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

After studying the biography titled "My Life as a God of Gamblers".

It wasn't just Chen Sihai in prison who harbored such fanaticism.

The other veteran gamblers scattered across various locations also became extremely excited.

This is completely different from the helplessness of the gambling king in Northwest China who faced high walls and electric fences.

Chen Sihai was trapped in prison and unable to get out.

But the other retired old guys are not restricted.

They live in every corner of society.

They possess relatively free personal rights.

In their own subjective perception, they could return to their old ways at any time.

Our gaze shifted to that southern-style gambling addict.

Inside the rented room in this small southern town.

The cicadas outside the window were still chirping tirelessly.

The old indoor fan was swaying its head back and forth, emitting a monotonous whirring sound.

This old man, who used to pass the time with a palm-leaf fan and strong tea, could no longer sit still.

He rolled over and sat up from the creaking bamboo recliner.

She hadn't even had time to put on her plastic flip-flops properly.

He couldn't wait to start rummaging through everything.

The room's furnishings became somewhat cluttered as he moved around.

The old man bent over and crawled under the solid wood bed.

He reached into the dusty cracks in the bed frame and groped around.

soon.

He forcefully dragged the metal box out from under the bed.

He opened the box and dumped its contents onto the bed.

Then.

He then stepped onto a low stool and opened the wooden wardrobe that smelled of mothballs.

All the envelopes in the wardrobe's hidden compartment were pulled out.

This is all the wealth he has accumulated over the years by collecting rent.

He stood by the bed, his breathing becoming somewhat heavy.

His calloused hands trembled as he opened the brown paper envelopes.

He planned to check how much cash he had in his savings account that could be used as gambling capital.

Passbooks bearing the logos of various banks were neatly arranged on the bed sheet.

There were also several stacks of 100-yuan bills tied together with rubber bands, which also smelled of ink.

The old, cloudy eyes of the Southern Gambler were now frighteningly bright.

He muttered to himself, quickly calculating the amount of these assets in his mind.

Although this amount of money is enough for an ordinary person to live comfortably in their old age.

But now he feels that the money has a more important mission.

He intends to use this money as start-up capital for his comeback.

This was not a momentary impulse.

Rather, it was the miraculous techniques recorded in that biography that gave him boundless confidence.

Just now.

He repeatedly rehearsed the practical techniques described in the biography regarding using blind spots caused by light refraction to catch cheaters.

That kind of thinking that uses the principles of physics to manipulate psychological games.

It completely unlocked the technological potential that had been stagnant for him for many years.

He had even begun to envision the future in his mind.

He planned to take the money and test the waters at an underground gambling den in the south.

With his rapidly improving gambling skills...

It can absolutely snowball into a huge snowball in a very short time.

Once he has accumulated enough capital, he will go to those truly high-end places, those bustling places where heroes from all over the world gather.

He, a gambling addict from the South, decided to return to the gambling world with the secret techniques from his biography and stir up a storm once again!

He wanted to show those colleagues who had mocked him back then what he was made of.

He's an old guy who's been left behind by the times.

It has already undergone a phoenix-like rebirth!

This intense excitement surged through my blood.

This made the man in his sixties feel as if he had returned to when he was thirty.

He was counting the last stack of cash with great anticipation.

The moment when I clutched those banknotes tightly in my hands.

But it was at this moment that...

"Knock knock knock".

A knocking sound suddenly rang out on his front door.

The sound wasn't loud, nor did it have that urgent, urging quality.

But at this crucial juncture of dreaming of getting rich, it seems quite abrupt.

The Southern School Gambler stopped what he was doing.

He frowned, somewhat impatiently.

Who would come looking for him at this time?

Could it be that one of the tenants' water pipes is leaking again, and they've come to him to report it for repair?

He muttered something in dissatisfaction.

Put down the passbook in your hand.

He casually covered the banknotes on the bed with a towel.

Then, dragging his feet, wearing those flip-flops, he went over and opened the door to take a look.

