"What? Even the rich from the Middle East have a cowardly side?" the Asian boy chuckled as he looked at Du Famen, who was holding his cards cautiously.
"I'm just here to have fun. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know," Du Famen shrugged, unfazed by the provocation. Of course, that line had originally come from Jiang Hai. When Du Famen had once sought Jiang Hai's investment in Dubai, Jiang Hai had said that more than once.
Hearing this, the Asian boy laughed and casually tossed $10 million into the pot.
Seeing him raise, the white man folded his hand without hesitation, leaving only the black man to follow.
When the final card was revealed, the Asian boy's smile grew even wider. Holding two cards in his hand, he looked smugly at the black man across from him, though his gaze frequently drifted to Pra Walton, sitting nearby.
In his mind, no woman could resist a man with money. His arrogance was almost tangible.
"Just the two of us left. How about we up the stakes? Twenty million?" he said confidently.
The black man smiled and calmly placed $20 million into the pot. The Asian boy followed suit without hesitation.
Then came the showdown. The Asian boy's hand was strong—an ace, two jacks, and two kings laid out on the table. In his hand, he held a jack and a king, making a full house: kings over jacks. Usually, such a hand was enough to guarantee a win. He smiled triumphantly and gestured to the dealer for the pot.
But when the dealer flipped the black man's cards, the smile on his face froze.
The black man's hand was a full house too—three aces and two lower cards. Despite the Asian boy's high kings, the black man's aces topped him.
In an instant, the Asian boy's face turned an ugly shade of green.
More than $30 million had just vanished.
"The money's mine," the black man said, flashing a mouthful of dazzling white teeth. After giving the Asian boy a contemptuous glance, he signaled for the dealer to push the mountain of chips his way.
"Wow, you guys really play big. Over $30 million in one hand... you could burn through $100 million in no time," Jiang Hai said, visibly stunned. These people played ruthlessly—if he sat with them all night, he'd probably end up in debt. Thankfully, he had no particular addiction to gambling.
"Before you came, the games were much smaller. The biggest hand was only around $3 million," Du Famen chuckled in response.
Following Du Famen's gaze, Jiang Hai looked at the Asian boy again.
It was obvious—this guy was trying to show off in front of Pra Walton. Unfortunately, his attempt had backfired spectacularly. Not only had he failed to impress her, but he had also lost over $30 million in the process. His pride—and his wallet—had taken a serious hit.
"Well, the first round's over. Let's keep playing," the boy said, pretending to be composed. He took a long sip from his glass, threw in another $100,000 chip, but this time, he avoided looking directly at Pra Walton.
Clearly, the sting of his earlier failure still lingered—and losing that much money hurt far more than his pride.
"Who are these people, anyway?" Jiang Hai asked Du Famen in a low voice.
"The white guy is Christian Balfat. He's from California and the third-largest individual shareholder in Google and Facebook. He's well-connected in high society, but he's more of a playboy than a power broker. Still, he's on good terms with just about everyone," Du Famen explained quietly. "The black man is Afatrio Cames. He used to be a gangster in New York but left that life over a decade ago. Now he owns a major security firm and is the second-largest shareholder in Blackwater International. He probably has the least money among the group, but he's the one you really don't want to mess with. Luckily, he's disciplined and low-key."
Hearing that the black man had a gangster background, Jiang Hai immediately tagged him mentally as someone best kept at a distance.
"As for the Asian guy—he's Korean. His name's Li Zhihao, and he's the son of the current head of the Samsung Group," Du Famen said with a faint smile.
Notably, Du Famen used the fewest words when introducing Li Zhihao, clearly suggesting he didn't think much of him.
The truth was, there was a stark difference between Eastern and Western wealthy elites.
In the West, especially in America, once your wealth reached a certain level, you could influence national politics. People like Bill Gates weren't just billionaires; their words often carried more weight than a president's.
But in Eastern countries like Korea, Japan, or China, the rich were still ultimately under political control. Wealth without political backing was unstable. Even the richest man could be toppled if he fell out of favor with those in power.
It was the difference between a "gold standard" society and an "official standard" society. No matter how capable or rich someone was, when the government spoke, even the most powerful individuals had to obey.
In short, having money in places like China or Russia didn't guarantee true security—power did.
Even though Japan and Korea weren't exactly the same as China, their rich still didn't enjoy the same untouchable arrogance as American billionaires.
For Koreans, Li Zhihao was a huge figure. But for Du Famen and the others at the table, he was just another guest—not someone to curry favor with.
Of course, Li Zhihao himself didn't seem to realize this. He acted like he was the main character tonight.
In reality, the person with the most real power at the table was Pra Walton, sitting quietly next to Jiang Hai. She represented the Walton family—and Walmart—the world's largest corporation. That was no small thing.
Meanwhile, Li Zhihao, despite his bravado, was far from being a match for these seasoned players.
When the stakes were low—winning or losing two or three million—the others humored him. But when he insisted on pushing things higher, he was asking for trouble.
In the third hand alone, Li Zhihao lost another $20 million. The $100 million he had started with was now down to less than $50 million.
By the seventh hand, he was down to just $30 million.
Jiang Hai watched, amused, as Li Zhihao's face grew more and more flushed. It was clear he was getting addicted to the chase, desperate to win it all back.
In the eleventh hand, Christian Balfat baited him with a few casual words, and Li Zhihao foolishly went all-in with the rest of his chips.
The outcome was predictable.
These veterans wouldn't push the stakes unless they were sure of winning.
When the cards were revealed, Li Zhihao's face turned pale.
Despite being the sole heir to the Samsung empire, Li Zhihao was only twenty-two years old—two years younger than Jiang Hai—and the family business was full of rivals eager to see him stumble.
While $100 million wasn't much to Samsung, it was enough to get him a serious scolding back home. Fear of that reprimand fueled his desperation to win it back.
Just as he was about to request another $100 million credit from the dealer, a bodyguard-like figure standing behind him leaned in and whispered something into his ear.
Gradually, the redness in his eyes faded.
"Forget it. I'm just unlucky today. Consider that $100 million my treat," Li Zhihao said with forced cheer as he patted the table and got up. He tried to maintain a carefree façade as he prepared to leave.
But after walking a few steps, he suddenly turned back and approached Pra Walton.
"I think you look bored sitting here. Why don't we head downstairs for a drink?" he said smoothly, making a graceful invitation.
"I suggest you see an ophthalmologist. I already have a date," Pra Walton replied coolly.
"Oh? I'm sure your companion wouldn't mind," Li Zhihao sneered, glancing disdainfully at Jiang Hai. He had overheard Du Famen's earlier introduction and assumed Jiang Hai was just another insignificant Asian face—someone he didn't need to take seriously.
(To be continued...)