"A winning gamble?" The rough-faced man laughed, "Uncle Ben doesn't know how many fools like you have seen every year, thinking that there is a winning bet, but he lost so much that he didn't even have his underwear left." ”

"Don't believe me?" I said coldly, "Why don't we take a gamble?" ”

"What do you want to bet on?" The rough-faced man slapped his thigh, obviously a good gambler.

"If I can really go on a winning streak in this game of shame, you'll have to be my servant for three days." I say.

"What if you lose?" The rough-faced man asked.

"I will not be defeated." After speaking, I walked up to the stone platform.

"Are you really so confident?" The rough-faced man touched the back of his head.

Standing on the stone platform, looking down at the huge disc below, I saw that its shape was simple, the pattern was profound, and it faintly exuded a sense of mystery.

It seems that this thing is also one of the ancient martial arts relics, but it was used as a gambling tool by later generations.

Don't know what it was originally used for?

While thinking about it, I heard the rough-faced man shouting below: "Someone is playing blood chips, which master will follow?" ”

Blood chips?

As soon as I heard the name, I knew it was going to be fine.

After a while, a cloth-bag masked man walked up to the stone platform opposite: "Young man, how much blood are you going to make?" ”

I looked blankly at the rough-faced man.

The rough-faced man pointed at me and held out ten fingers.

I understand.

"Ten blood chips." I said, holding up my hands.

A finger is a blood chip!

"Too little." The masked man shook his head.

For me, every finger is a treasure, but for these gamblers, fingers alone are no longer enough to satisfy their curiosity.

I looked down at my feet and kicked my shoes off: "Twenty!" ”

"Still less." The masked man in the bag shook his finger.

"That's less?" I sighed helplessly, "There's no way, then I'll give twenty-one blood ......"

Before he could finish speaking, his hands were already pressed on the waistband of his trousers.

"We believe you have twenty-one blood chips, so you don't have to inspect the goods." Someone grabbed me just in time.

"Good! Hahaha......" The masked man with the cloth bag looked up to the sky and smiled, took out twenty-one water chips from his arms and threw them on the stone platform.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

The one who grabbed me was actually the ball man who was responsible for being 'thrown' and 'rolled'.

"The first inning begins." The host of the game waved his hand.

The ball man drove to me with ease.

"This little guy, it's still a question of whether he can lose it or not......"

"If you come to play blood at a young age, this life is over......"

"Hurry up and have a peripheral game, I'm going to bet on this little cripple to lose ......"

The onlookers are talking about it, and they keep drilling into my ears, and in general, it is all kinds of peripheral handicaps that are not optimistic about me and are aimed at me, and even reach ultra-high odds such as 36 to one.

Am I sure I'm going to win?

(This chapter is not finished, to be continued later...... ）