Hong Kong Movie: At the beginning, Big Boss B asked me to draw the death lottery

Chapter 217, Part 8: Metamorphosis

Three days after the Diamond Hall incident, the bruises on Fly's face had not completely faded.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror on the third floor of the Willys Hall, awkwardly adjusting the collar of his newly bought Armani suit.

However, it would be more appropriate to describe Fly as looking like a respectable man at this point; dressed in a suit, he exudes a somewhat refined yet scoundrel-like aura.

"Damn! Dressed like that, you think you can negotiate with fanfiction?"

Fly irritably loosened his tie, only to be suddenly struck hard on the back of the head.

Ah Wah appeared behind me without my noticing: "Tell me what you mean? Do you think you're still the boss of Mong Kok?"

He reached out and straightened Fly's tie with practiced ease: "Today you're meeting Mr. Wang from Pengcheng, introduced by Brother Jimmy. He's worth over a billion!"

The air conditioning in the casino's VIP rooms is always blasting.

Fly followed behind Ahua and noticed that his palms were sweating.

For the past decade or so, he had been used to solving problems with his fists and machetes, but after owing his boss 100 million, he now had to learn to use smiles and wine glasses to navigate the situation.

In the dappled light refracted by the crystal chandelier, he saw three middle-aged men playing Texas Hold'em.

"Mr. Wang has good luck."

Ahua's voice suddenly became smooth, and he gestured to the waiter to bring over chilled champagne.

"This is our new account manager at Willy Hall, Mr. Wang. You can just call him Fly."

The fly nodded stiffly, noticing that the man with slicked-back hair in the main seat hadn't even raised his eyelids.

Mr. Wang casually tossed out his chips: "I'll bet 500,000."

The tall, thin man to his right suddenly sneered, "Ah Hua, is the bar for becoming a junket operator really that low now? Even a small-time hoodlum can become an account manager?"

The air solidified instantly.

Fly felt the blood rush to his temples, and his right hand instinctively reached for his waist—where it was empty.

Ahua pressed his shoulder as a warning, then smiled and tried to smooth things over: "Mr. Zhang is joking. Fly has been with me for over ten years and knows all the rules."

"is it?"

Mr. Wang finally raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping across Fly's bruised cheekbone like an X-ray: "I heard someone fired a shot in the Diamond Hall a few days ago?"

He flicked his cigarette ash: "We businessmen hate trouble the most."

Fly's fingernails dug into his palm. He remembered Ah Hua's words of advice this morning—Macau is a gold mine. If you're a junket operator here, you have to catch it with a smile even if someone spits on you.

But when he saw that the man surnamed Zhang whispering in Mr. Wang's ear again, he couldn't help but say, "If Mr. Wang doesn't like me hosting him, I can leave right now!"

He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth; Mr. Wang's expression instantly froze, and Ahua's smile remained stiff on his face.

Five minutes later, he was 'asked' to leave the VIP room.

Inside the elevator, Fly stared at the constantly changing floor numbers, his throat tightening.

"Brother Hua, I..."

Do you know how many resources this CEO Wang has at his disposal?

Ahua's voice was as soft as a feather, yet it made Fly gasp for breath: "The big spenders he brought over last month are enough to keep Willie Hall afloat for half a year!"

The blinds in the top-floor office were tightly closed.

Ahua flung off his suit jacket, suddenly grabbed an ashtray, and smashed it against the wall. The crystal object shattered into pieces near the fly's feet, and he instinctively closed his eyes.

"Open your eyes!"

Ahua grabbed his collar: "Look at what's hanging on the wall?"

Only then did the fly notice that the place where the landscape painting used to hang had been replaced by a horizontal banner with calligraphy—the character "忍" (patience) was written with such force that it seemed to penetrate the paper.

Ah Hua let go of him and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt: "Back when Brother Yao was negotiating with Di Qiu in Kowloon Walled City, he could still smile and serve tea even when someone pointed a gun at his head. Do you think your current status was earned through fighting?"

