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

I sat down on the small chair in front of the fortune-telling stall. 


From my pocket, I took out a stack of money and placed it directly in front of the young Taoist. 


Originally, the Taoist had his eyes closed. 


But this stack of money, at least five to six thousand, caught everyone’s attention. 


The onlookers couldn’t help but gasp in astonishment. 


This gasp made the Taoist open his eyes. 


Upon seeing the stack of money, his eyes visibly brightened. 


The young Taoist, still with his air of detachment and composure, took out another piece of paper from the stack and handed it to me. 


I took the paper, wrote a few strokes on it, and then took out my cigarette case. 


I wrapped the paper with the aluminium foil from inside the case. 


The Taoist, still with his eyes closed, had no idea what I was doing. 


Chapter 493: The Golden Point