Eyes That See All

Chapter 4: Zhao Si the Card Sharp

Zhang Lei kept his mouth shut.

He glanced down at his hand — a pair of nines. Nothing special. On Zhao Si's side, between the three cards on the table and that ace tucked up his sleeve, if he made the swap he could end up with three aces or aces over a high pair.

But Zhao Si hadn't made his move yet.

First round of betting. Baldy put in fifty, the skinny guy fifty, Reflective Vest a hundred. Zhang Lei called at a hundred. Zhao Si matched it, face blank.

Second round. Baldy folded. Skinny folded. Reflective Vest raised to two hundred.

Zhang Lei considered his options. His pair of nines couldn't beat Zhao Si — not if that ace came into play. But winning this hand wasn't the point. He needed to map Zhao Si's rhythm.

"I'm out." Zhang Lei tossed his cards.

Reflective Vest and Zhao Si went head to head. Reflective Vest flipped his cards — a straight. Zhao Si turned his over — three unconnected cards. He shrugged. "Lucky you."

He hadn't swapped.

That ace was still tucked against the inside of his cuff.

Zhang Lei understood now. Zhao Si didn't cheat every hand — he waited for the big pots. When the stakes climbed high enough, when the win actually mattered, that's when the hidden card came out. The rest of the time he played it straight, even losing a few small ones on purpose so the table would think his luck was just average tonight.

Smart.

Over the next three hands Zhang Lei observed. He kept the vision to five-second bursts after each deal — one sweep across everyone's cards and Zhao Si's sleeve, then shut it off immediately. Five seconds was enough.

Hand two: Zhao Si played clean, lost two hundred.

Hand three: Zhao Si played clean, won a hundred fifty.

Hand four: Reflective Vest pulled a flush, got excited, raised twice. The pot swelled to eight hundred. This time, when Zhang Lei's vision swept past Zhao Si's sleeve — the ace was gone.

It was already in his hand.

Zhang Lei hadn't seen the moment of the switch. One or two seconds, a flick of the fingers, and it was done. Fast enough to look like nothing had happened at all.

Zhao Si showed his cards: three aces. He swept the table clean. Reflective Vest's flush was worthless against trips.

"Decent luck tonight." Zhao Si smiled and pulled the money toward him.

Zhang Lei's temples throbbed twice. Not from the strain of using the vision — it was a strange kind of excitement. He'd seen through this man's hand, seen through his technique, seen through exactly when he would strike.

And Zhao Si had no idea.

Next deal. Zhang Lei checked his cards — a pair of aces. Combined with what was showing, he had the best hand at the table. And Zhao Si? A quick scan: Zhao Si's three visible cards were a pair of kings. Up his sleeve — a new card. The king of spades. If he swapped it in, he'd have three kings.

Three kings against a pair of aces. Under normal circumstances, Zhao Si would win. But Zhang Lei knew exactly when the swap would happen — in that instant after the third round of betting, just before the reveal, when Zhao Si's fingers would brush past his cuff at the table's edge.

So what Zhang Lei needed to do was force a showdown before Zhao Si could make the switch.

First round. Zhang Lei called fifty. Zhao Si called fifty. Of the others, three folded and one called. That left Zhang Lei, Zhao Si, and the skinny guy.

Second round. Skinny bet a hundred. Zhang Lei raised to two hundred.

Zhao Si paused for two seconds. "Call." He laid down two red bills.

Skinny shook his head and folded.

Third round — just the two of them. Zhang Lei watched Zhao Si's hand — that right hand resting on the table's edge, fingers lightly tapping the surface. He hadn't swapped yet.

Zhang Lei pushed all his chips forward.

"All in. Let's see them."

Zhao Si looked up at him.

Zhang Lei stared back, expression flat. Eleven hundred yuan on the table. Everything. House rules — after an all-in, the other player could call, fold, or show. No "one more round of betting." Which meant no comfortable gap between the third raise and the reveal for sleight of hand.

The corner of Zhao Si's mouth twitched.

Two seconds. Three.

"Call." Zhao Si counted out eleven hundred from his stack and pushed it forward.

Zhang Lei flipped his cards. Pair of aces.

Zhao Si flipped his.

Pair of kings.

No third king. He hadn't had time to swap. Or rather — in that window, with every eye at the table locked on the all-in showdown, he'd had no opportunity to move.

Aces over kings.

"Damn!" Baldy slapped his thigh. "This kid's cleaning us out tonight."

Zhang Lei pulled the money toward him. Eleven hundred more. Added to the eight hundred he'd won earlier, he was sitting on roughly three thousand in profit.

Zhao Si leaned back in his chair, right hand draped over the table's edge, fingers still. He studied Zhang Lei, and something in his gaze shifted — from casual indifference to assessment.

Like he was appraising a piece of merchandise he couldn't quite figure out.

Zhang Lei kept his head down, sorting his money, heart hammering against his ribs like a drum. The ache in his temples had sharpened from a dull throb to a stabbing pain — he'd held the vision too long. But he kept his expression locked down.

"Again?" There was something tight in Zhao Si's voice. Barely perceptible.

Zhang Lei rolled up his cash and stuffed it in his pocket. He stood.

"I'm done for tonight." He nodded to Baldy and the others. "Maybe next time."

"Hey—" Baldy started to say something.

Zhao Si said nothing.

Zhang Lei turned and walked toward the door. He could feel a gaze pinned to his back — from the moment he'd stood up, it had been fixed there like a nail, all the way until he pushed through the glass door and stepped into the night.

He made it around the corner at the end of the alley before he had to brace himself against the wall.

His temples felt like someone was driving needles into them from the inside. He tipped his head back — that warm sensation rising in his nasal cavity again — but this time he sucked in a hard breath and forced it back down.

He pulled the roll of cash from his pocket. Counted it bill by bill.

Twenty-eight hundred. Minus the thousand he'd brought as his stake — net profit of eighteen hundred.

Same as what was already sitting in his bank account.

Zhang Lei stood at the mouth of the alley clutching that roll of money. The streetlight stretched his shadow long across the pavement. In the distance, the card room's lights were still on. The faint clatter of mahjong tiles drifted over.

Eighteen hundred.

He wiped beneath his nose — fingertips came away dry. Nothing had come out.

Time to go home.