Wednesday night. Nine o'clock. The location pin dropped while Zhang Lei was eating noodles at home.
An address in the west side — the industrial park district. Half-dead factories and empty warehouses. He checked the map. Over two kilometers from the nearest residential area. Remote.
He finished his noodles, pulled on the old gray coat, and stuffed five thousand in cash into his inside pocket — the buy-in. Phone fully charged. He turned on location sharing and sent it to Su Qing.
"Going out to play cards tonight. If I don't message you by midnight, call me."
Su Qing replied fast: "What kind of card game needs location sharing? Be careful."
"I will."
He rode the scooter to the address. A two-story converted factory building. Ground floor roll-up door pulled shut; a smaller door cut into the wall beside it. A stocky crew-cut man stood guard outside, a snake tattooed up his forearm.
"Zhang Lei?" Crew-cut gave him a once-over.
"Yeah."
"In."
The inside was more spacious than he'd expected. The ground floor had been gutted into one open room. Dead center sat an oval table draped in green felt — a proper Texas Hold'em setup. A single overhead lamp blazed down on the surface, leaving everything beyond the table's edge in shadow. Against the far wall, a row of chairs flanked a coffee table holding ashtrays and bottled water.
Four players had already arrived. None familiar. Ages ranging thirty to fifty, dressed everything from a suit to a tracksuit. Zhao Si was not among them.
Zhang Lei handed his five thousand to the crew-cut man. The guy counted it, then passed him a tray of chips — red, white, and blue, different denominations.
"Starts when everyone's here," Crew-cut said.
Ten more minutes. Two more arrivals trickled in. Seven players total.
The last one through the door — Zhang Lei recognized him. Not Zhao Si. A bald guy he'd seen once at the urban village parlor, sitting beside Zhao Si, smoking and chatting. Zhao Si's man.
Zhao Si himself hadn't come.
Zhang Lei's stomach dropped half an inch.
Zhao Si absent — but his man present. What did that mean?
The game began. Crew-cut dealt and managed chips. No-limit Hold'em.
First three hands, Zhang Lei kept the vision off. He was reading the table — betting patterns, tells, chip stacks. The suit played aggressive; probably a rich guy chasing thrills. Tracksuit was conservative, calling more than raising. Zhao Si's bald friend played flat, nothing remarkable.
Fourth hand. Zhang Lei activated the vision for the first time. Three seconds.
Every player's hole cards, laid bare. His own confirmed — pocket aces. Best hand at the table.
He raised to three hundred. Two callers; the rest folded. Flop came down: king-nine-four, rainbow. Zhang Lei bet five hundred. One fold. The suit called. This chapter was copied from novelping dot com without permission.
Turn: seven. Zhang Lei glanced at the suit's cards — pocket kings. He'd flopped top set. But aces over kings still held.
River: deuce. Nothing changed.
Zhang Lei pushed a thousand into the pot. The suit deliberated a long time, then called.
Showdown. Aces beat kings. Zhang Lei raked in a pot of over two thousand.
"Well played." The suit gave a small nod.
From there, Zhang Lei followed his standard rhythm — win one hand, fold two. Keep the win rate controlled. Vision usage strictly rationed. Ninety minutes in, his stack had grown from the five-thousand buy-in to twelve thousand.
Zhao Si's bald friend had been losing steadily — but didn't seem to care. He spent more time watching than playing. Zhang Lei could feel that gaze. Not on the cards. On his hands. His eyes. His face.
Hunting for a tell.
10:40 PM.
The game had reached its peak. Zhang Lei sat at fourteen thousand in chips — second largest stack at the table. The suit led with close to twenty thousand. Everyone else had dwindled below five.
That was when the factory's iron door slammed open from outside.
Three men walked in. The one in front wore a black padded jacket, a gold chain around his neck. Fortyish, gaunt face, cheekbones jutting sharp. Two heavies flanked him.
"Gentlemen." Gold Chain spoke — not loud, but the room went silent. "Someone at this table has been cheating tonight. I'm here to check."
Ice crawled down Zhang Lei's spine.
Same play as last time. "Catching the cheat." Zhao Si's old trick.
Gold Chain strolled to the table, eyes sweeping from face to face. They stopped on Zhang Lei.
"You. Stand up."
Zhang Lei held the man's gaze for three seconds. Then he stood.
"Search him." Gold Chain nodded to the heavies.
One of them approached. Zhang Lei raised both hands — let him look. There was nothing on his body. No palmed cards, no earpiece, no device of any kind. His cheating tool lived inside his eyeballs.
The heavy patted him down methodically — pockets, cuffs, belt, soles of his shoes. Nothing.
"He's clean," the heavy reported.
Gold Chain frowned. Clearly not the answer he'd expected.
Zhang Lei lowered his arms. "Done?"
"Done." Gold Chain stared at him. "But you've been winning too much tonight." This chapter is updated first at g.com.
"That's how cards work. Win some, lose some." Zhang Lei kept his voice level. "Maybe check the others too?"
Gold Chain said nothing. His eyes flicked to Zhao Si's bald friend — and the bald man gave the faintest shake of his head. The motion was tiny, but Zhang Lei caught it.
The message was clear: he's not using a device, but something about him is off.
"Fine." Gold Chain stepped back. "Search is done. No issue. Carry on."
He and the two heavies retreated to the wall — but didn't leave. They sat in the row of chairs. Watching.
Play resumed. But the atmosphere had shifted. Zhang Lei could feel every eye in the room. The suit bet noticeably tighter — he didn't want any part of whatever was happening. The other players shrank too.
Zhang Lei pulled back with them.
Next four hands, he folded every one. Chips untouched. His temples pulsed — not from vision strain. Adrenaline.
Just past eleven, he stood up.
"I'm done for tonight." He began converting chips to cash. Fourteen thousand in chips — Crew-cut counted out fourteen thousand in bills. Minus the five-thousand buy-in: nine thousand net profit.
He tucked the money into his inside pocket and nodded to the table. "Good game, gentlemen. Another time."
No one spoke.
Zhang Lei walked to the door. Gold Chain sat in his chair watching. Didn't move.
The moment the small door swung open, night air rushed in. Zhang Lei stepped through. His heart hammered against his ribs for a full thirty seconds before it began to slow.
He didn't look back.
Two hundred meters down the road on his scooter, he finally pulled out his phone and messaged Su Qing:
"Out. I'm fine."
"You scared me to death." Instant reply. "Don't go to places like that again."
Zhang Lei pocketed the phone. Night wind bit at his face.
Nine thousand yuan.
He'd profited, yes. But he knew — tonight's game was never about taking his money.
It was a test.
And he wasn't sure what conclusion Zhao Si's side had reached.