The First Windfall

Mr. Guo, seething over his 200,000 yuan loss to Huo Xuan, dragged him to the mahjong tables for redemption—unaware of the X-ray vision advantage.

The mahjong suite housed a spacious table with four seats. Mr. Guo gathered Huo Xuan, Zhuang Wen, and a Mr. Ma, assisted by two attendants. They played a local 136-tile variant with straightforward rules.

Mr. Guo set the base stake at 1,000 yuan per round. While mahjong often relies on luck, Huo Xuan's ability to see opponents' tiles and remaining draws rendered chance obsolete.

From the first deal, Huo Xuan strategized his winning combinations. Occasional disruptions from others' "pungs" and "kongs" merely required tactical adjustments.

By the tenth round, Zhuang Wen noted the anomaly: "He never discards useful tiles—statistical impossibility."

Zhuang Wen's curiosity deepened. Lin Yue's friend is no amateur, he mused, recalling the billiards mastery.

After fifteen rounds, Huo Xuan's winnings surpassed 300,000 yuan. Mr. Guo finally conceded defeat. "Enough!" Mr. Ma slammed the table. "Let's switch to stud poker!"

Mr. Guo had intended to play poker all along, with mahjong being merely a warm-up. He glanced at Huo Xuan. "Well, junior? Care to continue?"

Though initially thrilled by his winnings, Huo Xuan gradually steadied himself. With this power, wealth is inevitable. These sums mean nothing.

Calmly, he nodded. "Agreed."

Stud poker's volatility—swift gains and losses—demanded psychological fortitude. Yet Huo Xuan's vision neutralized all challenges; opponents' cards lay bare.

Over thirty minutes, Huo Xuan strategically lost small pots while claiming major ones, amassing over 1 million yuan. Beads of sweat dotted Mr. Guo's brow. "Enough," he conceded. "Your skill commands respect."

Zhuang Wen, having lost 100,000 yuan, remarked: "You navigate probabilities like a seer."

"Beginner's luck," Huo Xuan deflected, though the group's collective relief at his departure was palpable.

Returning to the lounge, Lin Yue awaited. "Gambling, Huo Xuan? How much did you lose?"

"Lose?" Zhuang Wen interjected wryly. "He vacuumed 2 million. I feared he'd hemorrhage cash as a novice—instead, he slaughtered us all."

Lin Yue stared at Huo Xuan in disbelief. "You actually won that much?"

Huo Xuan nodded awkwardly, uneasy about his gambling-derived gains.

"Brilliant!" Lin Yue's eyes sparkled vindictively. "My cousin lost over 8 million yuan here last year. You've avenged him splendidly."

Zhuang Wen massaged his temples. "Must we dredge up ancient history?"

"Your club's sole flaw," Lin Yue retorted, "is enabling such ruinous gambling."

A phone call shattered the tension. Zhuang Wen's face darkened as he barked into the receiver: "Contact Master Sun immediately!... What? He's out of Jiangzhou? Find him within the hour!"

Lin Yue recognized the despair in his posture. "Lele relapsed?"

"She bit Shu Jie this time." Zhuang Wen's voice cracked. Without farewells, he staggered away, his aristocratic poise crumbling.

"What happened?" Huo Xuan pressed.

"Zhuang Wen's fifteen-year-old sister," Lin Yue explained, "has suffered episodic psychosis since age ten—violent personality shifts they call 'spirit possession.' Western doctors diagnose dissociative identity disorder. A decade of global treatments yielded nothing."

Huo Xuan's Buddha's Eye pulsed. "I'll accompany you to visit them. Perhaps... unconventional methods could help."

Lin Yue nodded. "It's kind of you to offer. Zhuang Wen will appreciate it."

Zhuang Wen's abrupt departure left them disinclined to linger at the club. They soon returned to their suite.

The next morning, after breakfast, they headed to the Stone Gambling Festival venue—Tianji Jewelry Plaza in Jiangzhou.