Eclipsed Aces: The Unseen Calculus of Fortune

Chapter II: The Calculus of Tomorrow

That hand utterly shattered my will. I staggered out of the casino like a soulless automaton, wandering aimlessly along Lisboa Road. I felt suffocated—so much so that I could hardly breathe—so I loosened my tie and unfastened the first button of my shirt.

A few cleaners in green vests swept the street, oblivious to my presence. In Macau, there are far too many broken souls like mine—so many that they no longer stir even the faintest trace of sympathy, pity, or concern; they aren’t worth lifting their gaze from their brooms.

The early summer pre-dawn was bitterly cold. A damp, salt-laden sea breeze rushed through my open collar, rousing me slightly. I sensed someone calling from behind, yet I kept moving. Macau is a small place; from the Lisboa Casino to the seafront takes barely ten minutes.

And upon reaching the sea, I found release—a complete, utter deliverance. In Macau, many who have lost everything find their final liberation in this way. With one leap, they can cease the frantic scramble to recoup their funds, no longer face the helpless, tear-streaked faces of their wives and children at home, unburden themselves of crushing guilt and psychological torment, and never again dread each dealt card or the menacing threats of the chip runners. I, too, felt that release.

I trudged on, until a pair of hands gripped my shoulder, forcing me to halt. I turned to see the unremarkable face of Du Fanghu.

“Are you… heading back to Hong Kong?” she asked.

I knew she was also from Hong Kong. In days past, we had shared the ferry a few times—the ones running between Hong Kong and Macau every half-hour. In truth, many sharks have their own day jobs and only frequent the casinos on weekends; like most of us, we have all taken that ferry.

Every shark, to some degree, possesses the ability to read another’s soul—and she was no exception. I dared not meet her gaze, so I lowered my head. “No…I’m not going anywhere.”

After a brief silence, she firmly pulled me back, chattering continuously to distract me—a tactic commonly employed by her and most sharks at the table. “Very well, if you’re not going anywhere, then let’s go get something to eat and sleep it off. Staying up all night wears you down—I’m exhausted, and so are you… I know you’re feeling miserable right now, but every card player has his down days. No one wins forever; not Doyle Brunson, not Stu Ungar, and certainly not you. But regardless, life must go on. The weekend is only half over, and tonight you still have a chance. I believe you can win it back…”

Before I knew it, I was reluctantly dragged along until we once again reached the familiar entrance of the Lisboa Casino. Yet she persisted, “Luckily, I have several complimentary room vouchers for Lisboa. Let’s get a room, have a bite, and rest. When you awaken, you can forget all that happened last night. I know you’ve lost everything, but don’t worry—I have some funds of my own. I’m in no rush to use them, so you needn’t hurry to repay me. I can wait until you win.”

Just as I was about to step into the casino, I summoned the courage to interrupt her. “No, thank you.”

I jerked my arm away, but she only paused briefly before seizing my arm once more. A hint of irritation now marred her previously calm and gentle tone.

“Ah Xin, I don’t wish to bicker with you on the street. But don’t forget—you still owe me money. I want to discuss that debt with you now; I need you to listen to me.”

Her unwavering tone defeated any protest I might have mustered. I had no choice but to abandon my own thoughts, hang my head, and follow her obediently. We walked in silence until we reached the hotel room.

The blast of cold air from the air conditioner washed over my face, dispelling the numbness in my body and mind as weariness began to overtake me, and the aching in my ribs and back returned. Confined once again in this stifling room after being outside, I felt suffocated, and my weary legs could no longer bear my weight. I collapsed onto a bed, tossed my tie aside, unbuttoned the second button of my shirt, and gasped for air like an asthmatic.

Du Fanghu moved to the phone and asked, “What would you like to eat?”

“Anything,” I replied.

I saw her frown slightly, but she said little more. Instead, she picked up the phone, dialed, and spoke, “Please send two orders of the breakfast called ‘Anything’ to Room 3016. Thank you.”

