Chapter 122: The Cripple Kowtows

"Six! Six! Six! Six!"

Scenes like this are a staple in any casino. A group of people huddle around a table, staring intensely at dice or cards, shouting a single number in unison as if their collective volume could conjure the card they desire. Most of the time, however, the "Six! Six! Six..." is followed by a disappointed groan.

"Ah..."

And, of course, there is always someone cursing.

In truth, one doesn't even need to look at the cards; the expressions of the gamblers are enough to reveal the final outcome. The commotion at the baccarat table drew a crowd, and suddenly, a loud "Ah!" erupted from the group.

Those who hadn't shouted let out cries of "Damn it!", "What the hell!", or "These cards are cursed!"

He won! Two consecutive wins! Though it only amounted to 500 dollars, the shock to "Limping Ding" was monumental. Just as Xiaocheng had instructed, he had bet correctly both times. Banker, Player, Player; Banker, Player, Player—the third bet was on Player again, for 500 dollars.

His previous 300 had turned into 600. The limping man nodded to the dealer, took back one chip from the betting area, and said, "Betting Player again, 500!"

A thin, rat-faced gambler sitting next to him noticed the man taking back a 100-dollar chip and advised, "Brother, you’ve won twice in a row; your momentum is at its peak. Why pull back? Why not let it ride?" (In casino parlance, "letting it ride" means leaving the winnings on the table to compound the bet.)

Limping Ding thought to himself, *Better to listen to the 'God of Wealth' than to you.*

The rat-faced man continued to ramble on about the feng shui and luck of the casino. "Brother, a hundred dollars is a trifle, but you're ruining your momentum! Gambling is all about the energy. Pulling back like that shows a lack of confidence. If you're that unsure, you shouldn't be betting at all..."

The limping man, currently riding a wave of good fortune, rolled his eyes at the thin man. "Your theory is brilliant. How much have you won today?"

The rat-faced man had bet against the limping man both times and had lost so much his face had turned a sickly shade of green. He was silenced by the jab.

Third time's the charm. If the first two wins were mere flukes, that would be one thing. A 50% probability (though in reality, it's less due to ties and pairs, but we'll stick to the limping man's math) squared is 25%. While unlikely, it’s not impossible. But now this third round—if he won again, the probability would be 12.5%. It was certain: this was no fluke.

Third round: Banker 7, Player 9. Player wins!

The limping man went wild. He had won again! His 500 had turned into 1,000! Ignoring the crowd, he stood up, dropped to his knees with a thud, and knocked his head against the floor three times in the direction of Xiaocheng!

The others at the table stared at him with dark, unimpressed expressions. However, gamblers are a superstitious lot, and in this country, people generally respect religious freedom. While they found it bizarre, they understood: the guy had found the right temple and prayed to the right god to hit a three-game winning streak.

The rat-faced man tried to chime in again. "Brother, see? If you’d listened to me and hadn't taken that 100 back, you would’ve won even more! But then again, you’re on a real hot streak today!"

The limping man’s kowtowing drew even more attention. Combined with the earlier shouting, half the casino had gathered to see what was happening. The limping man’s cheeks were flushed as if he were drunk; he felt light-headed, as if walking on clouds, yet strangely clear-headed. Envious gazes were cast his way. Even though he had only won 1,000 dollars—far less than what he had lost in this den previously—every other gambler was thinking the same thing: *If only I were as lucky as that guy.*

Banker, Player, Player; Banker, Player, Player. The fourth round should be on Banker. The limping man calculated. Though he didn't know how Xiaocheng did it, he knew he shouldn't deviate from the plan. He said to bet 1,000...

Bet 1,000 to win 1,000? But he had 2,000 in his hand! If he could win 2,000, why settle for 1,000?

The dealer had urged him to bet several times, but the limping man hesitated. He wanted to wager the full 2,000 to maximize his winnings, but he feared breaking the mystical spell and losing everything.

*Damn it! If I lose, I lose!* Anyway, he had an agreement with Wen Xiaocheng: if he won 80,000, he’d keep it; if he lost, he’d still owe that 80,000. Either way, he wouldn't be at a net loss. If he really lost, he’d just deny he ever bet the 2,000 and claim Xiaocheng’s method didn't work. He wasn't even here, after all!

"2,000! I'm all in!"

Although Old Wai’s gambling den wasn't huge, it saw a turnover of a million or two a day, so a 2,000-dollar bet wasn't unheard of. But because of the limping man’s dramatic kowtow, he had become the center of attention. With only 2,000 in chips, betting it all on the Banker was a true do-or-die move.

"The limping man has won three in a row, and he's raising the stakes every time!"

"He's on fire today. Did he cast some kind of spell?"

"I'm following him!"

The crowd chattered, and even those who hadn't been betting began to place their chips on the Banker. The fourteen-seat baccarat table was packed, and those standing behind began placing bets on the table as well, most following the limping man.

Limping Ding was so nervous he almost fainted. If he won, it wouldn't just be 2,000 dollars! It would prove that the God of Wealth’s system wasn't about the amount—the pattern was the key. As long as he followed the sequence, he couldn't go wrong!

Bets closed. The dealer dealt the cards. They slid from the shoe onto the table, and every eye in the room followed them. The first card for the Player was a King of Diamonds; the Banker's first card was an Ace of Spades. The Banker led by one point, but that meant nothing. Then, the Player’s second card was flipped: a Queen of Hearts. The Player had zero points!

A cheer erupted from those who had bet on the Banker. They were halfway to victory. Zero was the lowest point total; as long as the Banker didn't flip a 9, or an Ace to make a pair, they would win. But after the strange reversals earlier, no one dared to celebrate. The table fell into a deathly silence, everyone staring fixedly at the final card.

Those who had bet on the Player had already lost. No one had bet on a Tie or a Pair, so everyone prayed the final card wouldn't be an Ace or a 9. It was too awkward to shout, so everyone waited in silence. The air in the room seemed to solidify.

Limping Ding’s hands were shaking. If he hadn't listened to the God of Wealth, would the god abandon him? As long as it wasn't an Ace or a 9, he would win. The odds were in his favor, but... would it be another cruel reversal?

Sweat beaded on the limping man’s forehead...