Chapter Twenty: The Chichen Itza Grand Hotel

“You said gambling is a zero-sum game,” Shang Luo looked up at the clock tower. “If the environment could boost everyone’s luck, making everyone fortunate, then who would be the unlucky one?”

“I don’t know, probably the casino,” came the reply.

“So this is the place,” Shang Luo said, flipping through the guidebook. “The Chichen Itza Grand Hotel, an official enterprise of the Chichen Itza city-state. But during the Banana Offensive of Taihe Year 22, Chichen Itza, along with seventeen other Maya city-states, was swept into a chain of bankruptcies. In the crisis, United Fruit extended a helping hand to all these Maya city-states. Fourteen of the seventeen were acquired by United Fruit; only three accepted bankruptcy protection and survived to this day. Chichen Itza also went bankrupt, but...” He turned the page of the guidebook. “Because the city-state went bankrupt, the Chichen Itza Grand Hotel was entirely mortgaged to United Fruit, using hotel revenue as collateral to repay debts. However, as the city-state itself inevitably declined, the hotel’s performance steadily slipped. Finally, three years ago, they accepted acquisition by United Fruit and adjusted some high-expenditure projects. They fired all the dealers, remodeled the entire casino, and replaced all previous games with pinball machines and slot machines. It is said this was the decision of the King of Chichen Itza.”

“So they must have turned a profit now?”

“No, they are deeply mired in power shortages. United Fruit seems to be at odds with local gangs, and the power is cut off here every few days. Every blackout kills the electricity to the slot machines and pinball machines, causing mass breakdowns. The King of Chichen Itza’s gamble was a complete failure.”

Having said that, Shang Luo began straightening his collar. “So now, it’s up to me… no, up to us to take the stage.”

He meticulously adjusted his hat, collar, and cuffs to maintain the dignity befitting a native of the capital.

Ascending the steps adorned with bas-reliefs, Shang Luo arrived at the hotel entrance.

Two half-naked, burly men wielding macuahuitls stood sentinel by the door. Their exposed limbs and chests were densely tattooed, leaving hardly any skin visible.

Shang Luo had just seen them in the pictorial guide—they were “professionals” invited from the Maya nation, each a descendant of the nobility from the seventeen Maya city-states that survived the royal campaign known as the Mountain and Temple Purge. The imperial forces abolished the human sacrifices once practiced in Yangzhou during the Great Righteous War, yet the original ruling structures were preserved.

Though only three of those city-states still maintained monarchies, while the rest were swallowed by United Fruit’s banana plantations, Maya culture was still deeply respected and preserved—only that recent economic hardships forced many to seek employment elsewhere.

According to tradition, the more tattoos one bore, the mightier they were. These two, tattooed from head to toe except for their faces, bore the sacred genealogies of the gods, radiating formidable presence.

Whether due to the hotel’s thematic design or their own reluctance, the two guards remained motionless like stone statues as Shang Luo entered. After waiting a while in the lobby, a bellhop finally approached.

“I’m not staying here,” Shang Luo said. “Could you please show me around the casino?”

“Certainly, sir. Our hotel welcomes the public. Please follow me.”

Not every hotel allowed outsiders to play—once, the Chichen Itza Hotel did not either, as a symbol of Maya culture. But under current circumstances, they had no choice.

The bellhop led the way, passing by numerous employees—all undoubtedly Maya.

In appearance, the Maya differ distinctly from the Aztec and Inca peoples. While sharing black eyes and hair, their facial features are softer and skin paler. From afar, many Maya resemble Han Chinese. There was even once a theory of an “Eastern Shang migration,” though it eventually faded.

Shang Luo had seen Maya before, especially in San Francisco. That city belongs to the “Three Prefectures,” with Maya being one, alongside the Aztec and Inca. San Francisco once boasted the “Dragon God Pyramid,” a tribute from the three prefectures, which for a long time stood as the city’s tallest building next to the glass palace in the Citadel. But times have changed; the pyramid is now engulfed by concrete jungles, and its significance as a gift has dimmed.

The Maya here, like those in San Francisco, are taciturn and far less enthusiastic than they once were.

During the Great Righteous War, not only was the Mountain and Temple Purge carried out throughout Yangzhou, but the indigenous peoples faced “extinction and succession.” The Aztec had perished, and the Maya were barely holding on in a few city-states like Chichen Itza. It was the imperial court that helped them rebuild their homeland from ruins.

Except for the ever-loyal Joseon Kingdom of the Ming, the Maya, separated by vast oceans, seemed increasingly distant from the capital.

Having been acquired through bankruptcy, the Maya now focused more on pressing daily survival than cultural matters.

“These Maya don’t look very professional—seem lazy about serving guests. By the way, what happened back then? Rome thought the Ming would intervene in United Fruit’s acquisition, but you didn’t do anything?”

“I’m not exactly sure; that was before I was ‘born.’ But it seems linked to the behind-the-scenes orchestrator of United Fruit—Lan Fang Corporation, the domain of the Prince of Yanping. They wanted to acquire the imperial edicts once distributed to tributary states, the only legitimate proof of tribute relations. Whoever held the edicts could trade officially with the court.”

Without the edicts, Chichen Itza lost its utility. No wonder it fell so low.

Passing through the lobby, Shang Luo entered a vast space where the light dimmed abruptly, and the air thickened. Under the yellowish glow, the mingled scents of secondhand smoke from various brands blended discordantly.

Rows of pinball machines, slot machines, and token pushers filled the room. Noise doubled abruptly, and the once plush carpets and tapestries, intended for dealers dressed in formal attire, did nothing to absorb the mechanical clamor.

Visitors and guests clustered before the gleaming machines, eyes fixed on spinning reels and bouncing steel balls, as if under a spell.

“Ahem...” Shang Luo coughed from the sudden assault. “Why don’t you turn on the lights in broad daylight?”

“Saving electricity,” the bellhop replied weakly. “You may use any of the machines here at will. Judging by your look, you’re from the capital. These machines were all made there. If you have Taihe Tongbao or Shaoping Tongbao coins, you can insert them directly without exchanging for tokens. May your wishes come true.”

Finally, maintaining a shred of professionalism, the bellhop bowed slightly. “Thank you for your kind words. May you make a fortune here.”