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

“Without legs, how do you intend to roll away?” 


I coldly retorted, meeting the glaring gaze of the second master, fully aware that my words were laced with sarcasm. 


As expected, his face flushed with rage. Just as he was about to respond, Uncle Zhong lightly pressed down on his shoulder, compelling him to restrain his anger and remain silent. 


After bowing three times to Old Master Zou, I casually found a corner to stay in quiet contemplation. 


Throughout the day, attendees continued to arrive to pay their respects, many of whom bore familiar faces. 


Among them was Old Master Qi, who had brought Selena and Qi Bridge along. 


I was observing when suddenly, a loud call originated from the doorway: 


The crowd parted as I turned to see Old Wu, holding a half-moon purple clay teapot, ambling into the hall. 


Upon reaching the front of the casket, the greeter shouted, “One bow!” 


Chapter 306: The Mourning Hall