Huayu: A master director who debuted as a singer

The face in the mirror had high cheekbones, a dull complexion, and a hairy black mole on its chin.

Zheng Hui reached out and touched his cheek, his fingertips touching a special skin wax, a basic makeup technique.

By using highlights and shadows to alter the visual structure of the skeleton, and adding some filler, even his own mother wouldn't recognize him as Zheng Hui.

He opened his mouth and stuffed two wads of cotton into the inside of his cheeks.

Her cheeks puffed up instantly, and her originally slender jawline disappeared, turning into a swollen, round face.

Zheng Hui picked up his non-prescription glasses from the table and put them on, then added two more layers of shoe inserts to his shoes.

He stood up and walked around the room twice.

His steps were somewhat sluggish, and his back was slightly hunched, like a greasy middle-aged man.

The director system in his mind not only gave him filming skills, but also some makeup and styling abilities. Combined with his acting skills, he also had the ability to create characters.

Now, he is a down-on-his-luck middle-aged man addicted to gambling on football.

He opened the drawer and took out a stack of Hong Kong dollars. (Hong Kong dollars are also commonly used in Macau.)

This is half of his current net worth, 26,000 yuan, and the other half is still in the bank.

Although the documentary in my mind clearly records the result of each game, even the time of the goal is accurate to the second.

But Zheng Hui didn't dare to gamble.

What if the butterfly effect happens? What if this little butterfly flaps its wings and deflects the shooter's shot off target?

Keep half of your capital, so even if you lose it all, you still have the funds to make a comeback.

Stability is the top priority.

Zheng Hui picked up an old canvas bag, stuffed the money inside, and went downstairs.

……

At the Macau Jockey Club betting center, Zheng Hui blended into the crowd, inconspicuous at all.

He squeezed into a window where there weren't many people.

The clerk behind the counter didn't even look up, her hands flying across the keyboard: "What do you want to buy?"

Scotland vs. Brazil, correct score: 1-2.

Zheng Hui's voice was hoarse. He used his body control to lower his voice, making him sound no different from a middle-aged man who often smokes.

The employee stopped what he was doing and looked up at him.

Brazil is a strong favorite to win the championship, and countless people bet on Brazil to win, but not many dare to bet on a precise score of 1 to 2.

"How many?"

"Five thousand."

The clerk took the money, the money counter beeped for a while, and the printer spat out a sheet of thermal paper. (Thermal paper was very popular in the 90s; it was available at online gambling outlets in Macau.)

Zheng Hui took the lottery ticket, glanced at the odds and betting amounts, and turned to leave. He didn't spend all his money at this betting station.

Once outside, he hailed a taxi and headed straight for another betting station in the Royal District.

Same outfit, same betting method, only this time the score was different.

Morocco vs. Norway, 2-2.

This is a huge upset, with incredibly high odds. Zheng Hui only bet two thousand yuan.

Such high-odds bets are easy to attract the attention of bookmakers if you place too many bets. Two thousand yuan is just right, a safe line that won't attract attention.

After visiting several official betting outlets in Macau, Zheng Hui still had several thousand yuan left.

He glanced at the time, then turned and walked toward the gate.

……

After crossing the border, compared to the orderly Macau, Zhuhai in 98 seemed more vigorous and full of a rough-and-tumble atmosphere.

The woks at the roadside food stalls roared, motorcycles weaved through the crowds, and horns blared deafeningly.

Zheng Hui turned into a small alley next to Lianhua Road.

Deep in the alley, a small shop with a sign for a tobacco, liquor, and tea shop was lit up. Behind the counter sat a bald man, sucking on a purple clay teapot.

Seeing Zheng Hui enter, the bald man didn't even lift his eyelids: "Buying cigarettes or alcohol?"

Zheng Hui walked to the counter and tapped his fingers three times on the glass surface.

"Ah Biao introduced me; I'm betting on the game."

The bald man paused, put down the teapot, and glanced at Zheng Hui.

Zheng Hui now looks like a puffy middle-aged man, appearing honest and unassuming, yet with a hint of the urgency typical of a gambler.

The bald man pulled a notebook and a pen from under the counter and threw them on the counter.

"Do you understand the rules?"

Zheng Hui picked up a pen: "Understood. If we win, you'll take 10% of the winnings, and we'll settle in cash."

"Twenty percent." The bald man held up two fingers: "Things are tight lately, betting across the sea is too risky, so the delivery fee has gone up."

Zheng Hui paused for a moment, unsure whether the other party was trying to rip off a customer or genuinely raising the price, but he didn't try to bargain.

These underground betting outlets cater specifically to mainland Chinese customers. Some mainlanders can't go to Macau but still want to gamble on sports, so they have no choice but to go through them.

They took the money, arranged for people to carry the money to Macau to place bets, and then carried it back to cash out the winnings.

Although they take a large cut, they have a good reputation and pay cash quickly without needing to go through bank statements, so there's no trace of them.

This information came from listening to veteran gamblers at some betting points.

"Okay, 20%."

Zheng Hui lowered his head and wrote down several matches and scores on the paper.

Italy vs. Chile, 2-2.

Cameroon vs. Austria, 1-1.

Both are draws, and the odds aren't low.

He took two thousand yuan out of his bag and put it on the table.

The bald man counted the money, tore off the slip of paper with the betting slip written on it, stamped it with a red seal, and handed half of it to Zheng Hui.

"If you win, come collect your money tomorrow night. No exceptions."

Zheng Hui put away the order form, turned around and left.

Over the next few days, Zheng Hui wandered between Zhuhai and Macau.

He changes his appearance every day; sometimes he looks like a nouveau riche with a gold chain, sometimes like a migrant worker in a vest, and sometimes like a salesman in a suit.

He discovered four or five underground betting sites in Zhuhai. He would only bet a few thousand yuan at each site, and stop after winning ten or twenty thousand yuan.

These big players just thought he was a lucky retail investor, and nobody paid any attention to him.

After all, there are too many lucky people during the World Cup, and some people even win hundreds of thousands of dollars by sheer luck. Zheng Hui's little money is like throwing it into the water and not even making a sound.

……

Two weeks later, Zheng Hui sat on the floor of his rented room. The curtains were drawn tightly, and only a table lamp was on.

The ground in front of me was covered with a thick layer of banknotes: Hong Kong dollars, Portuguese patacas, and Renminbi. They were a riot of colors, piled up like a small mountain.

Zheng Hui held a calculator in his hand, his fingers flying across the keys.

"One million eight thousand..."

After he finished calculating, he threw the calculator aside. Including the principal, his total assets had exceeded 1.1 million.

The first phase goal has been achieved.

This method of spreading out bets and gradually increasing the stakes, though tiring, is stable.

Nobody knew that the fat man, the thin man, and the tall man who had been appearing at various betting stations these past few days were actually the same person.

Zheng Hui lay on the pile of money, grabbed a handful of banknotes, and threw them into the air. The banknotes rustled down, covering his face. The smell of the ink was better than any perfume.

"That's about it."

Zheng Hui sat up, neatly arranged the stacks of money, and put them into his travel bag.

Now that I have enough capital, I don't need to work so hard anymore, and I don't need to buy correct score bets anymore.

Betting on winning or losing may have low odds, but it has the advantage of allowing for a large amount of capital.

If you bet a million on Brazil to win, people might give you a second glance, but they won't think there's anything wrong with you.

But if you bet a million on Brazil to lose 1-2, you'll be on the front page the next day, and might even be blacklisted by the betting company.