During the years when I ascended to the pinnacle of gambling, I was enveloped in a world where luck intertwined seamlessly with strategy. The thrill of risk was my constant companion, and every hand dealt was an opportunity to weave a tale of fortune and fate.

In those vibrant nights, the casino lights flickered like stars, each glimmer promising untold possibilities. The air was thick with the scent of anticipation and the intoxicating perfume of ambition. My every decision was calculated, and executed with precision, as I danced with the tides of chance, confident in my ability to bend them to my will.

I became known not only for my remarkable skill but also for a certain charisma that drew others to me. Players regarded me with a mix of admiration and trepidation, for I was not merely a participant in the game—I was its master. The cards whispered secrets to me, and I understood the language of the dice as if they belonged to a realm where I reigned supreme.

Yet, amidst the glamour and glory, this intoxicating world concealed its shadows. The very allure that elevated me to greatness also harboured treachery and deception. I found myself ensnared in a web woven by those who coveted my prowess, eager to see me fall from grace.

In those years, I walked a fine line between triumph and disaster, relishing every victory while remaining ever-vigilant against the unseen perils that lurked in the shadows.

The Years I Was The Gambling God

Once more, it was Su Mei's Audi A4 that graced the scene. I found myself, as before, occupying the passenger seat. Throughout our journey, a profound silence enveloped us. 


As we glided past a 24-hour convenience store, Su Mei brought the car to a halt. "Wait for me," she said, before disappearing into the store, leaving me to my musings. With the window lowered, I indulged in the ritual of lighting a cigarette, observing her graceful yet solitary figure fade into the store's depths. A curious sense of pity lodged itself within me, a sentiment I struggled to comprehend. 


Aware as I was that this sentiment was amiss, I recalled Varg's teachings. A master gambler's heart must be unyielding, unwavering like solid rock. Gratitude, compassion, and even admiration for a woman were permissible, but attachment was forbidden. Women were to be seen as garments—worn and shed without sentiment. To permit otherwise risked exposing one's Achilles' heel. 


Chapter 30: A Silent Toast