Stop it, the country really can't fit any more bans on the domestic entertainment industry.

In this slightly dimly lit room.

The old man, nicknamed the "Southern Gambler," stared intently at his phone screen.

His calloused fingers trembled slightly as he opened the file that Li Mo'an had just uploaded, titled "My Life as a God of Gamblers."

The dim backlight of the screen illuminated his face, which bore the marks of time.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with it.

In the few seconds it took to confirm the download, his heart rate became somewhat erratic.

You must understand, in that intricate and complex world of swindlers...

The term "God of Gamblers" represents a lofty and unapproachable status.

A person who dares to use these two words as the title of their autobiography.

He's either an arrogant madman or someone who has truly reached the pinnacle of the Thousand Gates.

Judging from the occasional snippets of conversation the other party has made in the group chat over the past few days...

He knew that this mysterious online friend was definitely not a madman.

The old man even sat up straight.

With a pilgrimage-like mindset, I began to read it word by word.

As the reading progressed...

He discovered that this was indeed the autobiography of this "one true god" predecessor.

The opening text is devoid of any fancy embellishments.

They pulled him directly into a smoke-filled underground casino.

The various experiences described in the book gave the Southern School gambler a sense of being there.

The descriptions of the card games did not stop at the surface level of winning and losing.

Instead, it delves into the dealer's muscle control and the subtle sounds of chips clashing.

Even the suffocating sense of oppression in the casino is described with incredible realism.

The "I" in the autobiography is facing a scheme orchestrated by several con artists.

He did not show any panic.

Instead, it relies on sensing the ambient temperature and observing the opponent's heart rate.

They completed a desperate counterattack without making a sound.

This writing style, which seems to dissect and examine the soul of one's opponent, sent chills down the spine of even the most discerning gambler from the South.

In reality...

Li Mo'an, who lives far away in Mushroom Village in Yunnan Province, is able to write so realistically.

Behind this is a very rigorous creative support system.

on the one hand.

It's because of the writing skills he honed in his previous life as an online novelist.

In that parallel universe, he wrote several novels, but none of them became popular.

Even basic necessities like food and clothing have become a problem.

However, the experience gained from producing a large amount of text is ingrained in his bones.

He knew how to manipulate the reader's emotions by alternating between long and short sentences.

Knowing how to suddenly throw out a suspenseful question in a mundane narrative.

This ability to control the rhythm through words allows him to easily construct a rich story framework.

on the other hand.

It was during the process of conceiving this autobiography that he did so.

He completely immersed himself in the role of Teacher Huang, who loves to boast.

Li Mo'an sat on the side of the rattan chair, calmly typing on the keyboard.

The image of Teacher Huang pointing out the landscape while holding an enamel teacup in the pavilion during the day flashed through my mind.

He discovered that Teacher Huang possessed a very peculiar temperament.

That kind of self-important, knowing-it-all attitude, as if you know all the truths of the world.

If used as the first-person perspective in the God of Gamblers' autobiography, it would be absolutely perfect.

He discovered that if he put himself in Teacher Huang's shoes...

To write with the tone of a superior elder.

When they start bragging, they can really make a lot of noise.

The "I" in the text instantly possesses a masterly aura that is superior and disdainful of all heroes.

With this aura, even the most ordinary movements appear profound and unfathomable.

Aside from these pretense in writing style and emotion.

The most crucial support is his own inherent strength.

In addition, he himself possesses gambling skills at the level of a gambling god.

Those probability models about card counting, and cheating techniques about muscle exertion.

All of these are truths that have been thoroughly understood through learning at a speed ten thousand times faster.

He incorporated these complex theories into the narrative of his autobiography using the most accessible language.

This fictional aura of a grandmaster is combined with real, hardcore technology.

The writing that combines the real and the fictional is, of course, very realistic.

Not only is it authentic, but it even seems more seamless than the personal experiences of real con artists.

but.

Whether this thing is real or not, we'll ultimately have to see how these experts react.

If even these old monsters who have spent half their lives in the world of swindlers can be subdued.

That means his biography has truly brought the character to life.

As it stands now.

His biography is indeed very real, so real that it inspires awe.

........................................

The Southern School Gambler gradually became completely absorbed in the story.

He completely forgot about his surroundings.

My eyes were fixed on the phone screen, afraid of missing a single punctuation mark.

When he saw the superb gambling skills displayed by the protagonists as gambling gods in each game.

Especially after seeing that practical example of using the weak static electricity during shuffling to attract ink from the cards and thus memorize the cards.

His old face, marked by the passage of time, flushed red.

The blood vessels were throbbing beneath the skin.

Back then, he spent ten years trying to break through the limitations of relying on tactile memory to memorize cards.

But they still gained nothing.

Now, this autobiography has pointed him in the right direction with just a few words.

"Brilliant!"

The old man couldn't help but slap the table in admiration.

The palm struck the wooden table with a dull thud.

The slight pain in his palm could not conceal the fervor in his heart.

He watched as the technology was disassembled in a fluid and efficient manner.

He felt as if a gambling god was transcending the boundaries of time and space.

I sat opposite him.

It was as if he was personally teaching his gambling skills.

In the world of martial arts, this kindness of imparting knowledge and skills is equivalent to being reborn as a parent.

He even became careful with his breathing as he continued to scroll down the screen.

........................................

at the same time.

The other members in the group were veteran gamblers scattered throughout the East.

Whether it's the six-fingered gambling tycoon on duty at the factory or those retired masters lying in their rented rooms.

They all subsequently opened this autobiography.

When they saw the profound gambling techniques contained between the lines.

These are the old guys who once dominated various underground casinos.

Everyone was so shocked that their pupils shrank sharply.

The soul-searching technical analysis had a tremendous impact on the values ​​they had cultivated over the years.

Everyone read with the same reverence and eager anticipation.

Time slips away quietly while reading.

Look and look.

These experienced old monsters, following the plot, turned to the second half of the autobiography.

In this part, the autobiographical protagonist begins to recall his apprenticeship experiences in his youth.

Sudden.

They saw the name of the protagonist's master.

In that passage filled with a sense of vicissitude, three words appeared prominently.

"Huang Laoxie".

The instant I saw those three words.

The group of old monsters all stopped moving.

The hand that the Southern Gambler was about to pick up his teacup froze in mid-air.

The faint glow of the screen illuminated his bewildered expression.

"Huang Yaoshi?"

The old man murmured the name to himself.

I felt like this name sounded so familiar.

It feels like I've seen it somewhere before.