Lone Mountain, Solitary Pavilion.
The mountain breeze lifted Song Qianji's long hair and sleeves.
His fair skin flushed with a delicate pink as the wine's warmth rose within him.
The rich aroma of fruit wine filled his nostrils, the glittering Milky Way arched overhead, and the chess game unfolded in the valley below.
On such a fine night, Song Qianji leaned against the mottled pavilion pillar, feeling as though he were floating on clouds, drifting and swaying.
The girl in the yellow dress curled her lips: "If you truly understand chess, why not sign up to compete for the championship instead of drinking alone in misery?"
"I won't compete, I just want to drink!" Song Qianji mumbled.
The girl frowned. This drunkard was utterly unreasonable. Perhaps she should knock him out and wake him after the game, lest his drunken ramblings disturb her master.
To boast about "understanding chess" before Chess Devil was no different than challenging the Sword God at his own gate.
Reckless and foolhardy.
As she approached the drunkard and raised her hand, she suddenly met a pair of eyes clear as snow—
Under the starlight, they shimmered with ripples, like the sparkling spring waters of Yaoguang Lake.
Or like the moonlit sea, boundless and all-embracing.
Such temperament starkly contrasted with his arrogant drunken words.
He declared: "Moving to four-three, ha! Serving supper on a platter! Better to 'level five-eight'!"
His laughter was soft, yet remarkably light and carefree.
The girl snapped back to reality. Seeing him change White's move, she instinctively studied the board, silently calculating this step.
He did know a bit—mediocre skill, neither brilliant nor flawed. Certainly no better than Li Ergou's "move to four-three."
She couldn't help scoffing: "'Move to four-three' can still defend the position. If you play 'level five-eight', I'll counter with 'upper seven-three' and cut off your retreat!"
She immediately regretted her words.
I, Li Ying, am after all a disciple of Chess Devil. Though not his direct successor, why should I argue with a drunkard?
Am I not disgracing my master?
Song Qianji responded with another coordinate without hesitation.
Li Ying's expression shifted: "I was careless earlier, one move behind, but you can't possibly defeat me! I advise you not to provoke me further, lest you lose yourself in the game and suffer the consequences."
When cultivators played chess, they often used Divine Sense to calculate, deduce, and strategize. Those with fragile Divine Sense or exhausted mental capacity might experience dizziness, chest tightness, and nausea—or in severe cases, vomit blood and fall unconscious.
Song Qianji laughed: "What if I win?"
Li Ying retorted angrily: "If you actually win, I'll call you grand-ancestor! If you lose, you must kneel and kowtow, addressing me as 'esteemed grandmother'! Enter six-two!"
She slammed down a stone where Song Qianji indicated.
Only then did she remember to check her master's expression. Seeing him calm and slightly closed-eyed, showing no disapproval, she grew bolder.
Having lived a sheltered, fortunate life, she was lively and naive. Accustomed to so-called geniuses seeking to apprentice under Chess Devil, she found them unremarkable and had developed a sense of pride.
Song Qianji neither agreed nor disagreed, simply offering another countermove.
Though the mountain pavilion stood high above the clouds, isolating valley sounds, crisp stone placements echoed in Li Ying's mind—
Her blind chess match with the drunkard.
Determined to make him concede, her attacks grew increasingly fierce.
Since Song Qianji entered the pavilion, the two players below had made forty moves each, with gains and losses on both sides.
Zhao Lin played with bristling fury, Li Ergou with frantic leaps. The observation platform blazed with lights, spectators gasping and sighing intermittently.
In the pavilion, the two had also exchanged forty remarks.The girl's voice was as melodious as an oriole's song, yet sometimes rushed, sometimes hesitant.
Song Qianji's voice carried a drunken languor, always tinged with laughter no matter how fiercely his opponent attacked or besieged him.
After fifty moves, a sudden transformation erupted in the deadlocked situation—like clouds parting to reveal startling heavens.
The girl's delicate face paled slightly as she whirled around, staring at Song Qianji in astonishment:
"Whose disciple are you?"
Song Qianji tilted his head back, gulping down a mouthful of fruit wine before sighing contentedly: "I'm just an Outer Sect disciple. Ping Three-Nine!"
