I'm having a blast in Marvel!

Page 52

The fat man sized him up, his eyes filled with barely concealed suspicion and contempt, as if to say: "With your penniless appearance, you think you can play big?" But for the sake of money, he whispered an address: "There's a basement place called 'Queen of Spades' on that street in the back. The owner is called Butcher, and he has a bad temper. Kid, I advise you not to go there and cause trouble."

Chu Hang put down his almost untouched glass, turned around, and left the bar.

Following the address given by the fat man, he quickly found the so-called "Queen of Spades." The entrance was a closed-down dry cleaning shop, with only an inconspicuous side door ajar. Two burly men, as imposing as iron towers, stood at the door, coldly watching everyone who approached, like two guardian deities.

Chu Hang walked over.

"Member?" One of the burly men stretched out his fan-like arm to block him, his voice as rough as sandpaper.

"A friend recommended me," Chu Hang replied calmly, his eyes showing no sign of flinching.

The burly man scrutinized him for a few seconds, seemingly finding no threat in his somewhat thin frame, before stepping aside to make way for him.

Pushing open the heavy iron door, a wave of even stronger heat, a mixture of sweat and cigar smells, hit me. The basement was bustling with noise and filled with smoke that stung my eyes. The space wasn't large, but it had everything you needed. Some people were playing dice, some were playing roulette, but the most crowded areas were the blackjack tables in the center.

Chu Hang's goal was clear. He went straight to a poker table with the lowest stakes and exchanged all the eighty-three dollars he had left for chips.

He sat down and waited quietly, like a stone thrown into a lake, without causing any ripples.

The card game has begun.

The dealer was a middle-aged man with an expressionless face and long, slender fingers. His card-dealing movements were skillful and mechanical, as if he had repeated them tens of thousands of times.

Chu Hang didn't rush to place a bet. He simply watched quietly, like a novice cautiously observing the situation at the poker table. But in reality, his brain was working at an alarming speed.

Every card dealt was memorized. The subtle, almost imperceptible rhythm of the cards rubbing as the dealer shuffled them, the fleeting micro-expressions on other gamblers' faces when they asked for or stopped, even the sudden increase in their heart rate due to tension or excitement... all this information was captured by his superhuman senses, and then integrated, analyzed, and calculated in his brain.

For him, this was no longer a gamble.

This is a math problem. A math problem in which he already knows all the known conditions in advance.

After observing two rounds, he began to place bets.

He bet very small amounts, only placing the minimum denomination chip each time. But every time, he managed to choose to call or fold at the most crucial moment. His hand always managed to beat the dealer by just one point in the most tricky and unbelievable way.

It's either blackjack or 20.

He won all five games in a row.

Although the winnings weren't much, this 100% win rate had begun to attract the dealer's attention. The dealer's dealing movements started to become somewhat unnatural, and his eyes kept glancing in his direction, intentionally or unintentionally.

Chu Hang didn't care at all. He threw all the chips he had won and increased the stakes.

What followed was a purely solo performance.

His chips snowballed, growing larger and larger. The other gamblers at the table, initially indifferent, became shocked and curious. A few who had lost everything started betting with him and won a few small hands, looking at him with admiration as if he were a god of wealth.

Half an hour later, the chips in front of Chu Hang had grown from a pitiful eighty-three dollars to a mountain worth more than five thousand dollars.

Fine beads of sweat had formed on the croupier's forehead. He gave a subtle, pleading look to a manager in a suit standing not far away, who was in charge of patrolling the area.

The manager walked over, patted the croupier on the shoulder without making a sound, and took over his position himself.

"Kid, you're in luck." The newly appointed manager wore a professional smile, but his eyes held an undisguised coldness. His shuffling movements were much faster and more flamboyant than the previous dealers, clearly indicating he was a seasoned pro.

Chu Hang smiled, said nothing, and pushed out half of the chips in front of him.

A new game begins.

The manager moved with lightning speed; even in the instant the cards were dealt, there was a barely perceptible twitch in his wrist. He intended to use these casino tricks to cheat.

But under Chu Hang's dynamic vision, all his movements were like slow-motion replays in a movie, with every detail crystal clear.

"I need the cards," Chu Hang said calmly.

