As I looked up, I saw a young man, accompanied by two underlings covered in dragon-and-tiger tattoos, walking toward the poker table.

The man had slanted eyes and a shaved head. A long, glaring scar, resembling a centipede, ran across his scalp, making his appearance unnervingly menacing.

His eyes locked onto mine, unblinking.

When he appeared, everyone at the table greeted him with familiarity.

"Centipede Brother’s here? Come, sit down..."

It was clear they were somewhat intimidated by him.

The man, known as Centipede, sniffed once, ignoring the others. His gaze remained fixed on me as he said,

"Stop pushing the game, let me take over.

I’ll be the dealer tonight, and if I win, I’ll treat you to a celebratory meal..."

From his demeanor, it was obvious that Centipede was a thug who’d been running things around here for a while.

He was trying to take my position as the dealer.

I had been sitting for hours just to hold the position; there was no way I was giving it up easily.

I glanced at Centipede and said calmly,

"No need, I want to play a little longer.

If you're not in a hurry, just wait until I finish. If I win, I’ll treat you to a meal..."

Centipede paused, clearly not expecting someone to speak to him like that.

His slanted eyes narrowed, flashing a cold, threatening glare.

One of his underlings immediately swore,

"Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?

Centipede Brother is giving you face by letting you pass the dealer’s seat. Be smart, move aside now, or don’t blame us for being rude!"

It seemed like this place, as Old Black had said, was a mix of all sorts of people.

I figured they were just trying to take advantage of me because I was a stranger. If I were a regular, the boss would probably step in.

Before I could respond, Old Black suddenly stood up with a "thud."

He shot a glare at the underling and cursed,

"Who the hell are you threatening?

Come on, let’s see how ‘not polite’ you can be!"

The underling clearly knew Old Black and immediately went silent when he saw Old Black speaking.

Old Black then turned to Centipede and said,

"Centipede, this is my friend. I brought him here.

If you want to play, sit down and play. But if you’re going to try and intimidate my friend, don’t blame Old Black for not giving you face..."

Centipede’s face darkened.

It was likely the first time someone had dared to talk back to him in this place, but he clearly didn’t want to offend Old Black.

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After hesitating for a moment, he grabbed a random player and took the seat.

One of his underlings immediately handed him a bag, from which Centipede pulled out several stacks of cash and slapped them down on the table.

"Alright, if it’s just a game, let’s play. I’ll bet fifty thousand on this round! Kid, show me what you’ve got..."

The game we were playing, known as "La9," required the dealer to have cash on hand at least ten times the maximum bet to take on the role of the dealer.

For example, if the maximum bet was a thousand, the dealer needed at least ten thousand to qualify.

Centipede’s bet of fifty thousand meant I had to show at least five hundred thousand.

But I only had a little over twenty thousand—barely enough for a small bet.

I knew Centipede was just trying to provoke me after being called out by Old Black earlier.

I remained calm and replied,

"Sorry, the maximum bet here is a thousand, and I only have about twenty thousand. I can accept a two-thousand bet, but not fifty."

"Shit, you’re just a poor bastard with nothing to show for it, and you still dare to sit as the dealer..."

Centipede sneered, clearly looking down on me.

He then turned to Old Black, intentionally taunting,

"Old Black, isn’t this your friend? Why don’t you lend him some money?"

Centipede knew Old Black didn’t have much cash, and he was clearly trying to provoke him.

Old Black’s expression hardened, and he shot Centipede a glare.

"I’ve got no money. We’re playing at this level.

If you don’t like it, there’s another table with bigger stakes. Go play there and don’t mess with us..."

Centipede sneered and slowly eyed the money in front of me.

"How about this? Whatever you have, I’ll match it. We’ll play without doubling the stakes—one round, winner takes all."

"Matching the money" meant he would match my bet, no matter what it was, and neither of us would double our winnings or losses, regardless of the outcome.

I didn’t respond right away but looked toward Old Black.

The reason I looked to Old Black wasn’t because I was afraid to play, but because I wanted to gauge his attitude.

I needed to be sure that if I won, I could actually walk away with the money.

After all, Centipede was clearly a local big shot. If I couldn’t take the money, there was no point in agreeing to his terms.

Old Black probably misunderstood my hesitation, thinking I was afraid of the stakes, so he stood up immediately, full of fiery energy.

He slapped all the money from the table down onto my pile.

"Chu Liu, we’re in this together. Count me in. This is all I’ve got!"

Seeing Old Black’s confidence, I relaxed.

I checked the money, which added up to four thousand five hundred.

With my twenty-three thousand, that made a total of twenty-seven thousand five hundred.

Since it was just the two of us, I quickly shuffled and dealt the cards.

Once the cards were dealt, Centipede didn’t even look at his. He pointed at me and said,

"Come on, stop stalling, show your cards!"

In this game, it didn’t matter who showed their cards first, because there was no difference in terms of who went first or last.

It all came down to the card values.

I casually revealed my three cards.

As soon as they were shown, the onlookers around the table let out a collective sigh of disappointment.

Old Black slapped the table repeatedly, muttering,

"Damn, this is really unlucky..."

I frowned and adopted a mock-somber expression.

The three cards in front of me were Q, 10, and K—zero points.

This was the lowest possible hand in La9.

Centipede and his underlings burst into laughter.

In their eyes, they had already won.

Centipede smugly waved his hand at me and said,

"Come on, let’s settle this. You really think you’ve got a chance?"

Before I could speak, Old Black immediately shot back,

"Why not look at your cards? What if you also have zero?"

"Dream on!"

Centipede scoffed, slapping his three cards down onto the table.

"Boom!"

The onlookers gasped in shock.

Old Black’s eyes widened, his face full of surprise.

Centipede and his underlings stared in disbelief.

It turned out Centipede’s three cards were 10, 10, and Q—also zero points.

In Lajiu, when both players have the same value, the dealer wins by a small margin. Since I was the dealer, I won.

This hand, with its dramatic reveal, was actually deliberately set up by me for two reasons:

First, to mess with Centipede, as I couldn’t stand people like him—brash, acting tough, and bullying the weak.

Second, to get under his skin. People like him, who bet big, often lose their composure when things go wrong. I wanted him to bet more wildly.