Ficorpio
Chapter 1
April 17, 2026.
Gordon Carter took me to Youth Football Stadium in Chengyang District, Qingdao, to watch Qingdao Hainiu FC play Qingdao West Coast.
Gordon and I both worked in Qingdao West Coast District and lived there, so emotionally, of course, we backed West Coast.
The team bus carried us through downtown, over the sea-crossing bridge, and out toward the stadium.
I spent the whole ride looking out the window. Qingdao really was the kind of city that had its own flavor in every stretch of the road. No wonder people from all over the country liked coming here to travel. Qingdao got named one of the most beloved cities in the country every year for a reason.
Gordon was a rough, practical guy. He didn’t care about any of that. All the way there, he was talking football with his fan buddies, arguing about how the match might end.
“I’m calling it 1-0,” one of them said. “We’ll edge it and take the derby again.”
“Not so fast,” someone else said. “Hainiu have actually looked pretty solid this year. Their results haven’t been great, sure, but if you watched them against Chengdu Rongcheng, you could tell they can play. We might end up losing this one.”
“If you ask me, this derby ends level. 0-0 or 1-1.”
That last one was Gordon.
I had no idea why he was so confident. I didn’t care enough to find out.
To be blunt, I wasn’t all that interested in football. The only reason I agreed to come with Gordon wasn’t just because he was my coworker - it was because he was my boss.
I worked at Gordon’s renovation company. Company was a generous word for it. Besides the two of us, there were only three other guys.
A five-man outfit. The other three had zero interest in Gordon’s two favorite things - drinking and football. They weren’t interested, so I had to be interested. Or at least pretend I was.
Ever since I entered the real world, my parents had kept telling me the same thing: get rid of student thinking.
Back when I was in school, I never built a good relationship with my teachers. I failed classes so often I nearly got strangled by make-up exams, and in the end I only scraped through after burning through every last ounce of effort I had to get my diploma.
Learning how to get along with my boss was the first step toward shedding that student mindset.
So even though I didn’t care about drinking or football, I forced myself to care.
“Boss, you can really drink. What is it, a bottle and a half at least? I’ve never seen you get drunk.”
“Boss, I’m not flattering you here, but Qingdao West Coast should hire you as head coach. Then we wouldn’t have to suffer through another season of barely scraping by to avoid relegation.”
Anyway, when it was just me and Gordon drinking, there was no one else around, so I might as well have left my pride at home. Every now and then I piled on the flattery. At first, he looked embarrassed by it, but once he got used to it, he started laughing and playing along.
“A bottle and a half? More or less,” he said. “I hardly ever get drunk. When was the last time I was actually drunk? Ha. Too long ago. I can’t even remember.”
“Yeah. If I were coaching Qingdao West Coast,” he said, hiccupping as he spoke, “our ranking? At the very least, we’d stay safely in the top six.”
When Gordon said he could handle a bottle and a half, I believed him.
But the moment he claimed he could keep West Coast in the top six, I started doubting the bottle-and-a-half part.
Because he was bragging.
When he wasn’t drinking, he didn’t have that problem.
That was a boast too big for anyone to swallow. He was talking like he could do something even the best coaches in the country couldn’t pull off.
By the time I was done thinking about that, the bus had pulled up at the away section of Youth Football Stadium.
Gordon and I got off with the rest of the crowd in small groups.
“It’s starting to get warm,” Gordon said, shrugging off his jacket.
“Yeah,” I said. “But it should cool down later tonight. The temperature swings a lot these days.”
Before we went through security, we smoked a cigarette. Then we went inside.
We climbed the stairs one level at a time until we reached the fourth tier and finally stopped.
We hadn’t even entered the bowl yet when the booming stadium speakers hit us: “Hainiu, Hainiu, keep moving forward!”
I laughed to myself. What a corny chant.
We found our seats in that corny song, high up near the top. If this seat came with a slope rating, it had to be at least sixty degrees.
I sat there tense and careful, not daring to move around. Gordon, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. He even wandered around asking people what they thought the final result would be.
After hearing enough people say they expected a draw, he kept repeating, over and over, “See? I like a draw too. I’m calling 0-0 or 1-1.”
