Chapter Sixty-Seven: Collecting Payment

Investing just twenty yuan and receiving a return of ten thousand within a few short minutes—this was a deal beyond imagination. Especially considering that the waitress had initially thought she’d be taking a loss. Wang Yong could hardly contain his laughter. Damn, for the first time in his life, he truly admired his decision to follow Ling Tian; what a wise choice that had been. Wang Yong hadn’t set out to make money with Ling Tian, but rather to see more of the world and break free from his dull existence.

The King of the Table glared at Ling Tian, indignant. Losing a hundred thousand in the blink of an eye was nothing to him, but the loss of face was unbearable.

“Don’t get cocky, kid. I was off my game just now. If you’ve got the guts, play me again,” he spat out, desperate to reclaim his dignity.

Ling Tian only smiled faintly and replied, “If you insist on giving me money, I won’t refuse.”

“Fine! Fine! Arrogant, aren’t you? Then let’s make it interesting. We’ll pick suits first, then draw lots to see who goes first,” the King of the Table declared, turning to wink at one of his cronies. The lackey nodded and slipped away quietly.

Ling Tian thought to himself, So, the old fox is planning some new tricks.

After his lackey left, the King of the Table exchanged a few words with the staff, his back to Ling Tian. Ling Tian, skilled as he was at reading lips, couldn’t decipher their conversation, but he wasn’t concerned. With his absolute skill, no scheme could trouble him—against true mastery, all conspiracies were but a drizzle.

About a minute later, the King of the Table finished talking and waved Ling Tian over. “I spoke to the house. They’re willing to provide us with their newest table and cues as a sign of respect for the match.”

Ling Tian yawned, clearly uninterested. “Whatever you say.”

As he swapped in higher-value chips, the chip girl whispered in Ling Tian’s ear, “You should be careful. The King of the Table isn’t to be trusted. He often works with the casino, pulling dirty tricks. Any winnings are split fifty-fifty with the house.” With that, she handed over the chips and left.

Once the new table was in place, the King of the Table proposed, “This time, let’s make it big—one hundred thousand per game. You in?”

Ling Tian replied with indifference, “As I said, if someone insists on handing me money, I won’t turn them away.”

“We pick suits, then draw lots to see who breaks. I’ll let you choose first,” pressed the King of the Table.

“I’ll take the colored balls,” Ling Tian said, noticing the crony returning from the crowd, carrying one of two boxes of balls, and neatly arranging them on the table. Clearly, they’d prepared two sets, planning to use whichever suited their scheme based on Ling Tian’s choice.

Something was fishy about the balls.

The lot was drawn. The King of the Table was up first. This time, he seemed transformed—his opening shot pocketed two balls in succession, each with a bizarre trajectory; balls that seemed impossible to sink somehow found their way in.

Ling Tian, using his spiritual sense, quickly uncovered the trick: heavy iron plates were hidden in the pockets of the new table, and the selected colored balls were loaded with magnets. As a result, any ball nearing a pocket would be gently pulled in by the magnetic force.

So, the King of the Table was cheating again.

He no doubt partnered with the casino, using these tricks to win, then splitting the loot. Truly despicable.

Having uncovered the ruse, Ling Tian was unfazed; he preferred to let his opponents teeter on the brink of victory before dashing their hopes entirely.

This round, the King of the Table seemed unstoppable, pocketing ball after ball. If he sank the eight-ball, victory would be his.

“Kid, my reputation as the King of the Table wasn’t handed to me for nothing. I was just going easy on you earlier. You really thought you were something special? In my eyes, you’re nothing but trash,” he boasted arrogantly.

The spectators cheered, enthralled by his performance.

Wang Yong was as anxious as an ant on a hot griddle, pacing back and forth, but when he caught sight of Ling Tian’s serene expression, his heart settled. Having become a fervent admirer of Ling Tian, he was certain a plan was in place.

The chip girl was on edge—not for her share of the winnings, but for fear that Ling Tian might be duped. Yet, as a casino employee, all she could do was warn him to be cautious.

The King of the Table raised his cue, aimed at the eight-ball, and shouted, “Keep those dog eyes wide open and watch how the King makes his shot!”

Ling Tian snorted in disdain. “I can see perfectly well. Frankly, you don’t have enough chips to lose.” As he spoke, his hands rested on the table’s edge, and an invisible current of energy seeped into the table.

The King of the Table struck the eight-ball precisely, and before it had even reached the pocket, he tossed his cue aside with a flourish. “Victory is mine—hand over the hundred thousand.”

Suddenly, a gasp rippled through the crowd. The eight-ball, at the mouth of the pocket, bounced back out. This wasn’t right—given the magnetic pull, it should have gone in easily. Yet, against all odds, it rebounded.

It was a small mistake—nothing to worry about. It had happened before. He’d just try again, and the win would be his.

Ling Tian picked up the cue and said to Wang Yong, “Get ready to collect.”

That was Wang Yong’s favorite phrase. He nodded eagerly. “I’ve been ready.”

Ling Tian lined up his cue, pointing to three pockets. “Three balls, three pockets.”

The King of the Table laughed. “You really talk big, don’t you? You think it’s that easy? I doubt you can even sink one, let alone three at once.” He had reason to be confident—he’d tampered with the colored balls, weighting them with lead so they were much heavier than normal and harder to control.

Without sparing him a glance, Ling Tian struck. To the astonishment of all, three colored balls shot into the three chosen pockets at sharp, impossible angles.

The crowd erupted in applause at such a dazzling display.

The King of the Table dismissed it with a sneer. “Just a fluke—nothing worth cheering for.”

Ling Tian replied, “Now let’s finish them all.”

Under the collective gaze of the onlookers, Ling Tian sent the remaining colored balls into the pockets in rapid succession, the cue ball finally striking the eight-ball. As the eight-ball dropped in last, a hush fell over the room; everyone stared at Ling Tian as if he were some kind of monster.

With such skill, he could easily claim the championship at any world-class tournament.

The King of the Table was dumbfounded, his cue having slipped from his hand at some point. He had been utterly defeated.

“Collect,” Ling Tian said to Wang Yong.

Wang Yong, already itching for this moment, thrust out his hand toward the King of the Table and shouted, “What are you waiting for? Pay up!”