Chapter Forty-Five: What Is So Strange About Winning Every Game?

Zhong Ming wanted to press for more information from Tian Xingjian, but Li Que’s eyes were as sharp as blades, pinning him with a cold stare that made it impossible to speak. In the end, he could only lower his head and fiddle with his chess pieces.

The chess set was divided into two colors: red and black. Zhong Ming held the red pieces, with the general in front of him, while Tian Xingjian played black, his general facing Zhong Ming’s. When Zhong Ming first played against Tian Xingjian, he relied on unorthodox strategies and tricky endgames. Except for the first round, where he used the central cannon, every other game was filled with bizarre tactics—advancing pawns, a well-placed horse, flying elephants along the edge—anything unexpected, he would try.

In terms of intelligence, Zhong Ming believed himself inferior to Tian Xingjian. But when it came to chess, they were now evenly matched. Zhong Ming had studied chess for seven or eight years. In his past life, there was a plump uncle who set up endgame puzzles under a bridge, and Zhong Ming often challenged him for twenty yuan a game. He lost nearly a few thousand just at chess, but never admitted defeat.

Later, he began studying chess manuals, always seeking out strange and unconventional lines, preferring sharp, unorthodox play. For Zhong Ming, chess was never about winning or losing, but about unraveling the mysteries of endgames.

This led to his current style—unexpected and eccentric.

Tian Xingjian always found himself on the defensive. Even when Zhong Ming made a seemingly useless move, Tian Xingjian racked his brain to decipher its intent. The subtle mix of real and illusory, the ever-shifting tactics, left Tian Xingjian cautious but always defeated in the end.

Yet, as Tian Xingjian’s skill grew and his understanding of chess deepened, Zhong Ming began to have trouble keeping up. Tian Xingjian was exceptionally bright, progressing rapidly. In just a few months, Zhong Ming could no longer handle him. Based on chess strength alone, even three Zhong Mings wouldn’t be a match for Tian Xingjian.

Rumor had it that the Qilin Prodigy of Luoyang was so shrewd that in Go, he could foresee the board's outcome by the thirtieth move, and after that, he was rarely challenged. For Tian Xingjian to contend with such a near-demonic genius spoke volumes of his intellect; in Go, he could plan a hundred moves ahead.

Playing with such a person was hardly enjoyable, for they cared only for victory. Every game was a calculated exchange, devoid of emotion—no small triumphs, no fierce resistance in loss. They saw through every move; if they appeared to lose a piece, it was merely bait for a later advantage. There was no room for error. The saying “too clever for their own good” was made for such people.

Today, as they sat down to play again, Tian Xingjian smiled and gestured for Zhong Ming to take the first move with the red pieces: “Let’s see what strange tricks you have for me today.”

Zhong Ming smiled back without answering, setting up the central cannon, just as he had in their very first game. That first time, Tian Xingjian was unfamiliar with the rules and lost badly—a massacre. Zhong Ming sacrificed only a chariot and a horse to wipe out Tian Xingjian’s forces, leaving him with just his lonely general.

It seemed this opening put great psychological pressure on Tian Xingjian. His smile faded, replaced by a look of grave concentration.

Li Que, too, set aside his previously cold demeanor, focusing intently on the board. As Tian Xingjian’s elder brother in learning, Li Que often found himself forced to spar with him. Though not a match for Tian Xingjian, he had grown fond of the elegant, ever-changing game, unable to extricate himself.

As the saying goes, “A true gentleman observes without speaking,” and Li Que was just such a person, silently immersed in the unfolding battle.

After a moment’s thought, Tian Xingjian moved his horse, leading the game along a conventional opening. For the first ten moves, Zhong Ming played just as he had in their first match, but Tian Xingjian was no longer a novice and handled it easily.

When Zhong Ming advanced his horse across the river to capture a central pawn, Tian Xingjian immediately exchanged his own horse for Zhong Ming’s piece.

Tian Xingjian gradually frowned, sneering, “Zhong Ming, do you really think so little of me? You think I’d let you set up the same horse-and-cannon trap as last time?”

The first time, Tian Xingjian had lost to that very trap, then suffered a flanking attack from the chariot, his pieces devoured one by one, ending in total defeat.

Zhong Ming said nothing, simply smiling as he continued to play.

As the game entered its later stages, fewer and fewer pieces remained on the board. Zhong Ming tried several times to cross the river and mount an attack, but Tian Xingjian countered every move.

Piece after piece fell. In the endgame, Zhong Ming was left with a single horse and chariot, defended by both elephants. Tian Xingjian still held both cannons, two advisors guarding his camp, and two pawns that had boldly crossed the river.

The pawns, once across, became tyrants.

Now in the final stage, the two pawns showed their true menace. Tian Xingjian’s superior calculation came into play, and with his last pawn, supported by the advisors and a cannon, he checkmated Zhong Ming’s general.

The game was decided—a dead end. No matter how Zhong Ming played, there was no escape.

Tian Xingjian breathed a long sigh of relief. Li Que, who had been perched on his shoulder, was even more tense, secretly wiping sweat from his brow.

Tian Xingjian looked up with mockery, “So this is all you are, Zhong Ming. Without your strange tricks, your chess is ordinary. You’ve lost this game.”

Zhong Ming picked up his general and set it down face-down, smiling, “I’ve lost.”

He conceded so readily that Tian Xingjian, who had been ready to gloat, was left speechless. Reviewing the whole game, it seemed Zhong Ming hadn’t once used his true, eccentric style.