Li Ying didn't believe him. The man's clothing was simple and plain, yet the purple jade wine jar in his hand was priceless beyond measure. She couldn't fathom his origins.
His calculating ability was extraordinary, his chess style uniquely isolated, yet he remained completely unknown.
When had such a figure emerged in the Cultivation World?
Still unwilling to concede, she closed her eyes to calculate further.
After projecting over a hundred moves, fine beads of sweat dotted her forehead, dampening her bangs. Thousands of possible variations simultaneously overlapped and progressed in her consciousness.
After an indeterminable time, the grid lines on the chessboard suddenly twisted and deformed, tightly entangling her. The placement of white stones felt like massive rocks pressing against her chest.
For a moment, she struggled to breathe, her vision flickering with darkness.
"Pat!"
At the brink of despair, as she sank into darkness, someone suddenly patted her back.
The palm fell lightly without force, yet it descended like a giant blade from the heavens, instantly shattering the boulder on her chest.
"There will always be someone better, skies beyond skies. Little Li, you should understand this now," spoke the elderly man who had been sitting motionless in the pavilion.
"Master!"
The girl opened her eyes to suddenly see stars filling the sky, silver light spilling across the land. The valley's Deacons carried lanterns, making the area brightly lit with bustling figures.
A dazed sensation of having narrowly escaped disaster washed over her, making her nose tingle as if she had suffered great injustice. "Thank you, Master!"
The elder opened his eyes: "Move to Nine-Four."He took the black stone and took over the remaining game, yet didn't look at Song Qianji, his face still bearing a certain weary expression."
But with one stone placed, a brilliant move blossomed like flowers, parting clouds to reveal the moon.
Song Qianji shook his head, muttering incoherently: "Drive away the young one, and the old one comes. The young one's foolish, the old one's sickly—why must I suffer this?!"
"How dare you!" Li Ying shouted, still breathing heavily.
"No matter." The elder actually laughed instead.
Li Ying glared at Song Qianji, thinking that since her master had just been outmaneuvered by the Calligrapher Sage with pent-up frustration with no place to vent, his retaliation would surely be heavy-handed.
You foolishly delivered yourself to our doorstep—you've only yourself to blame for your misfortune.
Yet she saw the drunkard about to speak when he suddenly paused, as if calculating the power behind this move.
His smile vanished as he slightly raised his eyebrows, his expression suddenly carrying a stern, isolated dignity.
He suddenly shouted: "Well played! Upper Eight-Six!"
His voice shook the sea of clouds, making the mountain forests rustle.
Li Ying jumped in surprise, inexplicably growing tense.
The spring breeze blew, carrying the scent of wine as the flush on Song Qianji's face deepened.
The elder's previously still, ancient-well eyes gradually gathered sharp intensity.
Li Ying listened to the Blind Chess, visualizing the stone placements in her mind. She witnessed the two exchange over a hundred moves in their back-and-forth battle—sometimes the black stones surging like dragons piercing the clouds, sometimes the white stones flowing like relentless rivers.
The more she listened, the more astonished she grew, not daring to calculate further. She retrieved a notebook and a small calligraphy brush from her Storage Bag, concentrating on recording their game.
She still found the night utterly absurd—a drunkard bursting in during her master's despondent state, who turned out to be an exceptionally skilled drunkard at chess.
Her master had once said that enduring the torment of illness would surely bring rewards. Could this be the reward manifesting today?
Suddenly, a roaring cheer erupted from the viewing platform, shaking the heavens and earth.
Crowds surged toward the valley, shouting about a legendary game.
It seemed the final match of the chess tournament between Li Ergou and Zhao Lin had reached its conclusion. The champion of the chess tournament had been decided.But in the mountain pavilion high above, who cared?
Drunk on the spring breeze, Song Qianji swayed as he took two steps forward, studying the old man’s face.
The old man’s eyes shone with a divine light, like the deepest whirlpools of the Dead Sea, threatening to suck in one’s very soul.
His spine was as straight as a sword, a stark contrast to his earlier withered, seated posture.
Song Qianji thought, This old man may look haggard and thin, but his spirit is quite vigorous. Could it be he’s not ill? Then I won’t hold back.
