Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 106: The Projection of Fate, the Gambler's Slumber

"When you manipulate destiny, it will manipulate you."

The air in the sleeping chips was so heavy that it seemed frozen by the humid sea breeze.

The lamp hung low, and the metal edge outlined an ambiguous and ominous halo, reflecting the dust, chips, and corners of the cards on the gambling table in every detail, as if even time could not escape from this gambling table.

Siming sat at the table, his eyes deep, his fingertips tapping the tabletop slowly.

The rhythmic sound was like the introduction to some kind of ceremony, sounding the first heartbeat of this invisible gamble of fate.

The afterglow of the second whale cry still lingered in the air of the casino, as if it had not completely dissipated, and at this moment the wind blowing from the distant sea brought a chill that made people's backs cold.

Time is passing, and the third whale call is coming.

Mrs. Mei leaned back in her chair, her posture relaxed, casually fiddling with the chips between her fingers, but her eyes would occasionally glance at Siming's profile.

She had lost one-third of her chips, but she still had a faint smile on her face, even with a hint of frivolous mockery.

That look seemed to say, "Didn't you say you were invincible? Why haven't you made a move yet?"

Sima Ming smiled slightly, with a hint of bitterness in the corner of his eyes, but did not respond.

The chips are indeed continuing to dwindle.

The numbers they held were being whittled down bit by bit, while Lorient, who was sitting opposite them, had a calm expression from beginning to end, and even became more and more calm.

His fingers were still delicately moving the pair of black dice on the table, each rotation a whisper—quiet, yet hard to ignore.

"It seems that the guest's luck... doesn't seem to be very good?"

Lorient laughed softly, his tone gentle, like a considerate dealer comforting gamblers who have suffered repeated losses.

But Siming knew that this guy was far from an ordinary dealer.

He is a real gambler.

The next round of dealing begins, and the wheel of fate quietly spins again.

Sima Ming: Eighteen o'clock.

Mrs May: Seventeen o'clock.

Siming looked down at the cards in his hand, and slowly rubbed his fingertips across the table with extremely light gestures, as if trying to dispel the fog of fate.

After a moment, he tapped the table lightly: "Stop trading."

Madam Mei stared at it for a moment, a nonchalant smile on her lips, and finally uttered, "Draw the card."

The new card slipped gently between her fingers. She turned it over—

Five o'clock.

Bust.

She raised her eyebrows and sighed softly, but her expression remained calm as she slowly pushed the chips to the center of the table, as if this was just a minor and insignificant loss.

Sima Ming's gaze still fell calmly on Lorient.

Lorient said nothing, but slowly revealed his cards.

At that moment - Siming's heart suddenly shook.

That familiar faint tremor appeared again - an originally smooth thread of fate was quietly plucked by an invisible hand at the moment the cards were turned over.

The trajectory changed in an instant, and the situation turned upside down silently.

The hole card is turned over - the Ace of Spades.

Adding the previously revealed cards, it's exactly twenty-one.

Black Jack, all-kill.

The candlelight seemed to dim as well, and the sound of the wind from deep within the casino passed by everyone's ears so faintly that it sounded like fate whispering or a sleeper laughing.

"It's really not a coincidence." Lorient spoke softly, without any boasting, and even with a gentle smile.

He fiddled with the dice in his hand, his voice as soft as water, "Eight of Spades, Black Jack, I hit two. Customers, you better try harder."

Sima Ming's eyes remained fixed on the pair of dice.

Madam Mei tilted her head and looked at him lazily. Her eyes flickered like a flame, as if to say, "Oh? You finally see clearly?"

Sima Ming did not respond.

He tapped the table with his fingertips again, the sound deep and powerful, like a beat adding to his own rhythm.

He chuckled softly, but his mind became clearer.

Sure enough - Lorient's trump card was changed the moment it was turned over.

