Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Yang Chen took the seat opposite Qin Dayong, right where the nouveau riche had been sitting.
At the King's City casino, masks came with voice modulation to better conceal guests' identities. With his face hidden, Qin Dayong had no way of recognizing Yang Chen.
The other players at the table were thrilled. Those who wore masks here were almost always high rollers—walking ATMs, in their eyes.
Yang Chen didn't disappoint. He pulled out a black card and handed it to a nearby attendant. "Change a million for me."
At the mention of the sum and the sight of the card, the other players' eyes lit up.
Though Qin Dayong didn't recognize the card's significance, the word "million" sent his pulse racing.
Soon, the attendant returned with a tray of chips, placing them respectfully before Yang Chen.
The commotion quickly drew a crowd, and soon the table was surrounded.
"How would you like to play, young man?" A potbellied player grinned at Yang Chen.
Yang Chen smiled faintly. "I only know high card. Stay if you're in, leave if you're not."
The spectators buzzed with excitement. High card might sound simple, but its fast pace made it more thrilling than games like poker.
After exchanging glances, the other players all nodded—no one left.
Yang Chen shrugged. "Shall we begin?"
"Let's go!"
The dealer shuffled and dealt one card to each of the five players.
Yang Chen didn't look at his card, waiting for the others instead.
"A thousand."
"Call."
"Two thousand."
"Call."
Soon, the other four—including Qin Dayong—had placed their bets. Only Yang Chen remained.
He casually tossed a stack of chips. "A million."
The room fell silent. If not for the mountain of chips on the table, the others might've thought they'd misheard.
High rollers weren't rare here, but this was next-level.
In high card, the dealer bets first. Others could fold or call, but each raise had to match or exceed the last. To reveal hands, a player had to double the previous bet.
Meaning: Yang Chen's million meant the others had to either fold or bet two million to see his card.
The once-excited players froze.
Two million wasn't impossible, but what if Yang Chen kept this up?
Only Qin Dayong's eyes burned with greed, his breathing ragged.
The other three hesitated, their middling cards offering little hope.
"Fold."
"Fold."
"Fold."
One by one, they dropped out, leaving only Yang Chen and Qin Dayong.
"Call."
Qin Dayong pushed forward a million in chips, his hand trembling. With a king of spades, his odds were strong—Yang Chen would need an ace or a joker to win.
Yang Chen glanced at Qin Dayong's remaining chips and shoved the rest of his stack forward. "Nine million."
Gasps erupted. Behind the mask, Yang Chen's hands suggested youth. In Jiangzhou, plenty of young elites could spare a million in cash—but none would play so recklessly.
Qin Dayong paled. The pot now held over ten million, but his options had narrowed: fold, bet nine million more, or pay eighteen million to reveal hands.
With only two million left, folding seemed his only choice—but how could he abandon a king?
"Dad, please… stop gambling. Come home with me."
Qin Xi's voice trembled as she gripped his arm, tears welling.
"Get off me!" Qin Dayong shoved her away, his eyes locked on the chips.
Qin Xi stumbled back, caught just in time by Su Shan.
A cold glint flashed in Yang Chen's eyes. If Qin Dayong weren't Qin Xi's father, that shove would've cost him an arm.
"Old Hu, lend me a million. I'll pay back 1.1 million after this hand."
Qin Dayong turned to the potbellied man, desperate.
But Old Hu sensed Yang Chen's skill—lending money now was throwing it away.
Qin Dayong begged others at the table, but no one bit. Finally, his wild gaze landed on Yang Chen. "Lend me a million! I'll pay 1.2 million back after I win!"
The crowd burst into laughter.
Yang Chen shook his head. Qin Dayong was too far gone.
"So sure you'll win?" Yang Chen mocked.
"This hand is mine!" Qin Dayong declared.
"Fine. No cash? Put up collateral." Yang Chen's voice turned icy.
Qin Dayong's eyes lit up. "What do I have that's worth anything?"
"Her."
Yang Chen pointed at Qin Xi. "Stake her for eighteen million. Lose, and she's mine."
Qin Xi—fully aware this was Yang Chen—feigned terror, backing away.
Qin Dayong's face twisted. He glanced at the chips, then his king, then Yang Chen.
"You're serious?"
Convinced of victory, he hesitated only briefly before pressing.
"Deadly."
Yang Chen's voice froze over. That Qin Dayong would even consider staking his own daughter confirmed his depravity.
"Dad… you'd really bet me?"
Even knowing she was Yang Chen's wife—that "losing" her changed nothing—Qin Xi's heart shattered at her father's words.