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

The grand banquet was on the verge of commencing, and the guests in the front courtyard were steadily increasing. 


Throughout the entire time, I had not seen any members of the Zou family reappear in the front yard. Seizing the opportunity presented by the crowd, I quietly slipped away. 


I approached one of the staff members under the pretence of casual conversation. After obtaining directions to the Buddhist hall, I directed my steps toward it. 


I had presumed the hall would merely be a section of the estate, but upon reaching the rear mountain, I was taken aback to discover that it was, in fact, a stately temple—its yellow walls and brown tiles exuded an air of ancient solemnity. Towering gates flanked by intricately designed couplets added to its grandeur. 


The first line read: "Good returns, bad returns, all are cyclic; whether early or late, how could they not return?" 


Chapter 227: Family Meeting