Outside the window, a helicopter was flying over the Macau Tower. Amidst the roar, Fly heard his own dry voice: "Sorry, Brother Hua, I messed up again."

Ahua sneered, "You've improved after all; you've even learned to apologize now!"

After saying that, he took a stack of documents from the safe and threw them on the table.

The fly was stunned when it opened the first page—it contained detailed information about the Pengcheng boss and his inner circle, from his rise to wealth to the addresses of his mistresses.

"This Zhang Sheng is Boss Wang's cousin, and he's in charge of the shady business in Thailand."

Ahua pointed to a line of red text: "Last month, I kept a ballet dancer as a mistress in Jinwan."

He turned to another page: "Mr. Wang is currently bidding for a plot of land in Jinwan and needs a member of the Legislative Assembly in Macau to act as his intermediary."

The fly's gaze darted back and forth between the pages, and suddenly it understood why Ahua was so highly regarded by the boss.

Those "social niceties" he once scorned turned out to be more lethal than a cleaver.

"Tonight at eight o'clock, Mr. Wang is going to Wynn to see The House of Dancing Water."

Ahua retied his tie: "You have six hours to prepare!"

As night fell, Fly stood at the entrance of Wynn Palace, clutching two front-row tickets in his hand.

He repeatedly recalled the details in the documents: Mrs. Wang was a former ballet dancer and loved the Russian Ballet; Zhang Sheng had a severe pollen allergy; Mr. Wang only drank 1982 Lafite.
Ten minutes before the fountain show began, Fly finally spotted his target. He took a deep breath and went up to him: "Mr. Wang, I was rude at noon."

Before the other party could react, he handed over a gold-embossed invitation: "The Bolshoi Ballet will be performing in Macau next week. I heard that your wife..."

Mr. Wang's expression shifted from surprise to amusement, and finally a hint of a smile appeared on his face.

When Fly "happened" to mention that a certain Legislative Council member was coming to Willie Hall to play cards the next day, the other party finally patted him on the shoulder: "Young man, you're quite something."

At 2 a.m., in the employee passageway, Wu Ying loosened his tie and gasped for breath.

Ahua suddenly appeared out of nowhere and shoved a can of beer into his hand: "It's always like this the first time."

"Brother Hua, I..."

A fly gulped down half a can of beer, the foam dripping down its chin onto its shirt.

"Are you under a lot of pressure? You need to understand, these rich people are human too."

Ahua chuckled: "He has weaknesses and desires. He can lose sleep over a three million bribe and get jealous of a minor celebrity."

He suddenly became serious: "But you must remember, what you need to do is to win them over wholeheartedly in Haojiang!"

For the next three months, the flies absorbed the casino's survival rules like a sponge.

He learned to judge a customer's wealth by the way they held their chips, remembered the preferred brands of alcohol for each high roller, and even studied Swiss watch yearbooks.

Before receiving Japanese guests once, he memorized information about major nightclubs in Tokyo overnight, and used this knowledge to gain their trust the next day.

Whenever he was about to give up, Ahua would always remind him of that 'one hundred million'.

"Fly Bro is improving very quickly!"

One morning, while organizing the ledgers, casino accountant Ah Ping joked, "The Thai guest you brought last week lost 20 million in the VIP room and even sent you a thank-you message."

A fly was practicing cutting a cigar with one hand when it heard this and almost cut its finger.

"Brother Hua taught well."

"Fly said in a low voice. He looked toward the monitoring room, where Ahua was reviewing last night's surveillance footage.

Since the Diamond Hall incident, he has rarely mentioned that thrilling night, but Fly knows that he owes more than 100 million.

In September, a special guest arrived at the Willy Hall—the youngest son of a Thai real estate tycoon surnamed Zhou.

The young man wearing a Richard Mille watch had just entered the room when he displayed an aura completely different from the group of wealthy customers that Fly had previously entertained. He immediately pointed at Fly and said, "I want him to gamble with me."

In the VIP room, Zhou Gongzi tossed out a black card: "I heard you used to be quite powerful in Mong Kok?"

