Cat 114: Final Round

Chapter 114: The Final Round

The dice cup Brother Ruan used was just like the ones at the outside gambling tables, its interior lined with felt. Yan Jiyun turned a chip over in his hand, seeming relaxed but intent on listening to the subtle sounds within the cup.

The dice had been switched out; the way three dice landed produced a different sound now.

Others might not be able to distinguish any of it, but Yan Jiyun’s keen hearing caught every minor nuance of dice meeting cup.

No wonder Brother Ruan insisted on matching wits—his technique was indeed impressive: faster, lighter, and with more force than the previous dealer, truly a cut above.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t playing against an ordinary human, but a cat.

Even so, in the first round, no matter how hard Yan Jiyun listened, he couldn’t tell what the outcome would be.

The first round was all up to luck.

Brother Ruan let the dice cup fall onto the table. He grinned, his thin mustache twitching, and gazed at Yan Jiyun.

“Did you hear anything?” asked Brother Ruan.

Yan Jiyun shook his head honestly. “Nothing.”

“Then make your guess: big or small?”

Yan Jiyun guessed at random. “No idea… Small.”

Brother Ruan opened the cup. “So how did you manage ten consecutive wins outside?”

Sure enough, Yan Jiyun was wrong, just as he’d expected—Luck never favored him.

“Maybe it really was luck. I’ve never had a run like today,” Yan Jiyun said. Not every point-hunter got invited to wager their life with the house boss—such an honor was his alone.

Brother Ruan laughed heartily. “Let’s keep going and see how long your luck holds.”

Yan Jiyun thought, “So you know luck doesn’t last. Why not let me go?”

Despite the light mood, Brother Ruan didn’t believe a word. No one wins ten times straight on mere luck—certainly not in his casino. He suspected trickery but didn’t say it outright.

The smile faded. Flicking his right sleeve, Brother Ruan raised his hand.

The second round began.

The clatter of dice reverberated in Yan Jiyun’s ear. Ruan’s motion, tempo, and focus remained unchanged, those sharp eyes fixed on Yan Jiyun’s reactions—as if dice-shaking were etched in his very bones, always hitting exactly what he wanted.

Could this young punk really hear the difference? Hadn’t he bet only big or small so far?

Clack—the cup dropped. “Well? Guess.”

The previous roll was 3, 4, 6 for 13—big.

This time, Yan Jiyun again couldn’t tell, so he relied on pure luck.

“I’ll say big,” he bluffed.

Brother Ruan uncovered the dice. “Doesn’t look like your luck is holding: two ones and a five—seven, small.”

Yan Jiyun wasn’t ruffled. “Now you believe me? I really am just guessing.”

Brother Ruan stared at him, his tone sour, suspecting he was being toyed with. “You don’t want to play? Don’t want to live?”

No trace of nerves could be found on Yan Jiyun’s face, though the white-shirt behind him was sweating on his behalf.

By rights, a guy who’d just won ten outside shouldn’t lose two in here. Was “Jiang” doing it on purpose?

Now Yan Jiyun put on a show of impatience. “Come on, Brother Ruan—I really do rely on luck. I can’t believe I’ll be unlucky every time.”

Ruan, half convinced he was simply lucky, felt his own interest waning.

But the wager was his idea; he had to see it through.

In round three, with a new combination, luck again abandoned Yan Jiyun.

Brother Ruan started to suspect mind games. “Pity. Only seven chances left.”

But his expression betrayed some enjoyment.

Yan Jiyun nodded, leaned closer to the table, propped his elbows at the edge, hands clasped and fingertips at his chin. “Brother Ruan, why not cancel the bet? This is getting dull. I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

Ruan began to think Yan Jiyun was getting nervous. “I’m a man of my word. Once made, never withdrawn.”

“You do have confidence,” Yan Jiyun commented. “Let’s hope you keep it.”

“Let’s continue. No matter what, we’ll finish. Your life will be mine soon. But to make it interesting, let’s live-stream this for everyone gambling here tonight—they can enjoy the show too.”

With no need for Yan Jiyun’s opinion, he turned to his assistant to start the stream.

Yan Jiyun: … Now he was being streamed live? Ever heard of privacy?

