Yang Fan just smiled indifferently: "Is that so?"
"Since you're so confident, go ahead and reveal your cards," Han Zhongtian said politely.
"Alright." Yang Fan flipped over his two hole cards, an 8 and a 3.
Seeing Yang Fan's hole cards, Ling Feng slumped down onto his seat. It was his sister Qingwu who walked over and helped him back up.
Done for. Just three nines.
A blank mind, the disoriented Ling Feng, had long forgotten an important detail—Yang Fan's hole card included an 8, making it impossible for Han Zhongtian to have four of a kind with eights. Since there are only four of each number in a deck, and with Yang Fan holding one of the eights, Han Zhongtian could at most have three eights.
Three nines versus three eights, the winner is Yang Fan.
Ling Feng forgot, but Han Zhongtian didn't; his face turned ashen, stunned for a whole ten seconds or so, even seeming to have an epiphany.
Damn, it was a trap.
