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

Edmund furrowed his brow slightly, revealing his discontent. 


“Mr Joyce, are you aware of who Mike is? He is a dedicated antique dealer. He has amassed numerous antiques in Jingmen, ultimately smuggling them abroad through various underground channels. This is a well-known secret in the antiquities circle of Jingmen...” 


I observed that Mike indeed had a thick skin. 


Despite Edmund’s words, he merely stood by, grinning foolishly without engaging in the conversation. 


However, I knew he was far from foolish; after all, how else could a foreigner thrive in the antique trade? 


Joyce remained unfazed, a sly smile spreading across his face as he replied, “Hehe, Edmund. I don't quite understand what you’re saying. I’m just a small-time antique dealer—whoever offers the highest price, that’s who I will sell to...” 


Edmund’s expression shifted, the displeasure evident in his gaze directed at Joyce. 


Chapter 330: The Auction Bidding