King of Gamblers: Growing from a Student to a Jade King

For a fleeting moment, I hesitated, weighing my options. Then, I decided to escort Sang Ling upstairs.

Her apartment was on the third floor. As she opened the door, a faint, elegant fragrance greeted me. Stepping inside, I found the space to be pristine and quiet, with no sign of anyone else.

The minimalistic furnishings hinted that this was a rented place. While the overall appearance was decent, the atmosphere felt stark—cold and unwelcoming.

As I entered, Sang Ling seemed slightly embarrassed. There was no refrigerator, no proper tableware, and even the tea set was disposable. It was clear she rarely entertained guests here.

"Take a seat. I'll go take a shower and change," she said, her tone soft but composed.

I sat down as she retrieved clothes from the bedroom. I noticed they were still her uniform. Puzzled, I thought, Why wear a uniform at home? Doesn't she have any casual clothes?

When the bathroom door closed behind her, I heard the sound of running water. Through the frosted glass, her silhouette appeared tantalizing, but I averted my eyes and stood, wandering through her apartment instead.

The simplicity of her home was puzzling, almost unsettling. It felt as if her life had been stripped down to its barest essentials.

Eventually, my steps brought me to her bedroom. The door was ajar, and like the rest of the apartment, it was sparsely furnished, containing only a bed. Out of curiosity, I opened the wardrobe. Inside were intimate garments and a collection of outfits—transparent, revealing, provocative.

I frowned. Outwardly, Sang Ling didn't seem like a woman who would frequent the nightlife, yet her clothing suggested otherwise. There was an air of contradiction about her, as though she straddled two worlds.

Amid my observations, a photo frame tucked inside the wardrobe caught my eye. I picked it up and examined it.

It was an old group photo, at least five years old, marred by water stains that blurred its surface.

In the photo, a younger Sang Ling stood out with her pure, delicate beauty, though she lacked the confidence and presence of the woman she had become. Beside her was another striking figure—a tall, elegant woman wearing academic regalia. Her face sparked a faint recognition within me. The shape of her face, her poised smile... she bore a striking resemblance to Ma Qing.

But I couldn't be certain. The image was too faded to confirm my suspicions. Curious, I flipped the frame over, intending to check for names on the back, when Sang Ling's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Zhao Fei, could you bring me the towel? It's hanging on the rack," she called from the bathroom.

I set the photo aside and fetched the towel. Approaching the bathroom door, I knocked. It opened slightly, and a slender, porcelain-white arm reached out.

However, my attention was immediately drawn to her arm—it was marked with bruises, angry welts that looked as though they had been inflicted by a whip. The sight was both alarming and heart-wrenching.

She took the towel, closing the door without a word. I stood there for a moment, deeply unsettled. What had caused those injuries on her body?

Suddenly, a sharp cry came from inside, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone falling. Without hesitation, I pushed the door open.

Sang Ling was on the floor, clutching her ankle, her face contorted in pain. I hurried to help her up, but she stubbornly tried to stand on her own. When she faltered, I extended a hand, steadying her as she leaned on me for support.

I guided her to the sofa in the living room, where she sat down. Her ankle was swollen and red.

"Why wear heels at home?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

"They dock our pay if we don't," she replied, a faint bitterness in her voice.

Her answer surprised me. That she would prioritize such a detail—even in her current state—hinted at financial desperation.

"Does it hurt badly?" I asked.

"A little… Could you help me take off my shoe?" she asked, her head bowed slightly.

I hesitated, but then knelt before her. Lifting her leg, I began to undo the straps. The close proximity and the softness of her skin made the task unexpectedly intimate, yet I focused on the task at hand.

"The strap's too tight. It's making this harder than it needs to be," I remarked, struggling with the small buckle.

As I worked, my thoughts drifted to her bruises and her guarded demeanor. What secrets was she hiding?

When the shoe finally came off, I examined her foot. It was warm but uninjured, save for the redness.

"Your foot's fine—no swelling. Did you really twist it?" I asked, gently massaging the area.

"It doesn't hurt as much now… Thank you," she murmured, pulling her foot away.