The door opened inwards.

The hallway outside the door was dimly lit.

But the old man still recognized the person immediately.

An elderly policeman in uniform stood outside the door.

The other person was holding a thermos cup with the words "Serve the People" printed on it.

The lid of the thermos was still emitting wisps of steam.

The policeman's face looked very calm, and he even had a habitual smile on his lips.

The navy blue uniform looked exceptionally crisp under the motion-sensor lights in the hallway.

And this old policeman was none other than...

It was the same policeman who had personally arrested him and sent him to prison back then!

The Southern Gambler's gaze lingered on the other person's familiar face.

Time seemed to flow backward at this moment.

He clearly remembers that night twenty years ago.

It was this face, with the same peaceful smile, that placed the handcuffs on his wrists.

From that moment on, his decadent gambling career came to an end.

In return, he was imprisoned for more than a decade.

After his release.

To prevent a resurgence, local authorities have placed him under close surveillance.

Every now and then, the old policeman would come to visit him in person.

This so-called condolence.

On the surface, it's just old acquaintances chatting about everyday things, asking how he's been feeling lately, and whether the rental business is doing well.

He would even occasionally bring over two kilograms of fruit and put it on his coffee table.

But everyone knows the truth.

This is not a reunion between old friends at all.

This is a routine check conducted periodically for someone like him who was once a prominent figure in the gambling world.

This is also to prevent the other party from going astray again, so as to use the gentlest yet most firm method to deliver a double blow, both physically and psychologically.

Looking at the resolute-faced old policeman outside the door.

The Southern School Gamblers were still dreaming of dominating the island of Ao.

that moment.

He even thought it was just a hallucination.

But the delicate fragrance of tea emanating from the other person's thermos cup clearly entered his nostrils.

It reminded him that all of this was a cold, hard reality.

The Adam's apple bobbed up and down in this southern gambling addict.

He felt his mouth suddenly become extremely dry.

He swallowed hard.

"I'm at home."

The old policeman outside the door unscrewed the lid of his thermos, took a sip of water, and spoke casually.

"It's the middle of summer, and with all your doors and windows closed, don't you feel stuffy?"

It was just a very ordinary opening line.

To the ears of the Southern School of Gamblers, however, it sounded like a heavy weight.

In front of this uniform that represents the laws of the country.

He calmed down instantly.

The grand plans I just conjured up in my mind about sweeping through underground casinos and using physics to catch cheaters.

It seems so ridiculous and laughable at this moment.

That burning passion for making a comeback, which had just been stirred by reading the biography.

It cooled down completely at that moment.

"Return to the scene? What a load of rubbish!"

After a brief pause, the Southern Gambler's mind regained its rationality.

He felt a chill run down his spine at the thought that had crossed his mind.

This isn't twenty years ago.

The era when one could evade the law by running errands and exploiting loopholes is long gone.

He didn't want to go back to prison.

He never wants to experience those dark and dreary days, when he had to work on the sewing machine every day, again.

and.

He was well aware of his situation.

His name, given his prior criminal record and exceptional gambling skills, was already on the official watch list.

Even though he's just quietly collecting rent, the authorities have never taken their eyes off him.

He began to mentally calculate the security network of modern society, one by one.

He also made a detailed record at the nearby police station.

He looked at the smiling old policeman in front of him.

He realized that this was a cog in the machine of the state, demonstrating to him an unshakeable power.

There's no way they can escape!

No matter how powerful the skills he learned.

In this modern society governed by the rule of law, where justice prevails and no loopholes are overlooked.

All the tricks and schemes are nothing but bubbles in the face of the iron fist of public power.

The Southern Gambler sighed deeply in his heart.

He quickly stepped aside and warmly invited the old policeman into the house.

As he walked, he casually pulled the towel off the bed to cover the passbooks and cash.

He was afraid the other party would misunderstand that he was planning some kind of illegal fundraising.

And not just him.