Landlord in the Arctic

Beside the plane.

Mova, dressed in an exquisite uniform and with a graceful posture, led the flight attendants in a neat line beside the airstairs. They were a picturesque sight, waiting for the group to board.

As Feng Mountain drew near, the beautiful flight manager flashed a professional smile as brilliant as the warm spring sun and spoke softly.

"Mr. Feng, welcome back. Your cowboy outfit is very cool. Did you have fun?"

"It was pretty good, though it’s a shame I didn’t get to try any authentic Texas barbecue." Feng Mountain smiled and nodded, then glanced back and gestured to the group behind him. "There are a few more of us for the return trip. Is there room for everyone to board?"

"Of course. This plane can accommodate up to sixteen passengers." Mova gave a faint, perfect smile, a hint of pride on her face.

"All aboard, everyone!" Feng Mountain turned and waved to the group.

A child’s sadness comes and goes quickly.

Just a moment ago, Fiona had been crying her heart out in Yves’s arms until she exhausted herself and fell soundly asleep.

When she woke up again, the first thing she saw was an impressive, massive airplane parked right in front of her.

Her spirits lifted instantly. She quickly wriggled out of her dad’s arms and skipped over to Feng Mountain’s side.

She tilted her little head back, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and her mouth formed a surprised "O."

"Wow, what a beautiful plane!"

"Like it? Go on up and pick any seat you want." Seeing her adorable expression, Feng Mountain said with a grin, his eyes full of affection.

"Mhm!"

Fiona nodded vigorously, her wide eyes instantly lighting up like twinkling stars.

She then eagerly scrambled up the airstairs and disappeared into the cabin.

But a moment later, she came hopping back out like an energetic little bunny and shouted excitedly to the group below.

"Dad, come on up! It’s so pretty inside! I picked a big chair!"

Her sweet, childish voice echoed in the air, and her innocent words made everyone break into a warm smile.

The group then boarded the airstairs one by one, filing into the cabin in an orderly manner.

Due to the sudden increase in passengers, Mova and the flight attendants skillfully deployed the hidden seats.

The more comfortable individual armchairs were, as a matter of gentlemanly courtesy, offered to the ladies first.

"Mr. Feng, are we returning to Fairbanks?" Mova asked softly as she approached, handing him a drink.

Feng Mountain took the drink and shook his head gently. "No, we’ll head to Dallas first, then go back."

"Understood." Mova smiled and nodded, then turned gracefully and walked with light steps toward the cockpit to inform the pilot of their new destination.

With all the arrangements settled, the plane was ready to begin its journey.

The Gulfstream 650 started to move slowly down the runway, its engines letting out a low, powerful RUMBLE, as if gathering strength.

As its speed increased, the fuselage gradually lifted off the ground, finally soaring toward the vast sky against the blood-red sunset.

Fiona excitedly pressed her face against the window, her eyes wide with wonder.

It was her first time looking down at the ground from so high up, and the novel sight left a look of pure astonishment on her small face.

"Fiona, that’s our home down there." Yves gently walked over, tenderly picked up his daughter, and pointed a finger at a house on the ground that looked no bigger than a Lego brick.

"Is Mommy home?" Fiona asked in her childish voice, tilting her head up to look at her dad, her innocent, wide eyes full of longing for her mother.

"She is." Yves paused for a moment, then hugged his daughter tightly. His voice was soft but firm. "After a little while, I’ll bring you back to see your mom."

Meanwhile, Lawyer Peyton sat quietly in his own seat.

His gaze swept slowly over the cabin. The exquisite interior and meticulous furnishings all bespoke incredible luxury.

Lawyer Peyton frowned slightly, a look of deep confusion on his face.

He recalled his time in school with Frank. Frank’s financial situation had been tight; besides relying on scholarships, he had also needed to apply for student aid and even take on work-study jobs to cover his living expenses.

But now, his nephew was not only riding in a private jet, but judging by the crew’s deferential attitude, they held him in extremely high regard.

The stark contrast made him wonder to himself.

’Strange!!’

At the other end of the cabin.

Feng Mountain excitedly retrieved a deck of playing cards from an entertainment cabinet. He then eagerly pulled Director Roland and Nash aside to teach them how to play Fight the Landlord.

As the saying goes, what’s the point of playing cards if you’re not betting?

So, after a brief discussion, the three of them settled on the rules.

The loser would pay based on the cards left in their hand: 1 US Dollar per card. If a bomb was played during the round, the stakes would double.

Just 1 US Dollar per card.

For Director Roland, this was nothing. He wouldn’t even blink at a ten-US-Dollar-a-hand game in Las Vegas, so 1 US Dollar a card was just for fun. He readily agreed.

After Feng Mountain patiently taught them the rules of Fight the Landlord, the three of them began to play for real.

Ma Wei and a few others gathered around with great interest to watch, and the cabin was instantly filled with a lively atmosphere.

At first, Feng Mountain intentionally went easy on them, letting Director Roland show off and win several hands in a row. His winnings were considerable.

Director Roland’s face was flushed with excitement. He felt as if he had discovered the secret to Fight the Landlord and was brimming with confidence.

However, once everyone had warmed up, Feng Mountain started to reveal his true skill.

You see, the most important part of Fight the Landlord is card counting.

And ever since Feng Mountain had become a Witch, he’d possessed a photographic memory. He could figure out what cards Director Roland and Nash were holding with about ninety percent accuracy.

Just like that, the tables were turned.

Director Roland’s previously excited expression slowly morphed into one of utter despair. One moment, he was scratching his head, trying to come up with a strategy; the next, he was gritting his teeth, cursing his terrible luck with the cards.