Chapter 927: In the Depths of Hell

Some say loan sharks are devils, but those who borrow from them are devils too.

One is just stronger, the other weaker—they are fundamentally no different.

People feel pity for borrowers only because they end up in a weak position.

These people always claim they didn’t understand the loan terms, or some other excuse, to convince the public they had no choice.

The public is easily deceived; no matter what these weaklings say, they believe every word.

But they don’t know that before borrowing, these people understood perfectly well what they were doing, what they intended to do, and what awaited them.

Just like now: this gentleman before you runs a business that devours men, yet from his polished appearance and kind demeanor, you cannot link him to “devil.”

Aug sat in his wheelchair, staring fixedly at the property documents, thinking of his wife, his daughter, and the doctor’s threat to sue him for the hospital debt.

After about ten seconds, he nodded. “Fine.”

The two quickly moved to the lounge sofas provided for guests and sat down.

The casino had many such resting spots, allowing guests to also get work done.

The lender soon produced a standard contract, filled in a series of details, and placed it before Aug. “Sign it, and the money is yours.”

Beside the contract lay six hundred dollars—all twenty-dollar bills, thirty bills total.

Had he not checked with the bank and learned they’d only lend him five hundred, he might never have signed this agreement.

He picked up the pen, ready to sign, but paused.

The loan shark didn’t rush him. He leaned back on the sofa, legs crossed, smoking, utterly calm—even offering advice—

“You could take more time to think. This isn’t buying a pack of cigarettes. It concerns your home.”

“If you’re unhappy with the price, you can ask other financial companies, or some real estate agents might help you out.”

Mayor Williams is expanding the city to accommodate more people and businesses, so naturally, he built not only new industrial zones but also new residential areas.

Jin Gang City will have more housing, and with years of economic depression, the real estate market has remained sluggish—prices always stay at “slow sale” levels.

Aug’s apartment could be listed at twelve hundred dollars with a real estate agent, then sit for months, attracting at least a dozen viewings, before possibly selling.

Then the buyer would haggle, and after the agent’s commission, he’d walk away with barely a thousand.

Loan sharks exist to make money, not to do charity. Neither banks nor financial firms lend based on actual property value—that’s stupid.

Loan sharks seek greater profit and faster returns, so they offer higher prices to attract borrowers.

He could be certain his offer was among the highest in the industry.

Sure, the interest was a bit higher, but this was a casino!

Those who need loans to survive should go to outside financial firms. In a casino, everyone plays for “speed.”

Some borrow a thousand dollars and repay it within an hour, walking out with thousands.

Others borrow two or three thousand, leave pale-faced after ten minutes, and never return.

The more you see, the harder your heart becomes.

After less than a minute of hesitation, Aug signed his name and pressed his fingerprint onto the document.

The loan shark glanced at the papers, confirmed everything was in order, tucked them away with the property proofs, then pushed the six hundred dollars forward. “It’s yours now. Have a pleasant day, Mr. Aug.”

He stood up—he still had work to do, and needed to arrange for someone to freeze the property registration under these documents to prevent further transactions.

Aug’s breathing grew heavy as he held the six hundred dollars—more cash than he’d ever seen in his life, not counting newspapers, magazines, or movies.

Though the bills were light, in his hands they felt so heavy he could barely lift them.

The young reporter couldn’t help saying, “You can still pay him back now—no interest within a week.”

Aug wavered for an instant, then shook his head. “Push me to exchange chips.”

The reporter wanted to say more, but Aug suddenly snapped, “Hurry!”

His voice was loud; nearby attendants turned to look. He knew himself—if the reporter pressed further, he might truly give up.

He couldn’t give up. This was his last hope.

The reporter finally pushed him to the counter, where he exchanged six hundred dollars for six hundred-dollar chips.

When the reporter moved to wheel him into the main hall, Aug told him to take him to the elevator.

The maximum bet on a single table on the first floor was one hundred dollars—he wouldn’t have time here!

The reporter said nothing and took him straight to the second floor, where the limits were higher—six hundred here was like five or ten on the first floor.