White-shirt behind him was trembling with anxiety—three losses in a row. What was up with this guy? Was it really just luck?

The broadcast began as did round four!

Brother Ruan’s dice cup landed. “Guess.”

“That’s… small?” Yan Jiyun said, unsure.

Brother Ruan opened the cup: 1, 4, 5. He was mildly surprised, “You finally got one right.”

Yan Jiyun replied with exaggerated gestures of worship, “Thank you, lucky gods, for sparing me.”

Ruan shot him a look reserved for idiots—the calm from earlier must have been pure bravado. He found it all rather tedious, but with the stream running, he’d let it play out.

“Let’s see how long your luck lasts.” This time, he spun the dice even longer to show off.

After four rounds, Yan Jiyun finally began discerning the subtle distinctions of each face and number.

Let’s begin.

When the cup fell, Yan Jiyun unhesitatingly tossed his chip on “big.” “This time, big.”

Ruan uncovered the cup, squinting at the numbers. Stroking his mustache, he said, “The gods are truly favoring you. Continue.”

Fifth round: Yan Jiyun won.

Tally: three losses, two wins.

Ruan became animated, eager to test skill against luck.

Sixth round:

“Go,” Ruan urged.

“Small,” Yan Jiyun said lightly.

Seventh round:

Ruan, skeptical: “Not so simple this time.”

“Big,” Yan Jiyun shot back.

Now it was three losses, four wins—just two more and all the boss’s chips would be his, provided Ruan kept his word.

But Ruan had already started shifting—he couldn’t let Yan Jiyun keep winning, not when his title of Dice King was on the line.

With only three rounds left, Ruan paused. “Want to up the ante?”

Yan Jiyun wasn’t fazed. Ruan clearly didn’t play by the rules; his self-contradictions came fast and frequent.

“Up the ante?”

“If you can guess the exact number this round, I’ll double the chips. Deal?”

Yan Jiyun’s mind whirred. Ruan was pressing chips, but demanding his life in return. No matter how many chips were wagered, the loser must pay with their actual life. So why not make a counter-offer?

Chin on fist, he said, “Brother Ruan, what if I guess the numbers correctly for two rounds in a row—your life is mine. Deal?”

Ruan laughed at his friends, “That’s bold, brother Jiang. Lots have wanted my life after losing, but you’re the first to bet with me, the Dice King.”

His skill was legendary; no one dared challenge him openly. Past wins could be luck, but little brother Jiang had guts.

“I’m risking my life, so it’s only fair you do too,” Yan Jiyun said.

Ruan burst out laughing. “Done. Let’s make it interesting. But for the last three rounds, you must declare the exact numbers, or your life’s still mine.”

Yan Jiyun was unfazed. “I believe in your sense of fairness.”

Truthfully, any conditions he proposed, Ruan would accept—it was his casino, and the dice were in his hand. Even if Yan Jiyun guessed right, Ruan could change things at the reveal. No matter how many games he won, the ending would always be the same—so why not make things more exciting and get the adrenaline pumping?

White-shirt had begun as calmly as Yan Jiyun, but with the risk spiking, he now frowned deeply.

Eighth round.

Ruan rose from his seat, bracing one foot on the chair. The new stakes had sharply excited his nerves.

Yan Jiyun kept his chin on his palm, unmoving. His last three wins confirmed his understanding of the dice sounds—his only risk now was if Ruan swapped the dice entirely, but Ruan hadn’t thought so far ahead yet.

Dice collided rapidly with the cup’s interior. With a flourish, all fell silent—cup landed.

“Still time to surrender, little brother Jiang,” Ruan taunted.

Yan Jiyun tapped the table. “But if I quit now, you’d still want my life.”

Ruan laughed. “I’m in a good mood now—maybe I’ll spare you. But your hand is good; you could give that to me instead.”

NPCs were ever fond of cruelty—but Yan Jiyun ignored him and called the result: “5, 5, 6. Big.”

A flicker crossed Ruan’s face. His eyes turned cold. “That’s not luck.”

Yan Jiyun smiled slightly. “Why not open and see?”

Ruan had rolled the dice; it wasn’t possible for him not to know what he’d made.