By the time Gordon sat back down next to me, he had already made up his mind. He opened his phone, found the app called Final Blow Betting App, and pulled up the Qingdao Hainiu FC vs. Qingdao West Coast score market. He placed 200 yuan on 0-0 and another 200 yuan on 1-1.
I watched him do all of it. My instincts told me he was betting on football, but I didn’t really understand much about that stuff yet, so I asked, “Boss, what are you doing?”
“Shh.” Gordon put a finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down. I’m placing a bet. It’s an offshore site, out of the Philippines. Not legal.”
I was shocked. “If it’s illegal, why are you still using it?”
Gordon laughed, but there was a little guilt in it, and a little self-soothing too. “Just a bit of fun. A few hundred yuan a bet. I’m not greedy. The cops aren’t going to care about some tiny little side hustle like this.”
I still didn’t get it, so I asked, “Then why bet on two different scores? Only one result can happen. If one wins, doesn’t the other one become worthless?”
Gordon said, “That way I increase my chances of winning.”
My mouth moved faster than my brain. “And what if neither one hits? Then what?”
Gordon jerked his head up. For a split second, his eyes were mean and irritated. Then the expression disappeared, replaced by a forced, helpless smile. “Ryan, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you say something nice for once?”
That scare shut me up immediately. I kept my mouth closed and stared out at the pitch while the players warmed up.
An hour and a half later, the match finally kicked off.
At the start, there was still a little bit of derby tension in the air.
But once both sides had thrown out their best first moves and nothing came of them, the game quickly turned ugly and tired. Neither team could do much to the other, and the whole match devolved into a sloppy, frustrating mess.
Gordon stretched, then leaned his head toward my side and whispered in my ear, “The game might be ugly, but the score is going exactly the way I want it to.”
“Yeah,” I said, stretching my legs and stamping my feet. “Looks like 0-0 is the most likely result.”
At halftime, the score was still 0-0. We went to the bathroom and smoked another cigarette on the way back.
The second half started, and neither side changed a thing. They just kept replaying the same miserable first-half performance.
At the 60th minute, Qingdao West Coast had a questionable handball in the box that scared Gordon half to death. He kept muttering beside me, “Not a penalty. Please, not a penalty.”
As Gordon wished, the referee didn’t give it.
He immediately shouted, “Good! Keep this score.”
When the game reached the 70th minute, Gordon was whispering again. “Come on, boys. Just hold on for another twenty minutes. Cash the 0-0.”
By the 80th minute, he was rubbing his hands together. “Ten minutes left. Just hang in there.”
When the final whistle blew and the big screen still showed 0-0, Gordon didn’t dare yell. He just grabbed my arm and shook it hard.
“I called it! Was I right or what? I actually hit the exact score!”
I asked, “What were the odds on 0-0?”
“Let me check.”
Gordon pulled up his phone, looked at it, and said, “Qingdao Hainiu FC vs. Qingdao West Coast, 0-0 was… six to one. I turned 200 yuan into 1,200.”
That answer really shocked me.
I busted my ass for a whole month and only made 5,500 yuan. After my daily expenses, I could barely save 1,000 yuan. And here he was, watching a match and placing a few bets, and he could make a thousand yuan in one shot.
He looked at my dazed expression and laughed. “What’s wrong? Tempted? If you want in, I can teach you. I can’t promise it’ll make you rich overnight, but an extra 5,000 to 10,000 yuan a month for pocket money is pretty easy.”
I have to admit, when Gordon said that, I was badly tempted.
Being tempted by gambling and being tempted by someone you can’t have are the same thing. At first, both feel sweet. In the end, both of them leave you hurting.
Back then, though, I didn’t understand that at all.
Gordon wasn’t the single one. I was.
But our lives weren’t all that different. Every day was the same two stops: the construction site and the rental apartment.
Gordon’s family wasn’t in Qingdao West Coast District. He was only here running jobs with us, putting in the work, and then wiring the money back to his wife in Lianyungang.
One night, while we were sitting at a barbecue stall, Gordon said, “My wife? If I make 10,000 yuan, she’ll dare to take 8,000 of it. She squeezes me for everything she can. Her favorite line is, ‘A man shouldn’t have too much money. Once he has money, he goes bad.’ But the money she leaves me really isn’t enough to live on, so I have to come up with my own ways to make a little pocket cash. Otherwise, if all you do is work every day and never have any fun, how can that count as living?”
