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

It seemed that Joyce’s mood had soured somewhat, having been overshadowed by our earlier spectacle. 


While listening to a brief interlude, I noticed a server entering the adjacent box to refill Boss Joyce's hot water. My attention remained divided between the performers on stage and the commotion next door. 


Before long, a sudden gasp erupted from the neighbouring room. I turned to see Joyce collapsing onto the couch, frothing at the mouth, his limbs convulsing uncontrollably. 


“Boss! What’s wrong? Boss!” Joyce's friends called out in frantic alarm. Another companion shouted, “Quick, get him to the hospital…” 


Panic ensued within the room, unsettling even the audience on the ground floor. They frequently turned to steal glances at the box, keen to discern the source of the chaos. The performers had ceased their singing, microphone in hand, anxiously directing their pleas at the servers upstairs: “Quick, go see what has happened!” 


Chapter 325: Fishing for Pickled Vegetables