He gestured to his bodyguard to open the briefcase, inside which were neatly stacked millions in cash: "If you let me win fifty million tonight, all of this is yours."

The fly noticed the surveillance camera slightly turning—that was Ahua observing.

He remembered the information that Young Master Zhou was fond of underground racing, and suddenly had an idea: "Young Master Zhou, what's the point of winning money? Why don't we play something more exciting?"

Two hours later, while Zhou Gongzi was counting chips with a young model on his private jet, Wu Ying was running towards the garage in the rain. He started his modified GTR and drove Zhou Gongzi towards the Macau Tower. Visibility on the coastal highway in the downpour was less than five meters, and excited screams came from the back seat.

"Courageous enough!"

At the finish line, Mr. Zhou patted his seat and said, "I'm bringing my friends to Macau next week, and I'll leave everything to you!"

This crazy bet resulted in the VIP rooms being fully booked for three consecutive months.

Fly's business card case gradually filled with various contact information with gold borders, and even Ahua started letting him handle loans worth tens of millions on his own.

During a routine morning meeting, Ahua suddenly tossed a car key to him: "Use this to pick up and drop off guests from now on."

The fly caught the key and discovered it was the limited edition Ferrari that Zhou Gongzi had mentioned.

"Brother Hua, this..."

"you deserved."

Ahua flipped through the reports without looking up: "We have an important client tomorrow; you'll be in charge of receiving them."

……

The next day, a special guest arrived at Willy's Room. Through the one-way glass of the VIP room, Fly saw a dark-skinned middle-aged man playing with chips.

The man wore a jade ring on the little finger of his left hand, which shimmered with a peacock blue luster under the light.

"The owner of Chen's Rubber in Malaysia is originally from Chaozhou."

Fly was adjusting his newly tailored suit—a dark gray three-piece set with two South Sea pearls on the cufflinks.

The bruises from the Diamond Hall three months ago had long since faded, but the lesson was etched into his bones like a brand. He took a deep breath, pushed open the VIP room door, and followed Ahua into the VIP room.

"Hello Mr. Chen, I am..."

"I know who you are."

Without looking up, Chen Shirong spoke in a mix of Teochew and Malay: "Last year you injured my cousin in New Port."

He suddenly pointed the chip at Fly's left cheek: "Damn it, that scar is still there."

The air froze instantly. Fly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw two bodyguards reaching for their waists.

He remembered what Ahua had taught him—when guests bring up old grudges, apologize first and then change the subject.

"Brother Hua, when did I ever injure his cousin?"

The fly, puzzled, whispered to Ahua for an answer.

Ah Hua replied calmly, "Boss Chen is the president of the Malaysian Clan Association. All the younger members of the Chen family who have paid homage to him are his cousins!"
"It's alright, just handle it!"

“Back then, I was young and impetuous!” Fly immediately understood and presented the cigar box with both hands.

“Mr. Chen, this is a special Cuban edition, packaged in a rubberwood box from your hometown.”

When the other party didn't answer, he added, "I heard Mrs. Chen has recently started collecting jade? There's a private auction at Wynn..."

Chen Shirong suddenly burst into laughter, revealing his gold-plated canine teeth: "Young man, do you think you can smooth things over by asking around?"

He pulled out a photo showing Fly getting into a bar fight years ago: "Damn it, my cousin is in a wheelchair now!"

The fly's fingernail dug into his palm. Just as he was wondering what to do, Ahua walked in carrying a cup of Pu'er tea: "Boss Chen, the child is just being silly."

He personally poured the tea, saying, "That bar in the new port area has now been converted into a Chaozhou restaurant, and your cousin owns 30% of the shares."

The teacup tapped softly on the mahogany table.

Chen Shirong squinted at Ahua, then suddenly switched to Malay and said something. Wu Ying only understood the words "rubber plantation" and "price," and cold sweat had already seeped out on his back.

"Fly, go get the documents from my safe."

Ahua remained expressionless: "The third compartment, the green folder."