Throughout, Zhong Ming played by the book, never once surprising Tian Xingjian. The more Tian Xingjian thought about it, the stranger it seemed. This wasn’t Zhong Ming’s usual way.

Was it possible Zhong Ming had let him win?

Turning it over in his mind, Tian Xingjian became convinced. His face darkened, and he snapped, “Zhong Ming, are you looking down on me? Did you let me win on purpose?”

“What do you mean, let you win? You’re strange indeed—unhappy when you lose, even unhappier when you win…”

For a moment, Zhong Ming gave a sheepish smile. He hadn’t let Tian Xingjian win, but he also hadn’t used any of his odd tactics—just matched strength against strength and lost, as was only natural.

Tian Xingjian won, but the victory felt hollow.

The more he thought, the angrier he became. Seeing Zhong Ming refuse to admit to letting him win, Tian Xingjian flew into a rage, flipping the wooden chessboard and scattering the pieces.

Li Que, his elder brother, drew back with a chill, frowning as he retreated to stand atop a low wall, watching the outburst.

The young maid, Xiaoxiao, was frightened, nervously backing away. Clearly, the young master’s anger had unsettled her.

Tian Xingjian rarely lost his temper, but when he did, it was frightening. No one dared block his fury.

With a sigh, Zhong Ming bent to gather the scattered pieces, placing them back on the board. “Young Master Tian, I carved these pieces myself. Even if you dislike them, you shouldn’t ruin them. Is victory really so important to you?”

Tian Xingjian’s face was dark. “It is. Unless I defeat you, I can’t rid myself of my inner demons!”

This prodigy, young master Tian, was proud to the point of arrogance, unable to tolerate the slightest defeat. For him, victory was everything; the joys and sorrows along the way meant nothing.

With one hand behind his back, Zhong Ming flicked his sleeve and said, “Life is like a game of chess—what’s so remarkable about winning every round? To lose a few games is nothing; to let an opponent win a move or two is not a disgrace.

Young Master Tian, we’ve known each other for some time. Even if we’re not friends, we are at least chess companions. Let me give you some advice: if you care too much about winning and losing, you’ll never get far.

Take this game, for example. If you leave now, what does it matter if I let you win? Letting you win a round, sending you off without regret—perhaps that’s my intention as an old chess partner.

And as for your life—you know the frontier is about to change hands. If you run away in advance, isn’t that just avoiding the hardships life throws at you?

If you flee in panic, how can you claim to care about victory? If winning only comes because others let you, what’s the point?”

With that, Zhong Ming clasped his hands behind his back and strode into the house.

With a bang, the door closed. Zhong Ming’s voice rang out, “You’ve won this round. Our nine-game wager is done. I hope you’ll leave soon, Young Master Tian.”

Having thoroughly lectured Tian Xingjian, Zhong Ming was making it clear he wanted his guest to leave.

In the courtyard, Tian Xingjian’s face was stormy. Since leaving Luoyang, no one had dared reproach him. Today, he had been chastened by a rustic scholar of his own age.

His face clouded with anger as he strode toward the gate. “We’re leaving!” he barked.

The maid Xiaoxiao quickly answered, lifting the curtain for her master to mount the carriage.

Before leaving, Tian Xingjian’s gaze lingered on the wooden chessboard. He stared at it for a moment, then sighed, “Xiaoxiao, pack the chessboard away. I may need it again someday.”

Xiaoxiao hurried to obey, while Li Que stood atop the low wall, deep in thought. He glanced twice at Zhong Ming’s little house before smiling, “Clever—Yang Yanlang’s nephew is a clever man.”

At that moment, Liang Yu’s brightly-plumed rooster hopped onto the wall, crowing indignantly at the child who had taken its place.

The rooster spread its wings, seeming ready to do battle with Li Que if he didn’t leave its territory.

Li Que squinted at the rooster and pointed, “You beast—do you mean to harm me?”

The rooster puffed up its feathers and shook its red comb, crowing even louder.

Li Que’s expression changed. Shaking with rage, he dared not lay a hand on the rooster, finally drifting away to join Tian Xingjian in the carriage.

The rooster strutted proudly to where Li Que had stood, opened its beak toward the departing carriage, and spat out a small green worm.

The worm wriggled on the ground before the rooster jumped down and gulped it up.

As Xiaoxiao called out, the Tian family’s carriage rolled away.

Inside the carriage, Tian Xingjian’s face was grim, while Li Que looked even worse.

Li Que fumed, “That rooster at Zhong Ming’s house is no ordinary bird. And he’s no ordinary country scholar, either; there’s something strange about him.”

Tian Xingjian’s eyes were troubled. After a while, he said, “We’re not leaving tomorrow. We’ll wait for Master’s arrival. I’ll explain things to him myself.”

Their conversation made little sense together—clearly, each was preoccupied.

Li Que stared at Tian Xingjian in astonishment, while Tian Xingjian took out a black flute from his waist, raised it to his lips, and played a tune.

The screeching sound was dreadful, like a suona piercing the ears, forcing Li Que to cover his and close his eyes to rest.

Up front, the maid Xiaoxiao suffered most of all. She covered her ears and muttered, “Young Master is playing that awful flute again. It’s unbearable.”

The awful sound drifted through the air as Tian Xingjian’s carriage rolled into the city.

...

In Zhong Ming’s little courtyard, in the low house, he sat on a small stool, half smiling as he polished his Juexiang blade.

“I’ve said all that—Tian Xingjian won’t run again, will he?

One trick after another, but the borderlands are so small. If real trouble comes, who’s to say the sky won’t fall on me? Better to find two taller people—if the sky collapses, it’ll land on them instead.”