The manager handed over a card.

The manager's expression changed. He took a deep breath, turned over his hole card: nineteen points. A pretty good score.

Chu Hang turned over his cards. An Ace and a 10. Exactly 20.

A suppressed gasp rippled through the audience, and all eyes were fixed on the mysterious young man from the East.

The manager's smile vanished completely. He stared intently at Chu Hang, as if trying to see a flower bloom on his face.

"You cheated!" He slammed his hand on the table and shouted, trying to intimidate the other party with his imposing manner.

Chu Hang leaned back lazily in his chair, shrugged, and looked completely innocent: "I was just lucky, and I'm pretty good at math too."

"Take him to the back for a 'chat'!" The manager winked at the two thugs standing by the wall.

The two burly men, each over 1.9 meters tall, immediately came over and flanked Chu Hang from both sides, casting huge shadows over him.

"Sir, our boss would like to invite you for a cup of tea." One of the burly men said with a forced smile, his hand on Chu Hang's shoulder tightening like an iron clamp, enough to crush an ordinary person's collarbone.

Chu Hang obediently stood up, his face still bearing that nonchalant smile. He glanced at the pile of chips on the table, which already exceeded ten thousand US dollars, and said to the livid manager, "Keep an eye on that for me, it's mine."

After saying that, he followed the two burly men into a small room behind the casino.

The room was sparsely furnished, containing only a table and a few chairs. A bald, fat man with a menacing face, wearing a floral shirt, sat behind the table, slowly and methodically wiping a silver revolver with a velvet cloth. He was the owner, the butcher.

“Kid, you’ve got some nerve cheating here,” the butcher said without looking up, his voice deep and suppressed, as if squeezed from his chest.

Chu Hang pulled out a chair, sat down by himself, and even crossed his legs: "I told you, I'm only good at math."

"Good at math?" The butcher sneered, slamming down his gun. "I don't care if you're good at math or not. Leave your winnings, then cut off one of your hands, and we'll call it even."

Chu Hang seemed to have heard the biggest joke in the world and couldn't help but laugh out loud. His laughter was particularly clear in the small room.

"What are you laughing at?" The butcher's face darkened, and the air in the room seemed to freeze.

The two burly men standing behind Chu Hang also stepped forward at the same time, their joints cracking and popping as they surrounded him with ill intent.

Chu Hang's smile vanished, his eyes instantly turning icy cold. He slowly stood up, cracked his neck, and a few crisp bone-like sounds rang out.

“I laugh at you. You’ve got two things wrong,” he said, looking at the butcher and emphasizing each word.

"First, that money is mine. Not a penny less."

"second……"

Before he finished speaking, he suddenly moved!

His movements were so fast that they were almost impossible to catch with the naked eye, leaving only a blur!

The burly man standing to his left only felt a blur before his eyes, and a hand was pressed against his chest like a ghost. The force seemed light, yet it contained an unparalleled and terrifying penetrating power. The burly man didn't even feel pain, only a numbness in his chest, as if his heart had been gripped tightly by an invisible hand, instantly stopping its beating. His massive body swayed, then fell straight backward, his pupils dilating, and he died on the spot.

At the same time, Chu Hang's body twisted at an incredible angle, his right leg like a steel whip, whistling through the air, and precisely swept across the other strong man's knee.

Another agonizing cracking sound rang out. Before the burly man could even scream, he clutched his bent leg and collapsed to his knees, the excruciating pain causing him to instantly lose consciousness.

The entire process happened in the blink of an eye, in less than a second.

The butcher's grin froze. He stared in utter horror at the scene unfolding before him, a sight that seemed to be the work of a demon, his mind blank, barely able to process the information he was seeing. Instinctively, he reached for the revolver on the table.

But one hand was faster than him.

Chu Hang appeared in front of the table as if by teleportation, grabbing the gun and the butcher's fat hand.

"Ah!" The butcher let out a shrill scream, feeling as if his hand bones were about to be crushed alive.

Chu Hang leaned down, brought his ear close, and whispered in an almost hushed, emotionless voice:

"Secondly, it's you who should have your hand cut off."

As soon as he finished speaking, he grabbed the butcher's hand and twisted it downwards sharply.

