinister grin, and slightly trembling right hand made him look as eerie as a demon, causing Dì Hóu to instinctively lean back.
“Now I’m finally a bit clearer-headed…” Qǐ Xià said. “You just told us that ‘Frost’s Descent’ is the ’23rd of the Ninth Month,’ right?”
“…Yes,” Dì Hóu replied.
Qǐ Xià nodded. Zhèng Yīngxióng’s question had pinpointed the most critical issue. Now, it seemed he understood how to proceed with this “Comparing Sizes” game.
Part of the fog had lifted, and the hidden knowledge began to emerge.
The Twenty-Four Solar Terms follow neither the Gregorian calendar nor the lunar calendar exclusively but a lunisolar calendar.
So, whether using the solar or lunar calendar, the dates shift every year. If one wanted to deduce the numbers on all the cards, only two methods came to mind:
First, know the exact year.
Second, know the exact date of one specific day.
“Traditional festivals” were straightforward, as their “lunar dates” remained fixed.
For example, the “Qīxī Festival” in his hand was undoubtedly the seventh day of the seventh month, “Lantern Festival” was the fifteenth day of the first month, “Double Ninth Festival” was the ninth day of the ninth month, and “New Year’s Eve” was the thirtieth day of the twelfth month.
So, if they were comparing sizes, Dì Hóu couldn’t possibly use the controversial “solar calendar.” Otherwise, the answers would be unconvincing, making the gambling round even more difficult.
In conclusion, if “date” was indeed the key to this “Comparing Sizes” game, it had to be the relatively fixed “lunar calendar.”
The problem now lay in the dates of the various “solar terms.”
Fortunately, Dì Hóu had provided the most critical clue—the date of “Frost’s Descent” was the 23rd of the ninth month.
With that, there was no need to know the exact year. Even if the year was fictional, they could work backward based on Dì Hóu’s information.
All the details would become clear. Each solar term was spaced fifteen days apart, so the entire year’s Twenty-Four Solar Terms were now known. In Qǐ Xià’s eyes, the cards on the table transformed into sets of numbers.
He glanced at the “Seventh Day of the Seventh Month” in his hand, then at the “Fifteenth Day of the Seventh Month” on the table, and finally at the “Twenty-First Day of the Fifth Month” in Dì Hóu’s hand.
Once this round ended and Dì Hóu announced the holder of the highest card, all the rules of the game would become clear.
Qǐ Xià wiped the blood from his right cheek and raised his head. “Dì Hóu, shall we continue?”
Dì Hóu noticed the man’s eyes were entirely different from when he had first entered the venue, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had changed.
“Spring rains awaken spring, clear skies and valley skies; summer fullness, awnings, summer heat connects. Autumn dew, autumn cold, frost descends; winter snow, winter chill, minor and major colds.” With a clear mind, Qǐ Xià swiftly recalled long-buried knowledge. “The first half of the year: the sixth and the twenty-first; the second half: the eighth and the twenty-third. ‘End of Heat’ and ‘Frost’s Descent’ are sixty days apart, so the date of ‘End of Heat’ is the 23rd of the seventh month.”
All dates in the first half of the year fell on the sixth and the twenty-first, while the second half’s dates were the eighth and the twenty-third. Combined with the solar months, these were the dates used in this game.
Qǐ Xià finally understood what Dì Hóu had meant before the game began.
He said that over the years, the people he encountered either had gambling skills but no knowledge, or knowledge but no courage, so no one could play a round with him.
This deck of cards required far too much—gambling skills alone were nowhere near enough.
After all, each card bore only two characters, yet they had to determine their size based on these. Without sufficient knowledge, one would be stuck at this very step.
Additionally, the one thing Qǐ Xià still couldn’t figure out was the name “Synodic Month.”
If he remembered correctly, a synodic month was also called a lunar month, representing the cycle of the moon’s phases. What did that have to do with this game?
If he had to explain, the sun was “yang,” and the moon was “yin.” When the ancients devised the “lunar calendar,” they referenced the moon’s phases.
“So it really is the ‘lunar calendar’…”
The moon waxing from completely bright to completely dark was seen by the ancients as a “reverse” process. Thus, they used the original form of the character “reverse” (逆, nì), “屰,” combined with “moon” (月, yuè), forming “屰月,” which became “朔” (shuò, new moon).
When the moon was brightest and visible overhead, the ancients called it “full moon” (月满, yuè mǎn), or “望” (wàng). As explained in *Shiming·Shitian*: “望 is the name for the full moon.”
So, the “synodic month” refers to the thirty days from one “shuò” to the next, or from one “wàng” to the next.
Since it depended on the moon’s phases, these thirty days were called a “month.”
The calendar devised based on the moon’s phases belonged to the “yin” side, hence it was called the “lunar calendar” (阴历, yīn lì).
“In other words, the name of this game itself revealed the method of comparing sizes to us from the very beginning…”
Qǐ Xià narrowed his eyes slightly, feeling he could temporarily control his chaotic mind.
He looked at the cards on the table. The deck contained only thirty-plus cards, each with two characters—at most, a little over sixty characters in total.
But if one were to study it seriously, it was far more complex than Western playing cards or tarot cards. If this game weren’t called “Synodic Month” but “Solar Calendar,” the gameplay would be entirely different.
Qǐ Xià marveled at Dì Hóu’s prowess as the embodiment of “intelligence.” Moreover, the short, stout Dì Hóu before him likely had even greater capabilities. If he could be recruited, he would be immensely useful—but the smarter someone was, the harder they were to control.
Focusing on the game at hand, Qǐ Xià knew that once the cards were revealed and Dì Hóu announced the holder of the highest card, he would deduce the rules of this round.
The plan was progressing more smoothly than expected, thanks largely to Zhèng Yīngxióng’s help.
After everyone placed their “secrets,” Dì Hóu spoke again, “Does anyone else wish to place a bet?”
Unaware of the rules and unsure how to gamble on sizes, everyone shook their heads.
But Dì Hóu slowly curled his lips into a smile and looked at Qǐ Xià.
“What?” Qǐ Xià asked.
“I’m raising the bet,” Dì Hóu said.
Thus, the “synodic month” referred to the thirty-day period from one “shuò” to the next, or one “wàng” to the next.
Since it was based on the moon’s phases, these thirty days were called a “month.”
And the calendar derived from the moon’s phases was deemed “yin,” hence the “lunar calendar.”
“In other words, the game’s name itself revealed the method for comparing values…”
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes slightly, feeling he could temporarily rein in his chaotic thoughts.
He glanced at the cards on the table. The entire deck contained only thirty-some cards, each bearing two characters—no more than sixty-odd characters in total.
But if one truly studied them, they were far more intricate than Western playing cards or tarot. Had the game been named “Gregorian Calendar” instead of “Synodic Month,” the rules would have been entirely different.
Qi Xia marveled at Earth Monkey’s mastery as the embodiment of “intellect.” Moreover, the short, stout Earth Monkey before him likely had even greater capabilities. If he could be recruited, he’d be an invaluable asset—but the smarter someone was, the harder they were to control.
Focusing back on the game, Qi Xia knew that once Earth Monkey revealed the highest card at the end, he’d piece together the full rules.
The plan was progressing more smoothly than expected—this time, it was all thanks to Zheng Yingxiong.
After everyone had placed their “secrets,” Earth Monkey asked again, “Does anyone else wish to bet?”
With no grasp of the rules, none dared to gamble recklessly, so they all shook their heads.
But Earth Monkey slowly grinned, locking eyes with Qi Xia.
“What?” Qi Xia asked.
“I’m raising the stakes,” Earth Monkey said.
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