Chapter 72: The Wager

Song Chen looked at her with a lazy disdain, his expression full of contempt. "You? Save it, Song Qingyou. How much money do you even have in your pocket? Not enough for a single bet, yet you dare to sit across from me."

The fact that Song Qingyou had fallen out with her father was no secret in the capital. When she was unconscious, no one from the Song family came to see her. Separated from the Songs, Song Qingyou amounted to nothing.

Song Chen's gaze swept past Song Qingyou and landed on Fu Wenzhou and Liang Muchuan behind her. He sneered, "So that's where your confidence comes from—dragging along some men. Fine, as long as someone's footing the bill for you, play all you want."

Fu Wenzhou's expression darkened instantly, his eyes black as midnight, cold and indifferent as an ancient well. The chill emanating from him made one’s spine tingle.

Song Chen unconsciously dropped his crossed leg, the previous casual arrogance fading. Fu Wenzhou had crippled his father not long ago; he dared not provoke this mad dog. Who knew if he’d turn on him next?

Those present didn’t know the inside story, but there were plenty who relished the spectacle.

"Miss Song, this top floor is men’s territory. If you want to play, you'd best head to the third floor. There, you can play however you like."

"Haha, exactly. The third floor is where you women belong."

Song Qingyou’s face turned cold. "I didn’t expect that a leading city like Binhai would harbor such backward thinking. Did evolution forget your brains?"

Liang Muchuan prided himself on being a smiling tiger, rarely angered, but the men of Binhai were being too brazen.

He was about to speak, his face tense, when a harsh, grating sound interrupted—the scraping of a chair dragged across the floor.

Fu Wenzhou pulled up a chair and sat beside Song Qingyou, his deep eyes glimmering with a rare, wicked smile—cold and intimidating. "A place where women belong? Tell me, what kind of place is that? If you can’t explain clearly today, no one leaves through that door."

His tone was mild, but it sent chills down the spine.

Binhai had always been more chaotic than the interior; many here had shady backgrounds, and plenty had washed themselves clean from darker pasts. Even dressed up as gentlemen, the wildness remained.

"The ones from the capital are something else—so arrogant. What was his name again, Fu Wenzhou?"

"You, Yu-ge, he's born under the shadow of the imperial city. Of course he'd be more audacious than us Binhai folk. Haha."

"Impressive. Guess we won’t play cards tonight; let’s see how you stop us from leaving."

Fu Wenzhou took out a cigarette and lit it. Smoke curled lazily from his fingers as he carelessly inhaled.

He picked up a card from the table, used the cigarette’s flame to ignite it, and slowly walked over to Yu Cheng. Before anyone could react, the burning card was already shoved into Yu Cheng’s mouth.

Yu Cheng cried out in pain, cursing as he struggled to pull the burning card from his mouth.

The cards in the Jiang family’s casino were specially made, hard to destroy, burning but not consumed.

All around, people shot to their feet, ready to fight. Fu Wenzhou swept his gaze across them, and no one dared move. They were all stunned.

That look—wasn’t human, but the gaze of a devil.

Fu Wenzhou gripped Yu Cheng’s jaw with one hand, the other holding his cigarette. His gaze was cold as a razor’s edge. "Yu, did you grow up without a mother?"

His tone was indifferent, but the curve of his lips was chilling. "Do you know how to say 'respect women'?"

Yu Cheng was tall and strong, but facing this man, he was powerless. He felt his features distorted under those hands, the pain in his mouth numbing him, as if his entire mouth would be burned away.

Helpless, he could only look to the frail woman holding a cat, pleading for mercy.

"Fu Wenzhou, let go," Song Qingyou said softly. Though she agreed Yu Cheng deserved it, they were in Binhai, not the capital; this was someone else’s turf.

Fu Wenzhou paused, frowned, then released his grip, kicking Yu Cheng to the floor.

Only then did the others dare rush in to extinguish the fire. Yu Cheng writhed in agony across the floor.

Song Chen was dumbfounded. He’d always known Fu Wenzhou was crazy, but not to this extent—setting someone on fire in public. What wouldn’t he do?

Now he understood why Song Yuan, with both hands broken, dared not retaliate.

You argue with him, he risks his life. Who would dare fight back?

Once the commotion settled, Jiang family’s bodyguards finally escorted Yu Cheng out for medical treatment. The rest fell silent, obediently returning to their seats.

Fu Wenzhou stubbed out his cigarette, took the cat from Song Qingyou, and all his murderous aura evaporated.

Liang Muchuan marveled at the speed of his mood change, needing a moment to recover. "Weren’t we supposed to play cards?"

Song Chen’s arrogance had shrunk considerably, but his look toward Song Qingyou still brimmed with disdain. "This table’s minimum bet is ten million per round. Can you afford it?"

Song Qingyou glanced at him and sat across. "As long as I can afford to lose."

Song Chen sneered. "Dealer, deal the cards."

Song Qingyou’s luck was poor; she lost three rounds in a row. Fortunately, her bets were small—thirty-five million lost in total.

Song Chen laughed gleefully. "Song Qingyou, I thought you’d be better than this. Is that all?"

Song Qingyou pressed her lips together, hesitating on her bet for the fourth round.

Song Chen noticed her hesitation and mocked, "If you have no money, don’t play. Isn’t your shabby apartment good enough?"

Song Qingyou said nothing.

Fu Wenzhou stroked the cat’s head and said calmly, "Go all in."

Song Qingyou turned to him. "Are you sure?"

Those chips totaled five hundred million, exactly the sum Song Chen had won tonight.

Fu Wenzhou grinned mischievously. "Sister, don’t worry. Your little brother’s got you covered."

Liang Muchuan rubbed his brow, exasperated by their daring.

Their conversation made Song Chen’s expression ever darker. He sneered and pushed all his chips forward. "Three billion. Do you dare?"

Liang Muchuan frowned, whispering, "This is too much."

Fu Wenzhou leaned in. "Qingyou, consider this your dowry. If you lose it all, you’ll have to marry me."

Song Qingyou’s ears flushed, lips pressed tight. "Stop fooling around."

Fu Wenzhou stilled, his eyes deep, and said no more.

Song Chen snapped, "Are you scared?"

Song Qingyou looked at him. "Let’s make it bigger. If you win, the three billion is yours. If you lose, you give me seven percent of Song Corporation shares. How about it?"

Song Chen suddenly laughed, his shoulders shaking. "Song Qingyou, you really don’t know your limits. Need me to remind you? You’ve already lost everything."

Song Qingyou said, "Are you betting or not?"

"Of course," Song Chen tapped his chips, his tone full of challenge. "If I win, I get seven percent of Fu Corporation shares. If I lose, you get seven percent of Song Corporation shares—and the three billion too."