"Well, well, isn't this Young Master Zhang, the grandson of the old Party Secretary? Long time no see, long time no see!"

Feng Liang strode towards Zhang Jingshan's table with an exaggerated grin plastered across his face. He reached out his hand with a mocking and sardonic expression.

"Do I look like we're close?"

Ignoring Feng Liang's approach, Zhang Jingshan replied coldly.

"Oh no, Young Master Zhang, you say we're not close? Boo hoo, but didn't you once say you were going to beat me up? If we aren't close, why would you bother? Is it because I seem like an easy target?" Feng Liang exaggeratedly pouted, his mockery palpable.

"You—" Zhang Jingshan clenched his fist, barely containing his anger.

"Young Master Zhang, please don't hit me! If I offended you before, please forgive me. You're the bigger person, after all!" Feng Liang suddenly clasped his hands together, bowing theatrically like a lunatic.

At that moment, Zhang Jingshan nearly lost his composure entirely.

"Feng Liang, are you done yet? What's wrong with you? Are you crazy?"

Unable to bear it anymore, Xu Wenhui grabbed the madman and pulled him back.

The next second, Feng Liang snapped out of his lunacy, shrugged, and spread his hands.

"Meh... No fun at all!"

With that, he suddenly turned his gaze to Ye Chen.

"Oh ho, aren't you the loser from Maple Leaf Hotel? Damn, I heard from Li Mu that Zhang Jingshan was hanging out with some lowlife from that hotel. I didn't believe it then, but seeing you here now... It's true, huh?"

Feng Liang slapped both hands on the table and grinned exaggeratedly at Ye Chen.

"Hey, hey, hey, I heard you won over 20 million at the West Suburb stone-gambling arena last time? Nice luck! Say, there's a UEFA Champions League match coming up later—Barcelona versus Bayern. Want me to set up a betting pool? Let's have some fun."

His eyes shifted to Zhang Jingshan, Li Changfeng, and Zhao Jiwei.

"Well, well... President Zhang of Yunshan Networks, President Li of Huaxing Trade, and our gracious host tonight, President Zhao. How about we all join in? Just to liven up the party!"

Zhang Jingshan had zero interest in gambling on matches and was just about to tell Feng Liang to scram.

Unexpectedly, Ye Chen smiled and spoke.

"Sure, Feng, how do you want to play?"

"Wow, straightforward and bold!" Feng Liang snapped his fingers. "If we're betting, let's make it special—like guessing the total number of goals scored. What do you think?"

"No problem. What's your wager?" Ye Chen asked.

Feng Liang rubbed his chin as if pondering deeply. Suddenly, he pulled out all his keys—car keys, house keys—and laid them on the table.

"A Lamborghini Aventador and a 300-square-meter Imperial Court apartment. What do you think? If you win, you can split these. If you lose, all of you jump onstage and perform a striptease pole dance. How about it?"

"This guy is insane!"

Without a doubt, Feng Liang was a certified lunatic.

Zhang Jingshan's face darkened. It wasn't even about winning or losing anymore—this was a blatant insult!

Just as he was about to explode, Ye Chen calmly placed a hand on his under the table and smiled at Feng Liang.

"Betting a car and a house against a pole dance? Of course we'll take that bet. We'd be idiots not to."

Feng Liang's expression twisted as he turned to Zhang Jingshan, Li Changfeng, and Zhao Jiwei.

"What about you, Young Master Zhang? President Li? President Zhao?"

"If you're so keen to bet, we'll play along," Zhang Jingshan said, regaining his composure and following Ye Chen's lead. He trusted Ye Chen wouldn't joke about something as outrageous as a striptease.

"A pole dance? Why not!" Li Changfeng laughed, fully onboard.

With Zhang Jingshan and Li Changfeng agreeing, Zhao Jiwei was stunned.

"Are they nuts? Gambling with a lunatic like Feng Liang? If they really end up performing a striptease, their reputations in Jiangzhou will be ruined forever!"

But with Zhang Jingshan, Li Changfeng, and the enigmatic Ye Chen all agreeing, Zhao Jiwei had no choice but to follow suit.

"Fine! I'll play along!" Zhao Jiwei gritted his teeth and joined in.

Feng Liang was dumbfounded. He hadn't expected them to actually agree. His outrageous bet was meant to humiliate them, assuming they'd never take it seriously.

But now, they'd all accepted?

For a moment, Feng Liang found himself cornered.

It wasn't about the car or the apartment—he could afford to lose those. But letting Zhang Jingshan and Zhao Jiwei humiliate themselves with a striptease in public? He'd gladly wager more just to make it happen.

The problem was, he had to win.

"Well, we've agreed. Feng, why don't you tell us how to bet on the goals?" Ye Chen smiled, ignoring Feng Liang's brief hesitation.

Although Ye Chen hadn't been a soccer fan in his previous life, the outcome of this particular Barcelona vs. Bayern match was unforgettable—it had shocked the entire world.

It wasn't just any match; it was the scoreline that dominated headlines, social media, and trended for days.

A devastating, history-making defeat.

If Feng Liang hadn't brought it up, Ye Chen might've overlooked it. But now that it was mentioned, it felt like handing victory on a silver platter.

"Both Barcelona and Bayern are offensive powerhouses," Feng Liang mused. "There's no way this will be a low-scoring match. I'll bet the total goals will be under seven. What about you?"

"Pfft!"

Qiu Yingzhe, who had just taken a sip of soda, nearly spat it out.

Betting on less than seven goals?

High-scoring matches with more than seven goals are incredibly rare, even in major tournaments.

"Feng Liang, could you be any more shameless? If you don't want to bet, don't sit here pretending to act tough! A Champions League match with fewer than seven goals? If you're so confident, let's flip the wager—if it's fewer than seven, not only do we strip and dance, we'll streak for an hour too!" Zhang Jingshan erupted.

"What do you take us for, idiots?"