He said it on a midnight street in Qingdao. Even though it was already early summer, the air still carried a little chill.
None of what he said sounded harsh, but every line landed like a needle. It hurt.
Yeah. For the past two years, I had worked myself like a dog. I made 5,500 yuan a month, sent 1,000 back to my parents, kept 4,500 for myself, paid 1,500 in rent, spent another 2,500 on food, drinks, and cigarettes, and if I was careful, I could maybe save 500 yuan a month.
Chapter 2
That kind of life didn’t feel like living at all.
“Boss, how long have you been betting on football? Is it…”
I hadn’t even finished before Gordon cut me off.
“I’ve told you a hundred times. When it’s just the two of us, don’t call me boss. Call me Gordon, or Gord.” He said it while he picked up a peanut and tossed it into his mouth.
“Gordon… Gord,” I said, still not used to it. “Since you started betting, have you mostly won?”
Gordon poured me a beer, then filled his own glass too. “Pretty much. I don’t play much anyway. Each time I only put in 400 yuan and pick two of my best-looking outcomes. Sometimes it’s over/under. Sometimes it’s total goals. Sometimes it’s win-draw-loss… The offshore markets have too many options. I don’t dare touch the ones I don’t understand. I don’t have much capital either, so I can’t afford to bet big. I just play small like this, and I can make around 10,000 yuan a month. That’s enough for me. I’m satisfied if it covers my expenses.”
The moment he said that, I understood.
No wonder every time we drank together, he always fought to pay. So that was where his money came from.
After that, I started asking him what over/under meant, what total goals meant. I didn’t even need to ask about win-draw-loss. Anyone who knew a little football understood that much.
I kept chasing him with question after question. At first Gordon was patient, but eventually he waved me off and said, “There’s no point telling you all this. Next time there’s a match, I’ll bring you in and walk you through it. After one round, you’ll get it.”
I pretended to hesitate and think about it, but I already knew my answer. “All right. Thanks, Gord. If I really hit, lunch is on me.”
Before I knew it, another match day had come around.
April 22, 2026.
By match day, I meant a Chinese Super League match day.
Gordon liked football, but he didn’t watch the big European leagues. He could never remember those foreign names. The moment the commentator started introducing them, his head hurt. Besides, the big leagues were full of upsets. He was afraid of getting burned again and again. His little war chest wasn’t big enough to let him gamble blindly.
After work, Gordon found me and said in a low voice, “There are three CSL games tonight. Qingdao West Coast District vs Henan Caotaofang, Liaoning Ironmen vs Dalian Yingbo, and Shanghai Shenhua vs Qingdao Hainiu FC. What do you say - want in?”
I didn’t answer his question. I asked one of my own. “Which one do you like?”
“The first two are hard to call,” he said. “As for Shanghai Shenhua vs Qingdao Hainiu FC, I’m leaning toward Shenhua winning. Could be 2-0 or 3-1.”
“I was thinking Qingdao West Coast District vs Henan Caotaofang, a draw,” I said. “What do you think…”
“Ha ha ha…”
Before I could finish, he cut me off with laughter. “What are you doing? Copying my homework from the last match? That’s not how you bet on football. You can’t keep chasing draws. I’m telling you, just follow me and take Shanghai Shenhua.”
His laughter left me a little embarrassed, but I still held my ground. “I’m not copying you. I just think neither side has much attacking power, so a draw has a better chance. Unless somebody scores one of those miracle goals that no one sees coming.”
The moment I used a couple of proper football terms, Gordon froze and looked at me. “You know football?”
I answered honestly, “Not really. I’ve just been watching a lot of football influencers’ videos lately.”
He relaxed again and went back to being his usual rough self. “You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were pretending to be a pig to eat the tiger. Let me tell you something: if you want to bet, don’t know the game too well. People who know too much always lose badly in the end, just like most people who drown can swim.”
I frowned. “How’s that?”
“Because once a guy knows too much football, he starts treating himself like a professional, or at least a semi-pro,” Gordon said. “Then when he places a bet, he can’t step back. He gets too attached to his own expertise, too attached to market value, too attached to tactical matchups, too attached to star power. If all the things they believe in were really that reliable, there wouldn’t be upsets, would there?”
