novelbin Chapter 98 Afraid of winning? Or afraid of losing?
Chapter 98 Afraid of winning? Or afraid of losing?
Director Sun swayed slightly, his voice barely audible: "I... I was just following the rules... the actual execution was done by my subordinates..."
"The people below?" The man chuckled, a chilling laugh. "Jin Dafu's three million was directly deposited into your overseas account. As for the additional two million 'hush money' after the accident, do you need me to project a screenshot of the transfer now?"
Director Sun gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white. Cold sweat had already soaked through the back of his shirt, the fabric clinging to his trembling back.
"I was forced..." A sob escaped his throat. "They threatened me with my family... my daughter's daily route to school, the market my wife frequents... They said if I didn't obey, the next accident wouldn't be involving miners..."
He couldn't say anything more, burying his face in his palms, suppressed sobs leaking from between his fingers.
The room was deathly silent. Only the sound of crying, like a saw tearing through the air, could be heard.
Cheng Tan felt a churning in his stomach. One corner of the truth was so filthy—wealth watered with blood, relationships maintained by fear.
"It's your turn to play, Director Sun." The man's voice was calm and composed, as if what he had just uncovered was not a life-or-death matter, but merely a casual conversation.
Director Sun raised his swollen eyes and shakily printed out a 90,000.
"Hu." Cheng Tan pushed over his hand, revealing the cards. "A standard win, one point."
He deliberately didn't make any special moves. In this round, winning money wasn't important; winning the right to ask questions was the key.
The stakes shifted. Cheng Tan turned to the man with the gun: "According to the rules, the winner can ask the loser one question." Seeing the man nod, his gaze suddenly locked onto Sister Fang, "Who gave you those bone dice? Was the person who gave you the dice the mastermind behind the series of 'accidents' thirteen years ago?"
Fangjie fell silent.
Her fingertips traced the die made of her thumb bone repeatedly, her gaze drifting into the void, as if piercing through walls, looking towards a distant and dark time and space. After a long while, her very soft voice was heard:
"He gave them to us. Each die came with a letter detailing the story of the owner of the die—name, cause of death, family members and subsequent events... every word was like it was engraved on bone."
"Why did I give you these?" Cheng Jing couldn't help but ask.
"So that I'll remember," Fangjie's lips curled into a bleak smile, "to remember what I did, what I owed. He said these dice are my 'evidence of sins,' and also my 'redemption.' As long as they're kept, I can't forget, and I can't escape."
"Who exactly is he?" Cheng Tan pressed further.
Fangjie's smile froze on her lips, turning into bitterness:
"A person I thought was long dead. A person... whom I personally sent to prison."
The air froze again.
Cheng Tan's mind raced. Had Fang Jie personally sent him to prison? Was she released? Had she escaped? Was sending the dice for revenge? Or was there another hidden meaning?
Fang Jie has always been the passive one in this situation, but now she suddenly isn't nervous anymore. Why isn't she afraid? Did she receive some information, some assurance that she's safe?
Furthermore, Cheng Tan suddenly felt that he had unknowingly become the focus of attention, as if they were all staring at him, hoping to find the answer in him!
ridiculous!
"Next round, let's change the rules," the gunman suddenly broke the silence.
"How should I change it?" Cheng Tan gathered his thoughts.
"No money involved." The man slightly raised the muzzle of his gun. "We're betting on 'information.' The winner of each round can ask one question, and the loser must answer truthfully. Refusal or lying—"
He paused deliberately, letting the unspoken words spread into an invisible pressure in the silence.
Cheng Tan and Cheng Jing exchanged glances. Danger, but also an opportunity.
"agree."
"agree."
General Manager Zhao and Director Sun were pale and could only nod stiffly.
The fifth round begins. The atmosphere at the poker table suddenly becomes tense—what's being wagered here isn't chips, but the bloody truth.
The dice rolled, and cards were drawn. Cheng Tan's starting hand was messy, but his expression remained unchanged. In this round, winning wasn't the goal; he needed to observe and calculate the details to uncover the true identity of the man with the gun.
On the third round, the man played a one-of-a-kind tile. Cheng Tan's pupils contracted slightly—when that man played, his thumb would unconsciously rub the surface of the tile. It was an extremely subtle habit he had only seen on one other person before.
On the sixth turn, Cheng Tan drew a Red Dragon. The instant his fingertip touched the bottom, a sharp pain shot through him! The dark red patterns on the tile seemed to come alive, stabbing straight into his heart. He endured the discomfort and put the tile into his palm.
"Mr. Cheng," the gunman suddenly spoke, "when did your nightmare begin?"
Cheng Tan was taken aback. This question touched on privacy, but under the rules, he had to respond.
"About half a year ago. At first it was just fragments, but it became clearer and clearer... especially these past few days, it's been repeating itself every night."
"Was the scene in the dream room 403?"
"Yes, but there are differences in the details... The furniture is arranged differently, but the overall layout is exactly the same."
"Have you ever wondered why you dream of places you've never been to and people you don't know?" the man pressed.
"I've thought about it." Cheng Tan met his gaze. "The most reasonable guess is that I've seen photos or descriptions of the scene somewhere, and my subconscious reconstructed the image. But I've checked—the scene photos have never been released to the public, and detailed records are only kept in the police's internal archives."
The man laughed: "So, you don't believe it's a coincidence."
"I never believe in coincidences," Cheng Tan said, emphasizing each word, "and I certainly don't believe in a series of coincidences."
"Your turn." The man tapped the edge of the table.
Cheng Tan played a blank card – a safety card.
His brain was racing, processing multiple clues simultaneously like a precision instrument: the direction of the cards, the witty remarks in the dialogue, the observation of micro-movements, the logical puzzle... The fragments had to be pieced together before the truth could surface.
On the ninth round, Fang Jie played a seven of bamboo. Cheng Tan had enough cards to take it and form a straight. But he hesitated—taking the card would reveal his hand and make him the target of everyone's attacks.
He ran his fingertips over the card, then finally withdrew them: "Pass."
"Not going to eat it?" Sister Fang raised an eyebrow. "Your hand needs this card."
"No need," Cheng Tan lied without batting an eye. "I have a very good hand."
Fangjie gave him a deep look and said nothing more.
The game continued. The man with the gun seemed quite satisfied with Cheng Tan's answer, and his pace of playing cards noticeably quickened.
On the twelfth round, Cheng Tan drew an 80,000 tile. He was ready to win—50,000 and 80,000. But he gave up again, discarding an East Wind tile instead.
"Mr. Cheng," the man's voice suddenly deepened, "what are you hiding?"
Cheng Tan's heart tightened.
"Your hand," the man's gaze was sharp as a knife. "From the third round onwards, you've only played safe cards, avoiding making big hands. Are you afraid to win? Or... afraid to lose?"
Cheng Tan remained silent for a few seconds, then suddenly chuckled softly:
"I'm afraid of dying. I have to answer whether I win or lose. There are some questions I can't answer, and some answers... I just can't bring myself to say them."