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

The three of us stepped into the inner chamber. Drawing out my phone, I swiftly composed a message and sent it forth. 


No more than twenty minutes later, the door to the office creaked open. Soon after, Miriam’s voice pierced the silence: 


"It's usually as difficult to see you as scaling the heavens, yet now at talk of parting, you arrive with such haste..." 


"Enough of these idle words. Let’s part amicably. The money you demanded is here. Now, where are the materials?" 


Miriam tapped the table lightly and replied, 


"Here, just these few discs—take them!" 


A heavy silence settled beyond the door. After a moment, Guo Shuang’s voice rang out again, tinged with disbelief, 


"Miriam, don’t think I’m a fool—how can it be only these discs? Where are the original recordings?" 


A cold, mirthless chuckle escaped Miriam’s lips: 


Chapter 373: Silencing the Witness