I thought about it for a second. He had a point.
But understanding it was one thing. Believing it was another.
I still trusted my own judgment, so I put 200 yuan on a draw in Qingdao West Coast District vs Henan Caotaofang. I didn’t dare go straight for the exact score. I just took the draw at odds of 3.1. If it hit, I’d be satisfied.
Gordon sighed like he was watching a hopeless case and placed his own bets on Shanghai Shenhua vs Qingdao Hainiu FC: 2 goals and 3 goals, 200 yuan each, at odds of 2.1 and 3.5.
I stared at his slips. He stared at mine. Neither of us said what we were really thinking.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” I told him. “Gord.”
Gordon said, “I’m telling you to add a Shanghai Shenhua slip too. That way, even if the Qingdao West Coast bet dies, you still have a thread of hope on this side.”
I said, “Funny, because I was thinking the same thing. You should add a Qingdao West Coast draw as well. What if last time you bet the draw and hit, and this time you don’t bet it, then the draw comes in again? Wouldn’t that drive you crazy?”
So we kept trying to talk each other into adding hedge bets.
Gordon added a Qingdao West Coast District vs Henan Caotaofang 0-0 for 100 yuan.
I added Shanghai Shenhua vs Qingdao Hainiu FC at 2-0 and 3-0, 100 yuan each.
Back then, neither of us thought those add-on bets would actually hit. We were just buying a possibility.
I never would have guessed that me joining in would give Gordon his first double winner.
That night, I put in 400 yuan and came out with 1,290. Gordon put in 500 and cashed out 1,040.
The instant the money hit my account, Gordon burst out laughing. “Not bad, Ryan. You really do have a knack for picking up stray money. I’ve been betting this long and never hit a double winner. The first time I brought you along, you give me one. Tonight we’re drinking!”
Seeing 1,290 yuan sitting in my account made me happy too. “We have to celebrate. Gord, this one’s on me!”
That night, we drank until two in the morning.
There were other football fans there too. They weren’t just talking about Qingdao West Coast District. They were also talking about the World Cup that was coming up.
Half-drunk and a little foggy, I said to myself: World Cup, huh? I’m going to turn the 1,000 yuan in my hand into 1,000 times that.
Then I did the math in my head.
If 1,000 yuan turned into a thousand times, that was only 1,000,000 yuan.
No. A million wasn’t enough.
By the time the World Cup arrived, I wanted to turn the 1,000 yuan in my hand into 10,000 times that.
So before the World Cup gets here, I’ll use the Chinese Super League to warm up.
I’ll sharpen my judgment. I’ll sharpen my sense for the game. I’ll sharpen my so-called professionalism.
The alarm dragged me out of a dream.
In the dream, I was touring a house—a massive apartment with a five-thousand-square-foot floor plan.
The living room was so big I couldn’t even guess how many feet it stretched. It just went on and on, far past where my eyes could reach.
A real estate agent stood beside the window, smiling brightly as she pointed out the sea view.
“Mr. Shaw, if you buy this place, see that ocean outside? It’ll be there just for you.”
I hadn’t even figured out how to answer her before the alarm blasted me awake.
I squinted, flailed around for my phone, and shut it off.
I kept my eyes closed after that. I didn’t want to open them. I wanted to hold on to the dream a little longer, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get back to that giant apartment, couldn’t get back to the agent, couldn’t get back to those ridiculous compliments she’d been showering on me.
I knew I had no reason to stay in bed anymore.
Gordon Carter was my boss, and now he was also the guy I bet on matches with. But if I was late, he’d still chew me out in front of everyone.
So I forced myself out of bed.
My head felt like it was splitting open.
Too much to drink last night. That was the only explanation.
I checked my phone. Sixty-seven minutes left.
If I could shower in ten minutes and then take the subway to the construction site, I’d still make it on time.
I scrambled up and jumped out of bed.
When hot water poured over my head, the exhaustion clinging to me seemed to wash away with the dirt and grime.
By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, I was back to my usual self.
Before leaving, I even looked in the mirror.
“Not bad,” I told myself. “Still pretty good-looking. The reason I used to look so rough was money. Work too. Always covered in dust and sweat. Once I make real money, I’m going to dress you properly, then get myself a hot girlfriend and start a brand-new life.”