She carried out every action as if this complimentary room were her own home. Then she sat on another bed, casually kicked off a pair of black high heels, and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “I’ve been watching you, you know… You play so conservatively—only entering the pot pre-flop when you have a real premium hand, playing just two or three hands an hour. You seldom steal the pot, rarely go all in, and almost never commit fully before the river. Every night, you win only twenty to thirty thousand; that amounts to merely thirty to fifty thousand per weekend. You keep a low profile, seemingly intent on avoiding attention…”

I stared at the ceiling, silent.

“But we all know your skills at playing and reading cards are exceptional—arguably the best in all of Macau. No one wishes to share a table with you…”

“You play well too… your style—” When she paused, I felt compelled to add. I struggled for the right expression, eventually settling on an uncommon word, “Your style is uninhibited.”

I detected a trace of delight in her tone. “So, you’ve noticed me too?”

“Yes. In this world, every woman is like a rare coin; no matter how many common coins surround her, she catches the eye at first glance.”

“A rare coin…” Her response seemed to disappoint her briefly, but she quickly shifted the subject. “All right, let me continue. Your skill is undeniable, but the river is beyond control. At the table, low-probability events happen all too often—even the world’s gambling king, Doyle Brunson, is frequently undone by the river…”

Now that my breathing had eased and having spoken a word, I found it easier to continue. Irritated, I interrupted, “Yes, I know. When I first learned the game, I read my very first book on strategy by Dan Harrington. On its first page, he proclaimed that Texas Hold’em is a game for warriors—but even more so for the fortunate! At every hour, in every corner of the world, regardless of language or skin color, people continuously hit low-probability cards on the river—and are damned if that river card doesn’t knock them down. This happens at least a hundred thousand times a day, with money lost to these unlikely river cards amounting to over one hundred million dollars daily!”

“Since you understand that, why not lift your spirits? Remind yourself that you are neither the first nor will you be the last. Yes, you lost one hand, but that is all there is to it. You merely lost twenty thousand; tonight, you can win that back from those fish. This is but one weekend—you have another, and another after that. The money you must win far exceeds this sum…”

“There will be no next time,” I murmured softly.

“What did you say?” she asked, astonished.

“I said… there will be no next time.” My tone was flat, as though recounting someone else’s tale, “By ten o’clock, I must repay Adao HK$150,000, and right now, I have not a cent to offer.”

“HK$150,000… How could you even consider borrowing from Adao? Don’t you know what sort of man he is? The biggest bloodsucker in all of Macau!”

“I know him better than you do.” Just then, the doorbell rang. She slipped into her slippers, went to answer the door, and accepted two servings of char siu bao from the attendant. When she returned, I continued, “I haven’t taken a single penny from him, yet the promissory note bears my name, along with a copy of my ID!”

As soon as those words left my mouth, I felt an immense weight lift off me, as if I had cast down a burden of a thousand pounds.

“Enough, let’s not discuss this any further.” She suddenly raised her hand to stop me. “Now, let’s have breakfast.”

She devoured her meal heartily, while I sat staring at the food, devoid of any appetite. She finished quickly, then did something that astonished me.

She reached into her handbag and produced a bundle of banknotes, HK$1,000 a piece, tied together with a rubber band—I knew it totaled HK$100,000. Then she emptied every pocket and compartment of her bag, revealing yet another small heap: notes of HK$1, HK$100, HK$150… Various denominations were scattered haphazardly across the bed, and she began to meticulously sort and smooth out every crease, categorizing them by value.

I realized what she intended, yet I could scarcely believe what I was witnessing.

“Why… why are you helping me?”

“I said, every person has their day of ruin. I am no exception. When I lose everything, what I desire most is for someone to come to my side and hand me a ticket back to Hong Kong.” She continued to count the bills intently, not looking at me. “And you—you are the only one who has ever done that for me.”

Had I ever done so? I couldn’t recall. I strained to summon my memories. As Du Fanghu counted the money, my thoughts drifted back to earlier days…