I stood and sat across from her, studying her expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sensing my scrutiny.

"Nothing. Your clothes are dirty—you should change into something else. Don't go to work today," I said.

Sang Ling nodded and headed to her bedroom. She left the door open as she began changing.

I watched her, unable to ignore the deliberate nature of her actions. It was a clear invitation, a calculated temptation.

If that's what she intended, then I had no reason to play coy.

I walked toward the bedroom and caught a glimpse of her bare figure. Her flawless, alabaster skin glowed under the soft light, but what truly held my gaze were the marks—dark, cruel bruises that marred her back.

"Sang Ling," I said, my voice low but firm. "Your methods are far too obvious."

She turned, her face a mixture of shame and defiance. "Zhao Fei, I…"

I smiled faintly. "You're trying to seduce me, aren't you? But I'm curious—what do you want? Money? Power? Or is it something else? And those injuries—where did they come from?"

"Zhao Fei, don't say it like that…" she said, her voice trembling.

"Sang Ling, don't waste your energy pretending. Your timid charm is captivating, but I see through it. From the moment you invited me here, it's been clear. Am I wrong? Or are you not hoping to lure me into your bed?"

"Do you really think that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Then explain—why leave the door open? Why dress the way you do? And those bruises... They don't add up. Tell me, Sang Ling, what's the real story here?"

Her body trembled as she exhaled deeply. "Zhao Fei, you're sharper than I imagined. I knew you weren't ordinary, but I didn't expect you to see through me so easily."

"Then speak honestly. Why all this?" I asked.

"I… I'm running away," she admitted, tears welling in her eyes.

"Running away?"

"Yes," Sang Ling whispered, her voice breaking. "I had a boyfriend—a cruel, vicious man. He drank, gambled, and lived off me. He was addicted to drugs, and when he couldn't get his fix, he'd beat me. I tried to leave him, but he wouldn't let me go. He threatened to kill me if I ever left. I had no choice but to run. I fled to another city, hoping to escape him, but he always finds me. These bruises you see... they're from him."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with pain and desperation.

I looked at her, conflicted. The anguish in her eyes was real, but her earlier actions—the calculated seduction—made me question her true intentions.

"So, what does this have to do with me?" I asked, my tone cautious.

Sang Ling hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I've been watching you. From the moment we met, I noticed how you looked at me. Later, I learned more about you—your connections, your reputation. I thought… maybe you could help me."

"Help you how?"

"Help me get rid of him," she said, her voice trembling. "He's relentless, Zhao Fei. He'll destroy me if I don't find a way out."

I studied her carefully. Her beauty was undeniable, and her plight tugged at my instincts to protect, but the situation was fraught with complications.

"And you thought seducing me would be the best way to convince me?" I asked, my tone sharp.

Sang Ling flinched, her cheeks flushing. "I didn't know how else to approach you. I thought… if you felt something for me, you'd be more willing to help."

"Sang Ling, your desperation is clear, but manipulation isn't the way to earn my trust," I said.

She took a step closer, her eyes pleading. "Zhao Fei, I don't know what else to do. I'm trapped. You're the only person I can think of who might be able to save me."

Her vulnerability stirred something within me, but I forced myself to stay composed. "This man—your ex—what exactly are you asking me to do about him?"

"Scare him, warn him, make him leave me alone," she said. "I don't care how you do it, but please, I need your help."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Sang Ling, do you understand what you're asking? Getting involved in something like this isn't simple."

"I know," she whispered. "But I'm out of options."

Her tears flowed freely now, and the sight of her despair made it difficult to turn away. But this wasn't just about her. If I chose to involve myself, I'd be stepping into a world of trouble.

For a moment, we stood in silence, her pain and my hesitation filling the space between us.

Finally, I spoke. "I'll think about it. But Sang Ling, don't ever try to manipulate me again. If you want my help, you'll have to trust me enough to be honest."

Her eyes widened in relief, and she nodded. "Thank you, Zhao Fei. I promise, no more lies."

I turned to leave, my mind racing. Sang Ling's story was far from over, and if I chose to help her, I knew I'd be stepping into something far more dangerous than I'd anticipated.