Thinking that, I marched out of the apartment full of ambition.
The moment I opened the elevator door and headed toward the site, I heard a string of filthy insults.
A middle-aged man was shouting at someone, his voice thick with contempt.
“You can’t even handle something this small? And you still have the nerve to ask for that much money? Serves you right for living at the bottom!”
I hesitated for a second, wondering whether I should go in.
If I went in, I’d definitely get cursed at too. If I stayed out, though, listening to Gordon and the crew get torn apart like that made me feel like I was being a lousy friend.
After weighing it back and forth, I finally strode in anyway.
When the man saw me, he actually laughed. Then he kept right on mocking us.
“Four of you and you still made a mess of a job this simple? I was already pissed enough. Didn’t expect there to be a fifth one. People say three heads are better than one, but what do you call five of you? Five idiots who still can’t do the job?”
I couldn’t stand the way he kept looking down on us. I wanted to snap back at him.
But when Gordon caught the look on my face, he quickly gave me a shake of the head.
So I lowered my eyes and walked off to the side, pretending to get back to work.
The middle-aged man cursed for a while longer, then finally left.
The rest of the crew hurried over to Gordon and asked, “Who was that?”
Gordon looked at them, then at me, and said, “The real owner of this place.”
One of the guys was clearly confused. “Then the woman who hired us to do the renovation…”
Chapter 3
Another one cut in before he could finish. “What’s there not to get? He’s the other woman.”
Gordon shut them down. “Enough. Stop talking nonsense. They’re paying us to do a job. If our work doesn’t meet their standards, we fix it. That’s the rule in this line of work. And yeah, his mouth was rotten, but we still have to take it. Get used to it. A little verbal abuse isn’t going to cost us an arm or a leg. The only thing that matters is that they pay on time.”
The middle-aged man’s ugly little episode finally got pushed into the past by our joking around.
Then the building management showed up to make trouble too, acting all high and mighty and saying this wasn’t up to code, that wasn’t up to standard.
Gordon handed them two cigarettes and slipped them two red envelopes before their tone finally eased up. Even then, they kept muttering as they walked away.
By then, my anger was already about to blow.
Every time I picked up or moved something, I made a racket, clanging and banging all over the place until Gordon finally lost it.
“Ryan, are you trying to get yourself fired?” he barked. “Do you know how much that wall tile is worth? Half a month’s wages wouldn’t cover it! Damage even a little and the whole thing’s ruined!”
Before he said that, I’d actually felt sorry for him. I thought he was like us, another poor guy stuck at the bottom.
But his words made me see it clearly.
He wasn’t at the bottom. I was.
The client could scold us like we were children. Building management could do it too. But Gordon could turn around and scold me the same way they did.
The thought burned through me, and the anger in my chest surged out of control.
I grabbed the tile and threw it to the floor.
“Fine,” I said. “Then I’ll splurge today and pay for one with half a month’s wages.”
It landed exactly the way I wanted it to.
The tile cracked on impact.
It split into more than a dozen pieces, just like the dignity I couldn’t manage to hold together at that moment.
My outburst left Gordon staring for a second. Then he exploded.
He pointed at me and shouted, “Get out! Get out! Get out! Get the hell out! Don’t expect to see this month’s wages!”
And just like that, his yelling cleared my head.
What the hell was I doing?
What right did I have to act like this?
Gordon could swallow the humiliation because he was the boss. So why couldn’t I?
But even though I’d come to my senses, I knew I couldn’t lower my head and apologize at that moment.
Even if I was wrong, I had to be wrong all the way.
That was what being young meant sometimes—broke, stubborn, and willing to pay any price.
I didn’t say another word. I just turned and walked out.
Behind me, Gordon was still cursing.
“What kind of thing is that? His parents practically begged me to bring him along so he could make some money, and this is how he repays me? Fine, get lost. Once you’re gone, don’t ever come crawling back.”
His words pulled me back to the memory of my parents coming with gifts in their hands, humbly begging Gordon to take me on. That shameful scene flashed through my mind, and my eyes finally spilled over.
In the elevator, I opened WeChat and saw the balance: 4,317 yuan.
I had just lost my job. How was I supposed to survive now?
Next month’s rent was due too—4,500 yuan.