The game was tense until two hours later, when he stared blankly as the croupier cleared his last two hundred-dollar chips. A dead, hopeless aura clung to him.

The reporter’s emotions surged and fell with every hand—he swore this was the most intense gambling he’d ever witnessed.

To the powerful, perhaps it was just a small game over six hundred dollars.

But for Aug, it was a battle of despair versus hope, life versus death!

He’d once won eleven hundred!

It was a miracle!

His chips were just one hundred short of doubling!

At the time, the reporter had urged him: he’d won five hundred, still needed four hundred fifty—borrow a bit more, pool it together, and he might still make it.

But Aug’s eyes were red—he felt invincible—and lost the next hand.

He’d once been one step from the end, his last hundred dollars—yet that very hundred saved him.

He’d endured several heart-stopping moments, each time hope within a centimeter of his grasp!

But whether it was a centimeter, a millimeter, or a kilometer—if you don’t have it, you don’t have it!

Now, with his final two hundred taken by the croupier, the game was over.

He fell silent, slumped in his wheelchair, as if his soul had been stripped away.

The reporter sighed and wheeled him back downstairs.

The gentleman who lent him money saw Aug’s despair and approached again. “Looks like your luck’s bad, friend. Maybe you need another loan.”

Aug slowly raised his head, glancing at the man with eyes full of despair and fury.

The loan shark took two steps back, raising his hand in a warding gesture. “Alright, I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

He chuckled twice, shook his head, and turned away.

Fight in the casino?

No one could do that. Look at the guards patrolling constantly—they’d draw their pistols and kill anyone threatening the casino’s interests on the spot!

This was Lans’s casino. Here, even the President must follow the rules!

Of course, that’s an exaggeration—the President has never come, so no one knows if he’d obey, but it still sounds cool to say it.

“Take me home.”

The reporter silently wheeled him to the casino entrance, then helped Aug out.

Lying in bed, Aug didn’t know how to tell his wife the house no longer belonged to them.

Guilt filled his chest; he felt despair, suffocation.

Perhaps, at this moment, death was the only escape.

He lay on his side, staring out the window at the sky.

The sky was small—only as big as the window. The rest was blocked by walls, and by his fellow patients.

His mind was chaotic, yet strangely calm. He lay there until he fell asleep.

That evening, his wife brought dinner, still complaining about the missing passbook and bills arriving at home.

They’d mail bills in envelopes; if the apartment had a mailbox, they’d put them inside.

If no mailbox, they’d slip them under the door.

They lived in an old apartment. Originally, mailboxes were installed, but later deemed obstructive and removed by the manager.

For a while after removal, the manager sorted mail by apartment number, but eventually grew lazy—mail carriers began sliding bills directly under doors by number.

The first and last few days of each month were the most terrifying for Lianbang citizens!

Because they never knew what bills they’d receive, or how much they’d owe.

Often, Lianbang citizens didn’t know how much something cost until weeks later, when the bill arrived.

Sometimes, a simple act cost far more than expected.

This caused many lower-middle-class Lianbang families to collapse mentally each billing day upon seeing envelopes filled with bills.

Aug’s wife complained about billing day too. Their situation was already dire, yet these people still sent bill after bill.

“We need at least eight dollars to pay all the overdue bills. Some can be delayed, but not too long.”

“I have less than five dollars in my pocket. Think hard—do you remember where we put the passbook?”

She asked, sorting items on the bedside table.

She’d asked once before; he’d said he didn’t know. So this time, she didn’t expect an answer.

Men sometimes forgot things the moment they turned away. She was used to it.

“Sorry.”

She heard her husband speak, and looked up, startled. “What did you just say?”

“Sorry?”

Aug set down the food box. His condition was terrible—only now did his wife notice.

“Sorry. I lost the money.”

His wife froze. “You mean… you gambled?”

Aug rubbed his face hard with both hands, as if trying to tear off his own skin!

“I… I wanted to win enough to save our home, but I lost.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”

His wife fell silent for a moment, her heart bitter and desolate, yet she still tried to comfort her husband: “Never mind, it’s just over a hundred dollars. Once you’re well again, earning it back won’t be hard.”

