Chapter 21: Which is Bigger, Straight or Bomb_2

He took a drag on his cigarette, the pale smoke blurring his face, giving him an air of mystery.

"Young Master Zhao is quite the hothead, eh? Let's play a couple of hands then, see if you're as ballsy as you claim to be," Ning Long squinted his eyes and scoffed at us, signaling for the dealer to deal the cards.

They were playing Texas Hold'em, five cards on the table, two in each player's hand. The one who could put together the strongest hand would win. Of course, you didn't have to put money in every round—if you thought your cards were crap, you could just fold.

In just a few hands, Cheng Yu got nothing but shit cards—not the mismatched three and four or the completely unrelated two and eight.

If it were me, I wouldn't even bother looking at the community cards on the table—I'd just chuck 'em. But he played every hand, dropping thirty million in three hands.