Where was I supposed to get that from?
With those problems grinding through my head, I wandered out onto the street without even noticing.
A few sharp, blaring honks snapped me back to reality.
A Porsche had stopped beside me. The window rolled down, and a guy wearing a thick gold chain leaned out to curse at me.
“Are you fucking trying to die? You think this is a place to stand? And don’t you dare try to scam me, either!”
When Gordon cursed at me, I could still talk back. I could still get angry.
Why?
Because I knew he wouldn’t really do anything to me. Not with the relationship he had with my parents.
But this guy with the gold chain was different.
I didn’t dare say a word.
We were complete strangers, and we weren’t remotely equal in status. If I opened my mouth and answered him, even if he got out and beat me up, nothing would happen to him.
The gold-chain guy saw that I wasn’t responding and kept hurling curses at me for a while longer before slamming the gas and driving off.
I watched his car shrink into the distance, and my tears came back again.
I’m poor, but I’m not trash. I’m not someone people can just step on. I have to make money—real money. Enough money that no one dares to look down on me or yell at me so casually again.
But how was I supposed to make money?
The instant that question flashed through my head, I pulled out my phone and opened the “Final Blow Betting App.”
“I can only count on you now,” I muttered. “I’ve got 1,000 yuan as my starting bankroll. Let’s see what kind of future I can gamble myself into.”
Once I made up my mind to live off betting for the time being, I felt strangely calm.
I took a cab to Sunac Mall across from Starlight Island and went straight up to the third floor, where I walked into Haidilao Hot Pot.
“Welcome. Table for how many?”
“Just one.”
They led me to a corner seat.
I’d lived in Qingdao for two years, and I’d never once stepped foot in a place like this.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know it existed. I did. I just knew exactly how expensive it was.
A meal here could cover ten visits to the cheap hot pot place I usually went to.
“Here you go, sir. It’s a warm towel. Please wipe your hands. What would you like to drink? Sour plum drink? Mango juice? Coke? Sprite? Or…”
“Sour plum drink, thanks.”
“Of course. One moment, please.”
Every step of the service after that kept reminding me that this place was nothing like the cheap hot pot joint I was used to.
There really was no such thing as a free lunch. The more money you spent, the kinder the world seemed to get.
With the staff practically waiting on me hand and foot, I got a little carried away and ordered more than a dozen dishes at once. I stopped caring how much it would cost. Tonight, I wanted to be treated with respect.
After being humiliated over and over again, that mattered more to me than anything else.
As I enjoyed service that was a hundred times better than what I got at my usual spot, and ate food that tasted completely different, I opened my phone again and started checking the matches for the night.
April 23, 2026.
La Liga:
Elche vs. Atletico Madrid
Real Sociedad vs. Getafe
Barcelona vs. Celta
Ligue 1:
Paris Saint-Germain vs. Nantes
It wasn’t exactly a packed matchday, but I still found four games worth looking at. After weighing them back and forth, I settled on Atletico Madrid, Barcelona, and Paris Saint-Germain.
I wasn’t a fan of any of those teams, but I knew enough about their strength.
Barcelona and PSG were both at home. With that home-field atmosphere behind them, winning shouldn’t be a problem. The real question was how many goals they’d win by.
Atletico was playing away, and that made things a lot less certain.
After locking in those three games, I didn’t rush into deeper research. Instead, I switched my phone over to drama mode and ate hot pot while watching a TV series.
I was watching A Lifelong Journey.
I’d seen that drama at least ten times already. I rewatched it twice every year, once near the end of the year and once by piecing it together in stolen moments while eating, washing dishes, or cleaning.
This time, I was watching the scene where a man came out of prison for the first time, saw that the home had been taken care of well by the woman who stayed behind, and realized he’d found the right person. He felt genuinely happy.
The first time I’d watched it, I hadn’t thought that scene was especially moving.
But this time, my eyes actually filled with tears.
Maybe because, deep down, I was just too jealous of people who had someone by their side.
I was wiping my eyes when a pale, slender hand suddenly reached over and pulled a tissue from the box, then handed it to me.
“You like this drama too?”
I looked up and met a clear, pretty face. She was one of the servers here.
“Yeah. I watch it every year. At least twice.”
“Me too. Enjoy your meal.”