To his credit, Ruan made no effort to fudge the result this time—no last-moment wrist work or tricks.

He left the cup closed—then admitted defeat. “You win. Continue.”

Two rounds left.

The tension in the room shot up; at some point, several more people had entered—Ruan’s high-stakes friends and VIPs, drawn by the news of a life-or-death duel, crowding to watch. With the livestream going, what better place than here to bask in a master’s glory?

Unfortunately, his prestige was now at serious risk.

The room’s doors were fully open, the crowd growing.

Most fascinating of all, the assistant had not only started the stream but broadcast all movements inside—so every player and NPC present could watch this showdown live.

In the outer hall, the viewers whispered:

“Isn’t that the player who went around with Qi Feng?”

“Who’s the guy he’s facing? None of us have been in that room.”

“I asked an NPC: that’s the casino boss. There’s a magazine about him in the lounge—he’s Angel City’s Dice King. They say no one can read his throws. Years ago, he beat a local tycoon to win the casino.”

[Want to Be Human] live broadcast room:

“Holy crap, so intense! That catboy’s ears are insane—he can even call out the exact numbers?!”

“Me too, I’ve been holding my pee—I’m afraid to miss his loss if I go. Catboy, hang in there and crush that boss!”

“Ahhh! Go catboy! I don’t want to see you lose your paws to Ruan!”

“But now that there’s a live stream, everyone can see this game. If Ruan wins, catboy may yet have a chance—if catboy wins, he’ll be in even more danger.”

“This is pulse-pounding! Two rounds left. Please, let him hear it right.”

“I think Ruan will cheat—he’ll do whatever it takes not to lose.”

“Then what? Can catboy cope with a cheat?”

“From third-person view, it looks almost impossible for catboy to escape if he transforms—too many players, live cameras everywhere. Knowing his cautious temperament, he probably wouldn’t. This live stream sealed all routes for him.”

Now, all the pressure was on Ruan; every eye was glued to him. He couldn’t afford to lose—if not for himself, then for the legend of “Dice King.”

He was no longer smiling; his movements sped up, though his hands stayed steady—he was, after all, the king for a reason.

Clack—the cup dropped, dice inside motionless. Ruan looked at the still-relaxed Yan Jiyun. “Bet you can’t guess this time? If not, your life is mine. Or you can surrender now.”

Yan Jiyun saw through the bluster—since he’d changed the rules, it was Ruan who’d lost his nerve.

Calmly, Yan Jiyun said, “Three threes, lined up in a row.”

Since it was just the two of them, “triple” wasn’t house wins; no such rule applied.

He added the orientation as a bonus for Ruan.

Ruan’s fingers pressed deep into the dice cup; he’d thought about pulling a trick at the reveal, but this time, he hadn’t.

His friends, growing impatient, called out, “Old Ruan, aren’t you going to show us? Let’s see if the kid’s right.”

They were all seasoned players—knew Ruan’s reputation, but after previous rounds many now believed in Yan Jiyun’s skill. If he was wrong, they’d all suspect Ruan was up to something.

Ruan regretted his bright idea of a live feed—it had backfired badly. He’d expected another easy day as king, not this kind of challenger.

Yan Jiyun gave him a little “please continue” gesture to rub it in.

Jaw tight, Ruan lifted the cup.

The room erupted.

One round left. The “pretty-faced” player was closing in on an end to this duel.

Now, everyone in the casino, between their own games, watched the screen nervously.

Some whispered, “Can he really beat an NPC?”

“No idea. That’s the boss—probably a midboss at least.”

Though not every NPC is a boss, their aggression can rival one—one misstep and a player could die at their hands.

The player in there was more brazen than the NPC; many spectators were sweating for him.

Qi Feng, watching from a dark corner, also fixed on the big screen.

After realizing Caramel was in the same instance, he’d relaxed a bit. He hadn’t rushed to look for the cat—night was ideal coverage for him.

After resting, Qi Feng prowled outside but couldn’t find Caramel; he knew it was useless to rush. Small animals were craftier than people; he could only wait for Caramel to show himself.