“Although I don’t want to say it, and you certainly don’t want to hear it, don’t do this again next time.”

“No matter what you do, notify me first.”

“I’m sorry!”

His wife hugged Ogr’s shoulder. “Everything will get better.”

“I lost our house too…”

Ogr’s wife didn’t remember how she got home. Her consciousness still lingered in the hospital, frozen at the moment her husband uttered those shocking, terrifying words!

He had actually lost their house too.

And he did it all just to keep this house!

She couldn’t understand.

Perhaps she was a housewife, unfamiliar with some things in society, but she simply couldn’t fathom why this fool had done such a stupid thing!

Now they owed the hospital over nine hundred dollars, and they’d lost their house too.

She sat motionless in the living room, her mind utterly blank.

The good news was they could still live in the house for six more months; the bad news was they still had to find money to pay the hospital.

But in a way, this was another effective solution: the house no longer fully belonged to them. Even if the hospital went through the motions, the court couldn’t seize or sell it.

But… in the end, they had lost everything.

Ogr returned home from the hospital—he had completely stopped treatment, because he hadn’t paid.

Still, he occupied a bed. The hospital wasn’t short on beds; as long as he didn’t receive treatment, no fees were incurred.

“I’ll find a job,” he said, sitting across from his wife and holding her hand.

“I’m a skilled worker. Even though my leg is broken, my arms are fine—I can still do those jobs.”

“They offered me seventy dollars a month before. I’ll lower my expectations to sixty-five. There must be factories that need me.”

“Even though… we lost the house, we still have hope.”

His wife just stared at him blankly. They locked eyes for a long while. He let go of her hand and said again, “I’m sorry.”

Soon, the sound of a key turning in the lock came from the door. The woman wiped away her tears and forced a smile.

Their daughter had come home.

The girl, backpack on her back, saw her father had returned—her face lit up with joyful surprise!

“You’re better!”

“Oh God, I missed you so much!”

Ogr forced a grim smile. “I’m… yes, I’m better. I can work now.”

The girl didn’t see through his lie. The family sat together again.

The wife got up to prepare dinner. As her husband said, if he could find a job soon, things might still turn around.

The girl sensed something was off, but didn’t realize what had happened.

The next day, Ogr went out to look for work. The reporter followed behind him.

For days, news in Jincheng still revolved around the clashes from the protests. They said the trial would begin soon.

Ogr no longer cared about any of that. He only wanted a job.

Unfortunately, he visited several garment factories. When they learned his leg had been broken during a protest, they all rejected his application.

In the words of these factory owners, they’d rather hire a novice than a skilled worker with union or labor federation ties—they had been bought!

Day after day, it was always the same.

“Today’s Jincheng” had begun reporting on the problems workers who joined the protests now faced in their lives and jobs.

Newspapers like “The Lianbang Post” and “The Lianbang Daily,” along with “The Observer,” a respected magazine studying social phenomena, placed images of the protests on their front pages.

The workers marched down the middle of the street, banners raised high, sleeves rolled up, arms waving, faces grim as if ready to devour anyone!

But the content revealed their now-terrible living conditions.

Not finding work was merely the simplest and most common problem—they also faced medical bills, debts, and countless other issues.

Ogr had encountered most of these problems. He was just like them.

The report posed a question: What were the people who stopped them doing now?

It was an old but still effective tactic: sowing discord, opposition, even conflict within the enemy’s ranks.

At that moment, the hospital sued Ogr, accusing him of refusing to pay his medical bills and demanding the court freeze his assets to extract the owed money.

These cases had been routine. Some hospitals had delayed proceedings, but the court found the claims clear and evidence solid—no case took more than half an hour to rule on.

But this time they hit a snag: when the hospital’s lawyers went to the government’s asset registration office to freeze Ogr’s assets, they discovered his house was already frozen—and currently in the process of transfer.

This meant the hospital could not seize or sell Ogr’s house to recover their losses.

Still, they weren’t without options. Soon, they came knocking…

(End of Chapter)