Reborn As A Doomsday Villainess-Chapter 35: Just her luck

She had ¥500,000 at her disposal. It wasn’t much in places like these, but it was enough to get her a seat. And once she was inside, Lingquan would handle the rest.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "So, tell me—how exactly are you planning to help me cheat?"

The black cat gave her an exaggerated stretch. [Oh, simple things. Card counting, slight probability shifts, maybe nudging the dealer’s hand if they get too lucky. The usual.]

Qingran’s lips twitched. "You make it sound so easy."

[Because it is,] Lingquan purred. [With me, you’re practically a goddess of fortune. The only real challenge is not making it obvious.]

The car slowed as they neared their destination. The gambling den wasn’t marked by flashing signs or gaudy decorations. Instead, it was tucked between sleek glass skyscrapers, its entrance a discreet, polished doorway guarded by two suited men.

Qingran adjusted her coat as she stepped out. The air smelled faintly of rain, though the streets were dry. She approached the entrance with confidence, her expression cool and indifferent.

One of the guards looked her over. "Membership?"

"I’m a guest of Mr. Fang."

It was a lie. But Fang Ming was a well-known businessman who frequented these kinds of places. More importantly, he was the type who brought along beautiful women without question.

The guard barely hesitated before nodding, stepping aside to let her in.

Qingran’s smirk deepened as she walked past.

[That was smooth,] Lingquan mused.

"I know."

The interior of the gambling den was pure luxury, plush carpets, crystal chandeliers, and a low hum of conversation mingled with the sound of shuffling cards and rolling dice.

Men in tailored suits sat around velvet-lined tables, whiskey glasses in hand. Women in expensive dresses leaned close, their laughter was light and practiced designed to rope and pull men in.

Qingran moved through the crowd effortlessly, eyes scanning the tables until she found one that suited her purpose—a high-stakes baccarat game.

Perfect!.

She took a seat, sliding a stack of bills forward as the dealer glanced at her. "Buy-in?"

"¥500,000," she said smoothly.

The dealer nodded, exchanging her money for chips.

Lingquan settled against her neck, his voice a soft whisper. [Ready?]

Qingran’s fingers brushed over the cool weight of the chips.

"Oh, I was born ready."

The first few rounds were slow. Qingran lost small amounts here and there, purposefully making mistakes to blend in. She let her expressions shift—mild frustration, cautious hope, the perfect performance of someone caught in the game.

The other players barely paid her any mind. That was good.

By the time she started winning, it was gradual, subtle—just enough to keep the table’s interest without drawing suspicion.

Lingquan worked quietly, unseen.

[Avoid the banker’s bet this round.]

[Go all in next hand.]

[The dealer is about to swap decks—bet lower now.]

The winnings started stacking up.

¥800,000.

¥1.2 million.

¥2.4 million.

The men at the table watched her now. Some with amusement, others with mild irritation.

Good.

She was careful, never making it seem too easy. She lost a few rounds, laughed lightly, sipped at a drink she barely touched.

By the time her balance hit ¥5 million, the tension had thickened.

One of the men across from her, an older gentleman with silver hair and a sharp gaze, studied her closely. "You’ve got quite the streak, miss."

Qingran gave a slow, knowing smile. "Just lucky, I suppose."

He hummed, unconvinced.

Lingquan tensed slightly. [Careful. He’s suspicious.]

Qingran wasn’t worried. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to get lucky in a single night—she just had to make sure she didn’t overstay her welcome.

She played a few more rounds, deliberately losing a portion of her winnings. By the time she stood up, she had ¥6.2 million.

Enough.

She stretched languidly. "I think I’ll call it a night."

The silver-haired man nodded slowly. "Smart girl."

Qingran only smiled as she collected her chips, walking away without hurry.

Qingran was just about to leave with the cash when a group of men stepped into her path. Their sudden appearance, sharp suits, and watchful gazes sent a warning bell ringing in her mind.

The leader, a broad-shouldered man with neatly combed hair, gave her a polite but firm nod. "Miss, Mr. Fang would like to see you."

Qingran’s grip on the briefcase tightened slightly.

She cursed her luck.

She knew this would come back to bite her.

Mr. Fang wasn’t a stranger—he was the man whose name she had borrowed to get into the casino, claiming she was his person.

Had the real Fang been in that game? Had someone tipped him off?

She kept her expression neutral, tilting her head as if unimpressed. "Oh? And who is Mr. Fang to me?"

The suited man didn’t waver. "If you’re asking that, then you should have thought twice before using his name."

Lingquan, perched lightly on her shoulder, let out a small, amused hum. [Well, that was fast. What now, oh wise one?]

Qingran exhaled quietly. There’s no running from this.

The men weren’t being openly hostile, but their stance made it clear that declining wasn’t an option.

She clicked her tongue lightly and shifted her weight. "Fine. Lead the way."

The leader nodded, stepping aside to let her move first. Two other men fell into place behind her as they led her toward the VIP section.

She walked calmly, keeping her movements unhurried, as if she wasn’t being summoned like some disobedient lackey.

The deeper they went into the casino, the quieter it became. Soon, they reached a private elevator. The man pressed a keycard against the scanner, and the doors slid open.

Qingran stepped inside, the enclosed space pressing in around her as the men joined her.

The ride up was silent, tension settling thickly in the air.

Lingquan yawned. [You could have avoided this, you know. Maybe just once don’t stir trouble wherever you go?]

Trouble found me first, she thought dryly.

When the doors finally opened, they stepped into a private lounge—lavish, dimly lit, with a panoramic view of the city.

And at the center of it all, sitting with a glass of whiskey in hand, was Mr. Fang.

He was younger than she had expected—mid to late twenties, close in age to Feng Yizhou. His tailored suit was slightly undone at the collar, giving him an air of easy confidence. His black hair was slightly tousled, as if he hadn’t bothered fixing it after a long day.

Sharp eyes lifted to meet hers, and the amusement in them was unmistakable.

"So," he said, voice smooth, "I hear I have a new person."