Me! A high-ranking official!

He didn't look down into the pit. Those betting odds, where the outcome was determined solely by the tearing and biting of animals, had too many uncontrollable factors, and he never touched them.

He walked straight to the betting area next to him, where several huge LCD screens displayed all the matches and odds for the day.

The four shows in the morning have already been marked as finished. There are four more shows starting at 2 PM.

His gaze fell on the odds for the final match, which was still the most outrageous and bloodiest human-dog battle with the most outrageous odds.

He tapped on the challenger's profile at the bottom of the screen, and after just one glance, the fire that had just ignited in his heart hissed out.

The photo on the big screen showed a man in his early thirties, emaciated, with sunken eyes and bluish lips. Even through the screen, you could smell the decadence of someone who had been drained of his body by years of drug use. This kind of person was probably driven to desperation by loan sharks and forcibly brought in by the dog farm to fill the quota as feed.

He took out a cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag, and sighed. To be honest, his victory last time was just a stroke of luck; he had run into Li Gan! Li Gan had that wolfish nature—the kind of fierceness that would risk his life for his family, the kind of ruthlessness that came from crawling through piles of corpses.

But this poisonous monster in front of him? Let alone a starving Tibetan mastiff, even a mad dog could bite through his throat in three minutes. Betting on this person to win? That's just throwing money into a fire.

He stood in front of the screen, feeling bitter. A long piece of cigarette ash suddenly fell and burned the back of his hand, jolting him back to reality.

A sense of loss and disappointment arose; today is the 19th.

There are only five days left. In five days, the 20 million debt owed to the King of Hell in the system will be due. What should I do?

After thinking for a while, he spat the half-smoked cigarette out of his mouth onto the ground, walked straight to the betting area, took out the black VIP card with gold foil, and handed it in through the glass.

"Excuse me, I'd like to meet your boss."

The cashier inside hadn't even raised his eyelids, but when his gaze fell on the card, he visibly paused, quickly picked up the internal phone next to him, whispered a few words, and then stood up, his attitude respectful: "Please wait a moment, I'll consult with my superiors."

A few minutes later, the deliveryman came out from the back door and gestured for him to enter.

He followed the other person through a corridor and into the second courtyard. This place was clearly isolated from the dog farm outside, and there was not a sound of barking. The two entered an elevator for internal use only and pressed the button for the basement.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, a very faint scent of sandalwood wafted in. The corridor wasn't luxurious; it lacked the opulent splendor favored by nouveau riche. Instead, it was covered with dark wool carpets that absorbed sound very well, and a few unassuming ink paintings hung on the walls. The layout did resemble the office of a high-ranking official.

The man leading the way stopped in front of a heavy solid wood door and knocked lightly twice: "Boss, the person has arrived."

"Enter."

A woman's voice came from inside, her tone cold and crisp.

The door was pushed open, and he stepped inside. His gaze swept across the room, and a slight thought flickered in his mind, but he didn't reveal a trace of it on his face.

Behind the large mahogany desk, instead of the burly gangster boss I had imagined, stood a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. She was wearing a silk shirt, had a voluptuous figure, and was graceful and charming. She was holding a purple clay teapot in her hand. What was most striking was that she wasn't sitting in the boss's chair, but in a custom-made wheelchair.

The owner of the underground dog breeding farm turned out to be a woman with a disability in both legs.

"Mr. Zhao, you were looking for me?" The woman put down her teacup, her gaze like two soft knives, scrutinizing him from head to toe.

Since the other party could issue that VIP card, it would only take a minute to find out his background. He wasn't surprised, nor did he bother to investigate the other party's background. He walked straight to his desk and stood there.

"Hello, I've come here abruptly because I have a favor to ask." He looked at the other person, got straight to the point, and said in a deep voice, "I want to have a man-dog battle this afternoon."

A flicker of surprise crossed the woman's previously calm eyes. She crossed her arms and looked at him with a half-smile: "Mr. Zhao, as far as I know, you were just promoted to deputy head of the Industrial Development Section of the Culture and Tourism Bureau. Your future looks bright. Besides, you just took 20 million from me last time. Why would a public official with power and money in his account need to risk his life against a beast?"

He knew perfectly well that this woman was testing his bottom line. He didn't engage with her talk of promotion and money, but instead threw out his own chips: "One dog per game is already boring for the spectators. I'll pick three or four at a time. There are still a few hours until the afternoon game. With your methods, it won't be a problem to heat up the betting market. If this game starts, your commission will be astronomical."

The woman stared at him for a full ten seconds, then suddenly laughed.

"Mr. Zhao is a ruthless man, but..." She changed the subject, her tone carrying a hint of benevolence: "If you're just having financial difficulties, I can lend you the money personally. Given your status, consider this money as making a friend; there's no need to risk your life in a pit."

Borrow money?

He sneered inwardly. People within the system are most afraid of owing such shady debts. Du Yu was already a potential problem. If he took money from this black dog farm owner, he would truly become a dog on a leash in her hands. Who knows when this debt would become a death warrant forcing him to approve projects and stamp official seals in violation of regulations? He absolutely could not let his fate be handed a knife to someone else.

"I appreciate your kind offer." He shook his head slightly, his tone resolute, completely blocking any further options: "Money earned with my life feels worthwhile to spend; other people's money is like a hot potato."

Seeing that he wasn't falling for her trap, the woman wasn't annoyed. She simply leaned back in her wheelchair and said, "Fine, since Mr. Zhao insists on sending Dafugui to the dog farm, I have no reason to refuse. How many do you want to take this time?"

"The more the better." He paused for a moment, then stated his bottom line: "But at least, twenty million."

"Good spirit." The woman nodded readily and pressed the intercom on the table: "Change the odds immediately, create momentum, and also, take Mr. Zhao to the VIP room to prepare."

He nodded, turned and left the office.

As soon as he took the elevator back upstairs, a waiter in a vest came up to him with an extremely respectful attitude: "Mr. Zhao, Sister Zhen has instructed that you please come with me to the lounge."

The so-called lounge is actually a well-decorated one-bedroom suite with excellent soundproofing; even the sound of the air conditioner is barely audible.

Zhao Jianguo had only been sitting on the sofa for a short while when the waiter knocked on the door again and came in, carrying a brand-new black tight-fitting sportswear set and an exquisitely crafted object.

"Mr. Zhao, these are the clothes prepared for you."

He glanced at it and saw it was a half-face mask of the Monkey King.

"This Sister Zhen is quite thoughtful." He touched the pattern on the edge of the mask and praised her in his heart. The mask could not only cover his face as the deputy section chief, but the image of the Monkey King could also greatly stimulate the nerves of the group of gamblers before the game started.