Eventually he entered the Tiger Door, winning plenty in the casino and acquiring a clue card from another player. As he considered searching further for clues, his gaze landed on the broadcast of “Jiang You” dueling an NPC.

On the screen, the young man looked calm, never arrogant; Qi Feng was sure he was a rookie—a promising one, bright and bold.

Nearby, a shrewd-faced player opened a betting pool:

“Wanna have a go? Player versus NPC: who wins? Player pays out 10 to 1, NPC pays 2 to 1. Bet up to 5,000 for a flutter.”

No one would ignore a chance for easy points.

Cautious players bet on the NPCs; in this world, few believed a single human could outplay an NPC.

“I’ll wager 100 for the NPC.”

“200 on NPC.”

“500 on NPC.”

Most bets went to the house.

Suddenly someone shouted, “I’ll bet 3,000 on the player to win.”

Qi Feng, just about to leave, turned and saw the bet—his old Devil Forest teammate, Chu Mo.

“Five thousand on the player,” Qi Feng said.

Everyone turned to see who could afford a 5,000 bet at once—the undisputed points leader, Qi Feng himself. That face, cool and striking, was unmissable—and so was his place atop the rankings.

“Well, all right then,” the bookie muttered—already feeling this would cost him big.

Chu Mo nodded to Qi Feng in greeting, and then Qi Feng vanished into the crowd.

Yan Jiyun remained oblivious to his new status as a betting subject; he had no mind for anything but this duel.

The final round.

He had to defeat Brother Ruan.

After a deep breath, Ruan suddenly suggested, “Why don’t we take a little break before the last round? Eat something, get ready.”

Yan Jiyun glanced at his right hand and noticed it trembling faintly.

In total, this had been fifteen minutes; each shake lasted five to ten seconds. Over nine rounds, that was less than two minutes of movement—yet now he needed a rest?

Was it nerves, or an issue with his hand?

Yan Jiyun hadn’t had a chance to study Brother Ruan before being thrust into this.

He deliberately set a limit: “Brother Ruan, five minutes’ rest?”

“Sure, I’ll give you five,” Ruan replied.

Yan Jiyun might have looked like the underdog, but anyone smart saw the pressure had shifted—Ruan was cornered; Yan Jiyun held the initiative.

Yan Jiyun grabbed White Shirt’s sleeve. “Could I ask you to grab me something to eat? I’m so nervous I’m starving.”

While doing so, he scrawled two words on the man’s arm: “Check Ruan.”

“Of course. One moment,” White Shirt replied.

With the stream running, everyone could see everything inside. Ruan had hoped to flaunt his skill; now, he was firmly stuck in his own trap.

Sitting back, Ruan closed his eyes. An assistant brought him a drink.

White Shirt was gone three minutes; Ruan’s men didn’t stop him.

He returned with a salad, whispering, “Just heard—his right hand was injured in a shooting six months ago.”

Yan Jiyun responded, “Fast work.”

White Shirt pressed his point: “Worth a clue.”

“Deal.”

Yan Jiyun stabbed at a cucumber with his fork, eating it listlessly. White Shirt really had no taste—for once, some braised beef would have been nice.

After five minutes, Ruan opened his eyes; during the break, Yan Jiyun watched him massage his fingers from time to time.

Ruan went back to the table. “Let’s begin, little brother Jiang.”

Yan Jiyun put down his fork, smiling. “All right.”

He knew—it wasn’t that Ruan didn’t want to cheat—he simply couldn’t anymore.

Final round—

As the dice cup fell, Yan Jiyun stood up and called it: “Six, six, six, in a column. Ruan, you’ve lost.”

He leaped in excitement and ran around the table, acting delirious: “You lost, Ruan! The chips are mine! And so is your life!”

Ruan calmly lifted the dice cup, stroking his mustache as he slowly revealed the dice—but deliberately toppled the aligned three dice.

To Ruan, Yan Jiyun’s “madness” was just the desperation of a money-mad loser.

“Little brother Jiang, you’re the one who lost.”

But even as Ruan said the words, Yan Jiyun had already reached the door and bolted.

He knew it was impossible to win—the pencil-mustached boss would always cheat.

Ruan finally realized he’d been had, and roared, “Get him back here!”