The sharp crack of a wrist snapping, accompanied by the butcher's heart-wrenching screams, echoed in the small room, sending chills down one's spine.

Chu Hang released his grip, letting the butcher writhe on the ground, clutching his limp hand and groaning. He picked up the silver revolver, skillfully ejected the cylinder, and dumped the bullets one by one onto the table, where they clattered and rolled. Then, he tossed the empty gun back at the butcher.

He took a one-dollar bill out of his pocket and gently placed it on the table.

"Here's a tip for you."

After saying that, he stopped looking at the mess in the room, turned around and walked out the door.

Inside the casino lobby, everyone was terrified into silence by the screams emanating from the room; the music had stopped sometime earlier. When Chu Hang emerged again, all eyes were fixed on him, filled with fear and awe.

He strolled back to the card table, where the pale-faced manager was trembling as he stuffed all his chips into a black cloth bag.

Chu Hang took the cloth bag, weighed it in his hand, and found it to be quite heavy.

Without even glancing at anyone, he swaggered out of the Queen of Spades' basement under everyone's horrified gazes, returning to the free and cold air.

He was carrying a bag full of cash and had a newspaper pointing to the future in his pocket.

My first pot of gold is in hand.

Although the process was a bit rough, the result was very satisfactory.

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Chapter 63 New Identity

At three in the morning, a man carrying a heavy bag of cash on the street doesn't seem to be having a pleasant time.

The bag was heavy, and the banknotes inside reeked of a pungent mixture of tobacco, alcohol, and cheap perfume, with a faint, almost imperceptible odor of blood. This money was his first asset since arriving in this era, and also his first source of trouble.

Chu Hang didn't return to the cheap motel. He knew that a local tyrant like Butcher, who had been navigating the underworld for years, would never have only two useless henchmen under his command. Last night's swift and decisive actions might have had a temporary deterrent effect, but no one could guarantee that the other party wouldn't, in a fit of rage, use even more underhanded connections to retaliate. The simplest solution was to call the police. To the police, an Asian youth carrying hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash, without any identification, was nothing more than a walking piece of fat meat, and one with a criminal record at that.

He had to find a safer and more secluded hiding place.

He bought some basic disguise items—a pair of non-prescription glasses and a baseball cap—at a 24-hour pharmacy. Then he hailed a taxi and drove across most of the city to a completely different area. Here, the trees were lush, the streets were clean and tidy, and beautiful detached houses were everywhere—a typical middle-class community.

He checked into a more reputable, and of course more expensive, chain hotel. When he paid in cash, the sleepy-eyed blonde receptionist glanced at him a couple of times but didn't ask any questions. In this money-obsessed country, as long as you can afford it, nobody really cares who you are or where you come from.

Upon entering the room, the first thing Chu Hang did was lock the door and draw the curtains. Then, he poured the large bag of cash onto the soft bed.

The green Franklins were piled up like a small mountain, radiating a sinful yet alluring glow under the dim light of the bedroom.

Chu Hang sat down on the edge of the bed, picked up the sticky notes and pen from the bedside table, and began counting them one by one. It was a tedious but necessary process. His fingers were steady and strong, his movements mechanical and precise, and his brain, like a high-speed computer, automatically categorized and accumulated the information.

Ultimately, the figure settled at $156,300.

It was more than he had expected. It seemed that the fat man called the Butcher was doing quite well in business.

Chu Hang looked at the pile of money, but felt little joy. He knew better than anyone that until he could convert it into legitimate capital, it was just a pile of worthless paper that could easily backfire. He needed an identity—a real, legal identity that could withstand scrutiny from any institution. An identity that would allow him to open a bank account, register a company, and legitimately enter the stock exchange.

This stuff is much harder to get than money.

He lay in bed, hands behind his head, beginning to formulate his next plan in his mind. Time was of the essence; he clearly remembered that Yahoo's IPO was next year. If he missed this opportunity, he would have to wait several more years to find such a low-risk, high-return opportunity for initial public offering (IPO) shares.

He needs some people to help him with miscellaneous tasks.

Chu Hang thought of the fat bartender who had taken twenty dollars from him. Those local bullies who mingled at the bottom of society and were well-informed were like nodes in a complex network, always able to pull out more and deeper connections.