Chapter 075: Chaos on the Field

This story is purely fictional.

Five minutes into the match, though he didn’t have high hopes for the Dahe team, watching the live broadcast, he saw the Dahe players fighting with everything they had. He quickly placed bets on Dahe: ten thousand, twenty thousand, thirty thousand, forty thousand—four consecutive wagers of ten thousand each, all on Dahe, and at high odds of 1.05. The potential winnings showed forty-two thousand.

The stands at the sports center were packed to capacity. Shouts of “Dahe, go! Dahe, go!” thundered through the arena, deafening in their intensity.

Zhao Ming’s excitement mounted with the surging cheers, and sure enough, the cheerleaders made a difference—Dahe scored. Watching the live score update online, seeing the animated goal and hearing the sound cue, he leapt up, waving his arms, clenching his fists and pacing in place, visibly tense.

With this goal in hand, he felt a surge of exhilaration—it hadn’t been easy. A single forty-thousand bet was unprecedented for him, and with Dahe in the lead, it mattered all the more. With Dahe given a draw and a half-ball handicap, even a tie would win him half the bet.

His emotions swung wildly. After Dahe’s goal, it was as if they forgot how to play—the Tomato team took complete control of the ball. Zhao Ming was a bundle of nerves, his anxious expression almost comical. At halftime, he felt as if his heart were being wrung.

The second half began, and Dahe steadied themselves, calming the nerves of their supporters. Zhao Ming focused on nothing but willing time to pass faster. His impatience was palpable—why was time crawling so slowly?

In the eighty-third minute, the score was tied.

His heart plummeted into a frozen abyss; Zhao Ming shivered. He clasped his hands together, praying desperately for divine intervention. He knew there were still seven minutes left, and with stoppage time, at least ten minutes remained—a period that, in Chinese football, had often spelled disaster. If history repeated itself, he’d suffer huge losses. He dared not think further.

With six minutes left, a Dahe player committed a foul in the Tomato team’s penalty area, conceding a penalty.

Zhao Ming prayed, hoping the Tomato team would miss, or he’d be left with only half his winnings.

Just as he closed his eyes, chaos erupted in the stadium; thick smoke billowed from the stands, and he heard the commentator describing the scene. Fans had stormed the pitch.

Police officers armed with electric batons rushed in, swinging at the rioters. Some fans collapsed, writhing on the ground in apparent agony.

As more and more fans surged onto the pitch, the chaos became unmanageable.

The turmoil lasted half an hour before the police managed to round up the troublemakers and take them to the Dahe police station.

Because the match had been interrupted for so long, the result was declared void, and a rematch would be scheduled for another day.

Zhao Ming, who had been so elated, saw the words “Match void, bet canceled” appear on his betting page. The forty thousand he’d almost won evaporated into thin air.

He was overwhelmed by disappointment, tempted to smash the television in front of him. Speechless, he sat dumbfounded as the live feed cut out, the commentator’s voice a distant murmur he couldn’t hear. Only three words echoed in his mind: “It’s over.” He collapsed onto his bed.

~~~~~~

At the Zhizhen Sports Bar, some bettors were furious that a perfectly good match had been canceled, all bets voided.

“What the hell is this? Even if Tomato scored the penalty, those of us who bet on Dahe would still win half! Now the whole thing’s scrapped, and we get nothing? This is infuriating!” one of them shouted.

Unable to contain their anger, a few bettors confronted Leng Junfeng at the bar. “Chief Leng, these accounts were provided by you. When we lose, we pay up without a word, but now, when we finally have a winning bet, you cancel the result? Isn’t this highway robbery? You need to give us an explanation.”

“All your accounts have a clear agreement,” Leng Junfeng replied. “It clearly states that if a match is declared void, all bets are canceled. No one wins, no one loses.”

The bettors looked at each other, faces full of dissatisfaction.

One of them muttered, “Let’s face it, we have only ourselves to blame. Who else can we blame? We begged to play, after all. From now on, I’m done with this damn game. Damn it!” With that, he stormed out.

Watching the troublemaker leave, Leng Junfeng tried to smooth things over. “Look at him—don’t be fooled. He says he’ll quit now, but give it some time, he’ll be begging me to get back in. Do you think he can really quit? So you all keep playing. When there’s good news, I, Leng Junfeng, won’t forget you.”

“You said it, Leng Junfeng! We’ll see. Let’s watch, let’s watch—the Super League is about to start!” The room erupted in shouts.

~~~~~~

After completing his assignment, Xiao Jin received a call from the chief. “Well done, you handled your task admirably. Once you receive the payment from our contact, release those troublemakers arrested at the stadium yesterday. When that’s done, get on with tailing Wu Zhengzhe—I’ve heard he’s preparing to head to Hexi.”

“Yes, Chief,” Xiao Jin answered.

Some bettors, seeing their cooked goose fly away, couldn’t contain their anger and demanded an explanation from the bookie. But the reply was unequivocal: the terms on the betting site clearly stated that all bets on abandoned matches would be void.

Zhao Ming’s frustration was impossible to dispel. He called Xiao Jin, who gave him the same answer. After all, this was an underground betting market—he had to play by its rules. Where could he possibly appeal? The bookies even had the nerve to call it “honor among thieves.”

“What honor? It’s nothing but thieves’ rules,” Zhao Ming snapped at Xiao Jin.

Xiao Jin laughed. “Hey, I don’t make the rules. Yelling at me won’t change anything.”

Zhao Ming realized he was right. After all, no one had forced him into this game; he had begged to join. Now he was stuck—he couldn’t quit, or he’d lose everything he’d already put in. The pain was something he’d have to endure. Despite everything, he still looked forward to future bets.

Failures had become too many to count, and Zhao Ming felt a growing sense of crisis. His income could no longer cover his expenses. Thankfully, Xiao Jin had helped him secure several credit cards, now all piled on his desk except for the one from the Bank of Communications.

He was in the process of activating his cards, sitting at his desk, carefully dialing activation numbers. Xiao Jin’s home phone was listed as his emergency contact. Following the instructions on the card, he completed each step, recording passwords, statement dates, and payment deadlines in his notebook.

The collector had already called twice to demand payment. Zhao Ming told him he had no cash left, just a few credit cards.

The collector told Zhao Ming to cash out the credit cards and repay him.

He gave Zhao Ming the address of a leather goods store for cashing out, noting they took a ten percent handling fee.

At the Duhau Corporation office building, the head of the finance department was on the phone with a leather goods dealer. “You must keep at least a million yuan in cash on hand every day. When they cash out, let them pay us back. If you run short, come to our finance department for more. Lately, a lot of gamblers are repaying this way—they’re all out of cash. Now that the first batch of credit cards is ready, just reserve ten percent of the transaction as the fee.”

Following the collector’s instructions, Zhao Ming arrived at a leather goods store called Italian Leather. The storefront was small, lined with women’s handbags—plenty of luxury brands like LV and Versace. The colorful bags made the walls look vibrant.

At the cashier, a large basket overflowed with bundles of cash. A long line of people waited to swipe their cards, the queue stretching out onto the street—dozens of them.

Everyone in line looked sickly and gaunt, their eyes unfocused, pupils glazed as if staring at something you couldn’t see.

One man tried several cards without success. The cashier was impatient. “Your cards are maxed out—last time, there was no limit left. If you swipe, you have to repay within the bank’s deadline or your card will be frozen, you know?”

“I know, but I can’t remember which card still has a limit. This last one should still have some.” He handed over the final card.

“I remember now—this card still has thirteen thousand left. Please run it for that amount,” the man mumbled, dazed.

(Serial to be continued)