Five minutes later, when Fly returned, Chen Shirong was patting Ahua on the shoulder and laughing. He handed over the document with both hands, which turned out to be a land title transfer document for a rubber plantation in Malaysia.

"Young people have a lot to learn."

Chen Shirong took the document and suddenly said in broken Cantonese, "For example, we Malays hate it when someone hands us things with their left hand."

In the elevator back to the office, Fly stared at his trembling left hand.

Ahua suddenly asked, "Do you know why you were chosen to receive him?"

"do not know!"

"Because your father is also from Chaozhou."

Ahua pressed the button for the top floor: "Chen Shirong will always be a little soft-hearted towards his fellow townsmen. If all else fails, you can just acknowledge him as your uncle!"

As the elevator doors opened, he tossed a Malay language crash course to him: "The Somchai family from Thailand will be here in two weeks. Don't mess this up again."

In the days that followed, the flies absorbed Southeast Asian culture like a sponge.

He learned to use his right hand to receive and hand business cards, remembered that Thais consider it taboo to touch the top of one's head, and even memorized the genealogies of the sultans of various states in Malaysia.

One night, a casino cleaner saw him kneeling in the VIP room practicing the Thai prayer gesture, muttering incantations.

A week later, the Somchai family's yacht docked. Fly stood on the pier, watching the young man in the linen suit walk down the gangway.

The Bodhi seed prayer beads on the other person's wrist gleamed with a dark red luster in the sunlight.

"Sawadika."

The fly greeted us in the Thai he had just learned, pressing his palms together and raising them to his nose: "Khun Chawat (Welcome)."

Somchai Narathikorn was visibly taken aback, and as he returned the greeting, his fingertip touched his brow: "You speak Thai?"

"I only know a little bit."

When the fly led the way, it deliberately walked on the left side of the guest—this was something it had read in its materials, as Thai nobles were accustomed to being protected on the left by their attendants.

Before getting into the car, he suddenly took out a small wooden box from his pocket: "I heard you like fighting fish?"

The young nobleman's eyes lit up instantly. Inside the box was a half-moon betta fish worth HK$100,000, its azure tail fins resembling a peacock's tail. The fishmonger, who had specially learned feeding techniques from a fishmonger in Bangkok the previous night, was now counting the key water temperature points in Thai, his pronunciation clumsy but his sincerity evident.

"interesting."

Song Chai suddenly asked in English, "Do you know why I came to Macau?"

The fly's heart raced. The records showed that this heir had just lost three of the family's fishing boats, and was at his most rebellious.

He lowered his voice: "I heard you have some gambling debts at the yacht club in Phuket?"

The other person's expression changed drastically, and Fly immediately added, "Willie Hall has private helicopters that can take you to the gambling ship on the high seas tonight."

He handed over a cashed check: "Mr. Songchai, you can play first, and pay me back if you win."

In the early hours of that night, when Song Chai returned to Macau with 20 million chips, Fly was teaching him how to play Cantonese Pai Gow.

The young man suddenly asked, "Why are you helping me?"

"Because your father sponsored the Chaozhou Association thirty years ago."

The fly quoted what Ahua taught him and pointed at the betta fish: "And we all have things we love to protect."

The ability to lie through one's teeth is something every junket operator must master.

The fly didn't know what he had to protect; all he knew was that Songchai was the first heir to his family's business.

Often, the fly actually envied these young noblemen.

They all have a good father; they were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.

They seem to be born to enjoy life, never having to endure the hardships and coldness of life, effortlessly obtaining everything they dream of.

But while envious, the fly couldn't help but feel fortunate.

If Ho Yiu-chung hadn't found himself at the Mong Kok billiards hall last year, and if he hadn't had an older brother who had always stood by him, where would he be now?

Selling fish balls in Mong Kok? Imprisoned in Stanley? Or perhaps lying dead in the street?
The fly couldn't understand it, but he figured one thing out—

If you want to be prominent in public, you will inevitably suffer in private. It is very important to understand your own position!
(End of this chapter)