With all eyes glued to him, Ian Song took twenty minutes to crack open the final rough stone. Yet again, he pulled out a piece of top-shelf jade, sending the crowd into a frenzy of gasps, cheers, and wide-eyed envy. In the end, he coolly sold the jade for a whopping 36 million yuan to one of the earlier high rollers.
Today, Ian Song bought a total of nine rough stones. Every single one rose in value when cut, earning him roughly 182 million yuan in profit. He was more than satisfied with the results.
No two ways about it—today, Ian had just created a living legend.
Business cards flew at him from every direction, and Ian accepted them all with a laid-back grin. Someone even threw out a two-million-yuan offer just to have him pick three rough stones for them.
But Ian just flashed a polite smile and turned them down flat.
Just as Ian was about to say his goodbyes, Victor Tai leaned in, nerves showing: "Brother Ian, I’ve got a bad feeling about Howard Jiang. That guy’s not gonna let this slide. How about I call in some backup and we roll out together?"
Ian waved him off. "I get where you’re coming from, but you’re a businessman, not a fighter. Getting mixed up in this mess won’t do you any favors."
Seeing Ian refuse, Victor grew anxious. "Brother, Howard Jiang may have connections everywhere, but he's not all-powerful. I may not be that capable, but if I have to risk it to protect you, I can manage it."
"Thanks, Victor," Ian said, genuine gratitude in his voice. But then his expression sharpened, self-assurance radiating off him. "If I’ve got the guts to slap Howard Jiang’s face in public, you better believe I’ve got ways to protect myself. So really, don’t worry about me. If he’s smart, he’ll stay out of my way. If he’s dumb enough to come after me, I’ll make him wish he’d never been born."
Hearing Ian speak with such confidence, and recalling his miraculous jade-gambling skills, Victor secretly wondered if Brother Ian was actually a true expert with hidden abilities.
"If that's the case, I won't insist, Brother Ian."
After a few more polite words with Victor Tai, Ian Song strode toward the exit of the Jade Gambling Hall.
Inside one of the luxury rooms of the Jade Gambling Hall.
Howard Jiang's advisor, Zac Yang, hurried in and reported, "Mr. Jiang, that Song guy is about to leave."
"Hell yeah!"
Hearing the report, Howard Jiang shot to his feet, his eyes glinting with icy malice. "Tell the boys to stick to him like glue. The second he hits a quiet spot, grab him—no screw-ups."
"Don't worry, Mr. Jiang. I've arranged three teams. Even if that Song guy grew wings, he wouldn't be able to escape!" Zac Yang said confidently.
Howard waved Zac Yang away, but his mind was already working overtime. That punk Ian Song had just pocketed 180 million in a single afternoon—running this whole Jade Gambling Hall for a month barely brought in that kind of cash.
He’d made up his mind: once they snatched Ian and got the money, he’d make sure the kid vanished for good—just another ghost in the wind.
After all, making people disappear was nothing new to him. He felt no psychological burden about it.
The moment Ian stepped out of the Jade Gambling Hall, his senses went on high alert—he could feel eyes boring into him. A cold, mocking smirk tugged at his lips. "Some people just can’t help begging for a beatdown."
He had planned to hail a cab, but immediately changed his mind.
He had barely walked a few steps when a license-plate-less van parked near the hall quietly started up, trailing him from seven or eight meters behind.
At the same time, three young men exited a convenience store beside the hall, falling in behind Ian at a distance of three or four meters.
In addition, a black sedan was parked about ten meters ahead of Ian. Cold eyes stared at him through the window.
After a quick survey, Ian easily identified three separate groups tailing him.
Were all three groups sent by Howard Jiang, or did they come from different factions?
Ian acted as if he hadn't noticed a thing. Instead, he pulled out his phone and made a call.
Eventually, Ian strolled into a stretch of road where the streetlights barely reached. Instantly, the trio tailing him surged forward, blocking his way. At the same time, the van screeched up, doors flying open as more goons spilled out.
Suddenly, everything went black—a burlap sack yanked over his head, fists and boots raining down like a thunderstorm. Ian played along, howling in fake agony and crumpling to the ground.
If Howard Jiang wanted to play dirty, Ian was more than happy to let him dig his own grave. That’s why he’d let himself get 'caught'—he was about to give the guy a lesson he’d never forget.
"Damn, this guy folds like wet paper!"
Seeing Ian collapse, one of the young thugs kicked him disdainfully.
"Enough, San'er, hurry up and get him in the van," the leader ordered.
Immediately, the young men rushed to lift the 'unconscious' Ian into the van, then drove straight out toward the suburbs.
Once the van started moving, the leader pulled out his phone and dialed a number, reporting, "Boss, we've got him."
"Nicely done! Stick to the plan."
On the other end, Zac Yang hung up and quickly went to Howard Jiang's room, excitedly reporting, "Mr. Jiang, they've got him and are taking him to Forestgrove Village."
Hearing this, Howard Jiang couldn't help but look excited. "Get the car ready, we're heading to Forestgrove Village."
Forestgrove Village was a remote settlement over thirty kilometers from Riverstone City. No villagers lived there anymore, so Howard Jiang had simply bought the place.
Whenever Howard Jiang needed to handle something shady, he always did it at Forestgrove Village.
The van drove for over an hour before turning onto a bumpy country road. Including the driver, there were seven people in the van. None of them seemed worried about Ian escaping; after stuffing him into the back, they ignored him and split into two groups to play cards.
About five or six hundred meters behind the van followed the same black sedan from earlier. Using Clairvoyant Vision, Ian saw that there was only one person inside—a man in his early thirties, with a fierce look and a cold, ruthless glint in his eyes.
Judging by the man's aura, Ian determined that he was a martial artist with real skills.
After twenty more minutes bouncing along the rutted road, the van rolled into a ghostly silent village and screeched to a halt in front of a walled compound.
"We’re here! Move it—get this punk inside!" the lead thug barked.
The thugs hurriedly dragged Ian into the courtyard, then tossed him into a room and locked him up.
Bang!
As soon as the reinforced iron door slammed shut, Ian ripped off the burlap sack and stood tall, taking in his surroundings. Only a tiny vent, barely the size of a rice bowl, let in air. No doubt about it—this was Howard Jiang’s secret lair.
He focused, filtering out the noise, and picked up the thugs’ chatter drifting in from outside.
"Hey, Second Brother, word is that guy in there raked in over 180 million today. If we score his cash, how much do you think Mr. Jiang’ll toss our way?" Ian pegged the speaker as San’er, one of the punks.
"With Mr. Jiang's generosity, he'll give at least five million for us brothers to spend."
This time, it was the leader who spoke.
"Five million! That means, if we split it even, we’re looking at over 700k each!" San’er’s voice shot up, practically squealing with excitement.
"Seriously, that’s all you’re aiming for? Seven hundred grand and you’re acting like you hit the jackpot? Stick with Mr. Jiang and keep your head down—one day you’ll be rolling in seven million!" Second Brother scoffed.