Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Casino

Rong Qing sipped quietly on a glass of richly aged red wine, her demeanor as serene and graceful as a spirit of the night. Her crimson lips pressed gently together, radiating a natural pride. It was a rare candlelit dinner, and in a corner of the Western restaurant, the tall and handsome Huo Lingtian and his companion drew every eye. Many curious onlookers attempted to approach, but before any could get within twenty paces, the waiters escorted them away.

"Shall we visit the casino later?" Huo Lingtian downed a mouthful of scarlet liquor, the fiery spirit burning his throat and stomach, a sensation both harsh and exhilarating—a challenge he relished.

Rong Qing was almost tempted; though her little treasury didn’t hold much, to gamble grandly in Las Vegas just once would make the trip worthwhile.

"Miss Rong Qing?" As they crossed the hotel lobby, a man in a tailored suit approached. Despite his clumsy Mandarin, it was clear the manager recognized her.

Rong Qing was somewhat surprised; she hardly believed her fame had spread overseas.

The man was visibly excited, speaking rapidly in English, gesticulating, his eyes filled with admiration and affection for Rong Qing. Watching this, Huo Lingtian couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy.

Rong Qing chatted with the foreigner briefly; apparently, he wished to invite her to some event, but she declined. The foreign fan, once so enthusiastic, left dejected, unable to hide his disappointment.

Rong Qing was in high spirits, a hint of happiness lingering at the corners of her eyes, which only made Huo Lingtian’s jealousy burn hotter. "Hmph, just a foreigner. What's so great about him?"

Rong Qing glanced at the sulking man beside her, his face dark but feigning indifference—a rare sight indeed. She smiled, sly as a fox, mischief sparkling in her heart.

"He saw my show in Paris with Master David, and was absolutely taken with me. He said I possessed the beauty of classical art and a lively charm, and even invited me to dinner. Fans like him are rare—I really should have accepted!" She spoke with mock regret, which only fueled Huo Lingtian’s jealousy further. He wished he could sweep away every pretentious foreigner in one fell swoop.

"How fake! We never should've come to this damned place!" Huo Lingtian’s hawk-like gaze swept the restaurant, his aura of authority chilling the air.

Seeing her man so jealous, Rong Qing hurried to soothe him, "He only wanted me to endorse the restaurant. I told him I was on vacation and not accepting work. Hmph, you're such a petty man!"

Huo Lingtian’s expression softened a little. He pinched her mischievous cheek—she had him wrapped around her little finger, utterly unable to resist. "That’s just the way I am. If anyone tries to steal you from me, I’ll fight them to the end—even the gods won’t stop me," he declared possessively.

His intense possessiveness and desire for control did not make her uneasy; rather, it filled her with a sweet delight. He belonged to her, just as she belonged to him.

Huo Lingtian took Rong Qing to the city's most luxurious casino. Entering Las Vegas’s grand hall was like stepping into a dazzling labyrinth—every corner adorned with extravagant decorations. Gentlemen of wealth, royal aristocrats, and those dreaming of overnight riches mingled under the dim lighting, which illuminated scenes of decadence and drunkenness. The sound of spinning machines and clinking coins filled the air, while blonde beauties hung on the arms of the rich, engaging in the most daring games of chance.

Despite the casino’s busyness, everything ran smoothly. Professional waiters and security staff kept a constant watch for troublemakers. In this temple of money, everyone abided by the rules set by the house.

Rong Qing surveyed the hedonistic spectacle, her initial curiosity dampened. To live under the delusion of wealth was to become a slave to money and power.

Huo Lingtian exchanged for some casino chips—a small stack in his hand worth nearly fifty thousand. Casually, he placed a bundle into Rong Qing’s hands. Feeling the weight, she whispered shyly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, "Is there anything of smaller value? I’m afraid of losing..."

He chuckled—how like his darling to worry about saving him money. If too much wealth felt like a burden, even causing needless guilt, Huo Lingtian was happy to indulge her. He had a staff member exchange her chips for the smallest denomination available—each still worth nearly a thousand.

Clutching her stack of chips, Rong Qing stood nervously before a roulette table, the simplest game with the fewest players. The rules were easy: the table displayed numbers 1 through 36, plus 0, alternating in red and black squares. She could bet on individual numbers or combinations by placing chips accordingly. When the wheel spun, if her chosen number or group appeared, she would win.

After much hesitation, Rong Qing carefully placed two chips on the number 0. She noticed others at the table looking at her with odd expressions.

"What is it?" she asked, puzzled.

"Miss, are you sure you want to bet just two thousand? Not adding more?" the attendant finally couldn't help but comment. With her elegant attire, she looked wealthy, but seemed unaware of casino customs. Everyone here was a high roller—her modest bet seemed out of place.

Rong Qing looked at the young attendant in a white shirt and tie with innocent regret, reluctant yet apologetic: "If that’s not allowed… then I won’t bet."

Lingtian, watching his little trickster at work, was thoroughly amused.

But the attendant quickly stopped her. Their principle was customer service; losing a client over such a matter would cost him his lucrative position. Two thousand was still money, and this beautiful girl was clearly a naïve fool, betting only on a single number. The odds of winning were as likely as a pig flying. He forced a professional smile and said warmly, "Of course, that’s fine. No more bets! Spinning now!"

The giant wheel spun, numbers blurring together. Unlike others who crowded forward, eager for the outcome, Rong Qing turned and made a playful face at Huo Lingtian, her manner relaxed—nothing like a typical gambler.

As the wheel finally slowed, the pointer slid past 35, then 36. Just as everyone resigned themselves to the result, it crept into the 0 slot and stopped. The least likely, most improbable outcome—a miracle. Nearly everyone else lost their bets.

"Oh! I won!" Rong Qing's delighted and incredulous exclamation drew all eyes. At odds of 35 to 1, the innocent-looking novice had struck it lucky—a fortune indeed.

Seeing her two chips turn into seventy, Rong Qing calmly swept the remaining sixty-eight into Huo Lingtian’s arms, keeping only two to continue. The attendant, now green with envy, could hardly believe it: in a few moments, she’d won sixty-eight thousand, and instead of betting more, she kept just two chips—nothing like the typical gambler’s pattern.

Thanks to her stunning stroke of luck, others began watching her bets. "Hmm, number 14? Not very lucky. I’ll go with 8." Rong Qing decisively placed her two chips on a single number, and many followed suit.

The wheel spun again; the pointer stopped between 3 and 4. The crowd sighed—so it was just luck after all.

"See? Probability analysis never lies—winning is nearly impossible!" Rong Qing patted her pockets and, with her sixty-eight chips, moved to the next game.

The other gamblers were left speechless.

She wandered from game to game, placing small, playful bets—sometimes winning, sometimes losing, but always with restraint. Her goal was to experience the famed luxury of Las Vegas, not to squander her or Huo Lingtian’s hard-earned money. In a place filled with temptation, the hardest thing to control is one’s own desire; otherwise, so many would not dream of sudden riches or risk losing everything overnight.

Just as Rong Qing was about to try another game out of boredom, a man in a black suit blocked their path. He turned respectfully to Huo Lingtian. "Our master invites you upstairs for a private game."

Lingtian wrapped his arm possessively around Rong Qing’s waist. Together, the picture of a perfect Eastern couple, they were led via the VIP entrance into a private suite.

Seated at a lavish round table was an unmistakably European-looking American. His golden hair was slicked back, his suit immaculate, exuding nobility. His fair face was handsome, his nose high and straight. A lit cigar smoldered between his fingers, and his bodyguards, the very image of discipline, stood behind him—silent as shadows.