With a crisp “click,” the spring trembled slightly, propelling Xiao Cheng’s “Dao” straight forward.
Xiao Cheng felt something was off—the direction of this “Dao” was too precise.
If this continued, it would be the first to enter the hole in the third row—the “Double Foot Soldier.”
But on second thought, even if it was just “double,” it wouldn’t be a total loss. A strong start for the team would be great news.
After traveling about a meter, the “Dao” suddenly veered slightly off course, quickly deviating from its intended path. Just before reaching the third row, it slipped right between the middle and left holes.
Xiao Cheng’s eyes widened as he stared. If it landed in the second or first row, the rewards would multiply exponentially.
But what he never expected was that despite the flat table and the straight push, the “Dao” somehow traced a bizarre arc across the surface.
It didn’t even pause at the second row—instead, seconds later, it shot straight toward the “Eightfold General” hole in the third row.
Though unexpected, things still seemed to be going well.
A fleeting thought crossed Xiao Cheng’s mind: They say first-time gamblers often have incredible luck. Could he really turn one “Dao” into eight?
If so, the trio’s chips would jump from nine to sixteen. If Tian Tian and Zheng Yingxiong could earn even a little more, they might just scrape together enough for their “ransom.”
The naive hope lasted less than a second before the “Dao” neared the “Eightfold General” hole.
It seemed the table’s spring mechanism was designed to sap momentum as the “Dao” approached the “Eightfold General.” Triggered by a button, the spring and firing pin left no room for players to influence the “Dao’s” distance—it rolled entirely on its own.
The closer it got to the “Eightfold,” the slower it moved, as if drawn in, inching toward the hole.
Xiao Cheng’s heart raced. He gripped the table edge, eyes locked on the “Dao.”
The “Dao” slowed as it neared the “Eightfold,” but its angle was slightly off. It skimmed the hole’s rim, veering toward the table’s right edge—dangerously close to falling off.
“Ah… damn it.”
His excitement plummeted. His emotions swung with the tiny sphere—that “Dao” held all his hopes.
Just as it was about to fall off the edge, it inexplicably slowed again, reversed direction, and made a second run for the “Eightfold.”
To Xiao Cheng’s utter disbelief, the “Dao,” which had started in a straight line, now circled the hole like a predator stalking its prey.
But the “Eightfold’s” opening was too narrow. The “Dao” looped left, then right, orbiting the hole without ever dropping in.
Though its speed dwindled, there was no sign of it falling through.
Xiao Cheng’s emotions yo-yoed with the ball’s motion. From a physics standpoint, a sphere circling a hole without external interference had a high chance of falling in.
But this game had never followed Xiao Cheng’s expectations.
After seven or eight loops, the “Dao” finally slowed to a stop beside the hole. Just as Xiao Cheng thought it was over, it began rolling again—toward the edge.
With no surprise, it left the table, dropping into the side trough, joining the ranks of fallen “Chargers.”
Xiao Cheng’s emotions had soared and crashed in mere moments. The abrupt loss left him hollow.
It felt over before it even began. A single press of a button, a single “Dao” tossed in—yet it had felt like a high-stakes gamble.
So close.
The “Dao” had been closer than a hair’s breadth from the “Eightfold General.”
Maybe just a centimeter’s difference had turned eight “Dao” into nothing.
“No… even less than a centimeter,” Xiao Cheng muttered, shaking his head as he pulled out his second “Dao.” “Maybe just a few millimeters…”
He thought this game should be easier to win than others—at least the spring and firing pin weren’t rigged, and the “Dao” had shot straight. But because the “Dao” wasn’t a perfect sphere and had some bounce, its path could shift slightly.
After some thought, Xiao Cheng decided: Rather than learning new games elsewhere, he’d try to recoup his losses here first.
Just as he was about to toss in his second “Dao,” a smug voice called out behind him.
“Hey, gambler,” the man drawled. “Ever wonder why the lost ‘Dao’ only end up in the side troughs, never on the table?”
“Huh?”
Xiao Cheng had been so absorbed in the game that he hadn’t noticed two spectators behind him.
The speaker had a handsome but roguish face, his hair messy, eyes puffy—like he’d just woken up.
Snapping back to reality, Xiao Cheng processed the question. It *was* strange.
Why *weren’t* there any “Dao” scattered on the table?
The troughs were packed with “losers,” yet none remained on the surface. Why?
Frowning, Xiao Cheng crouched, examining the table from eye level—and instantly spotted the trick.
The table wasn’t flat. Its cross-section was nearly “M”-shaped.
All the holes were subtly raised. The slope was gentle, and the dim lighting made it hard to spot the table’s true shape with the naked eye.
That was why his “Dao” had weaved unpredictably, circling the “Eightfold General” endlessly without ever dropping in.
A chill ran down Xiao Cheng’s spine. If not for the stranger’s warning, he might’ve wasted his last three “Dao” on this rigged game.
He turned to study the two men—one smug and dismissive, the other with tattooed arms and scars. Not exactly the friendly type.
He wanted to thank them, but their rough appearances gave him pause.
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