Small tiger

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

In that fleeting moment, a wave of weakness and numbness enveloped half of my body. The man glanced at the small knife in his hand and remarked with a wry smile, "Not bad, kid. A prodigy among thieves, are you?" 


He then raised his gaze to meet mine. "Will you gamble or not?" 


"What if I refuse to gamble?" I retorted, my teeth clenched as I steeled myself. 


"Ha! Do you truly believe I would shy away from crippling your hands? Mark my words, it's not just you—if Wu incites my ire, he won't escape unscathed either!" 


As he spoke, his finger pressed lightly on my shoulder blade. Though his touch lacked force, the resulting ache was excruciating, inducing a feeling of despair. Observing my agony, he sneered before adding, "This is merely a trivial technique from the Eight Styles of Jingua. Can’t withstand such minor discomfort? How dare you claim to belong to the gambling sect while I, from a martial arts faction, deign to challenge you? Truly disgraceful to your ancestors!" 


Chapter 256: The Trap