No matter how the previous game goes, at the moment of revealing the cards, the fate of the bottom card will be "corrected" to the one that is favorable to him - the Ace of Spades.

And at the heart of it all lies a pair of seemingly harmless dice.

He is not just a gambler, he is a dancer, dancing lightly on the thread of fate——

But Siming knew clearly in his heart:
He was too. The next few rounds of gambling were like a script that had already been written and was slowly being played out.

In every round, Lorient's hole cards would turn over steadily at the last moment - the Ace of Spades.

Without exception.

It was as if that card had never wandered among other possibilities, as if the whole world was constructing the plot just for this point.

He was simply performing elegantly in the script written by fate, even the rhythm of his breathing carried the composure of a winner.

Chips were pushed to his side in stacks, and the sound of metal friction was particularly clear and harsh in the gambling hall.

However, the chips on Siming and Madam Mei's side were being devoured bit by bit at a slow and irresistible pace, just like the last grain of sand on the shore being taken away by the receding tide.

The scene seemed calm, but the atmosphere became increasingly depressing.

It was a kind of silence like sinking into the deep sea. Although there was no wind or waves, it was suffocating.

Mrs. Mei suddenly smiled softly, and the sound rang out in the dead silence, like a silver needle cutting through velvet.

She folded her hands on the table, a hint of lazy amusement in her eyes as she glanced at Siming: "You don't really intend to let him drain you dry, game after game?"

Siming sighed softly, his eyebrows slightly raised, and a meaningful smile appeared on the corner of his mouth: "Of course not."

His eyes never left the pair of dice from beginning to end.

Spin, pause, and play the rhythm of fate.

He could tell—it was no ordinary prop.

It was a Fate Secret Card, a foreign object with real power, whose effect was not "cheating" but "rewriting".

Lorient's gambling skills are impeccable, and his secrets are flawless, making him a truly formidable opponent.

But today, he is facing Sima Ming.

A new round of cards is dealt.

Sima Ming: Sixteen o'clock.

Mrs. May: Nineteen o'clock.

Mrs. May barely hesitated, smiled slightly, and tapped her fingers on the table: "Stop trading."

Siming looked at the two cards with slightly curled corners in his hand, and his fingertips moved slowly across the table, as if tracing a hidden line.

Finally, he slowly tapped his finger and said, "Stop trading."

Lorient remained calm, a smile on his face, and he gracefully revealed his cards.

At that moment, Siming's pupils suddenly shrank.

The thread of fate moved.

It was a kind of fluctuation that only he could "see", silent, invisible, but extremely real.

It was like a string being plucked skillfully in the void.

A thread of fate that originally led to an ordinary ending was twisted in direction extremely subtly, rewriting the destination.

The cards are turned over.

Ace of Spades.

It's Black Jack again, a sure win.

It was as if fate itself had been conquered, tamed, and was performing for Lorient.

The lights in the casino seemed to dim for a moment, the golden candlelight was gently swept by the wind, and the air on the table was like solidified water, pressing on people's chests.

"It's true..." Siming murmured in a low voice, his tone neither hurried nor slow.

A smile appeared on the corner of his mouth, and it was no longer a smile of contempt or wryness, but a deep sharpness.

He slowly raised his eyes, his gaze fixed on Lorient, and spoke softly, with a hint of hoarse sarcasm:
"Hey."

"Rolling the dice of fate? Your secret?"

Lorient raised his eyebrows slightly, and the curve of his mouth did not diminish, but deepened a little.

He took the pair of dice back into his palm, tossed them lightly, and caught them steadily.

The dice drew a small arc in the air, as if showing off, or returning a gift.

His eyes fell on Siming's face with an undisguised admiration.

"Smart guest."

He nodded slightly and tapped the table with his fingertips. The movement was gentle, but there was an indescribable sense of control.

"So--"

His smile faded, his expression grew darker, and his voice deepened, like a call from the depths of the sea:
"Is it your turn... to be shown?"

(End of this chapter)