“Go to eight-seven. Fly!Placing a stone at the intersection point of the "sun"-shaped grid was called "flying."”
Li Ying’s heart trembled. In that light command, there was an aura that seemed to look down upon the world.
She truly seemed to see a goshawk soaring into the sky, rising straight to the heavens.
Chess Devil frowned. “Go to nine-two, cut!”
A towering mountain rose abruptly, blocking the flying eagle.
Standing on the star point of the board, Song Qianji prepared to withdraw and advance.
Smooth black stones leaped from the ground one by one, transforming into mountains that pressed toward him.
Ten thousand mountains stood in his way.
Song Qianji’s wide sleeves fluttered as he spread the fingers of his right hand.
“Whoosh—”
A long sword shot through the air.
A sharp sword light flew out, shattering the mountains and breaking the black stones.
With the long sword in hand, who could stop him?
Song Qianji swung his sword downward, its energy soaring to the sky as a great river descended from the heavens!
He rode the waves, the towering white crests following the guidance of his sword, rolling and surging forward.
Black mountains rose again, each taller than the last, splitting heaven and earth, blocking the river.
Song Qianji nearly toppled, maneuvering the white river through the gaps, the roaring water deafening.
The sky shook as countless giant black stones fell like a meteor shower, crashing down upon him.
Song Qianji waved his sleeves, and the thousand layers of white waves beneath his feet rose higher.
He swung his sword, the gleaming blade light splitting into ten, then a hundred, then a thousand, until ten thousand swords shot forth together.
The black meteors were pierced by the swords, bursting into countless beams of white light before disintegrating.
More meteors fell, densely filling the entire sky.
The sun and moon lost their light; all things turned to darkness.
Only the white river remained, its vitality unceasing.
Song Qianji had forgotten the game, forgotten the mountain pavilion, forgotten everything.
He challenged mountains, drove seas, and met the sky with his sword.
The sky collapsed, meteors shattered.
The earth sank, the great river scattered.
…
Song Qianji opened his eyes, his expression dazed.
The mountain pavilion remained, the spring breeze still blew, and starlight quietly settled on his robes.
Gradually, he returned to his senses.
The old man laughed heartily. “Exhilarating!”
His eyes shone brightly, like a burning flame of life, restored to his prime.
“It has been a long time since I last set a formation,” he said.
Usually, if he used one, it was merely a casual act, not worthy of being called a true formation.
“It has also been a long time since I last wielded a sword,” Song Qianji praised. “What formidable Formation Arts.”
Chess Devil said, “What a ruthless sword technique!”
They exchanged a smile.
Li Ying stood dumbfounded. “Who won?”
Her brush, recording the game, halted abruptly as the two had entered a trance.
“A Cyclic Ko—no winner,” Chess Devil said.
Li Ying was stunned.
Even if her master did not use Spirit Qi and only used the board as a formation in the mindscape, could there really be someone in the world capable of breaking through her master’s Entrapment Formation?
Chess Devil asked gravely, “Young man, have you suffered the loss of your family and carry a deep-seated blood feud?”
If you have enemies, he thought, I will avenge you for them.
But Song Qianji replied, “I have not.”
“Have you endured humiliation and borne a great injustice?”
If you have grievances, I will also redress them for you.
“I have not,” Song Qianji shook his head.
Chess Devil was taken aback. “Then why, at such a young age, is your sword technique so ruthless?!”
Song Qianji let out a drunken belch. “I have no choice.”The words came out of nowhere, leaving Li Ying both utterly bewildered and intensely curious.
Seeing that the other party seemed to have unspoken difficulties, Chess Devil stopped pressing further and only asked:
"Which family's junior are you? Who is your master?"
"No master, no sect. Self-taught," Song Qianji replied.
"Why self-teach?"
"For, for..."
Song Qianji's mind suddenly grew hazy. Breaking into forbidden lands to retrieve qin scores, trapped in an Entrapment Formation to study chess and unravel mechanisms—these were events from many years ago.
He couldn't be bothered to elaborate, but after the recent game, he felt a sense of closeness toward this elderly man enjoying the cool breeze. So he cut to the chase:
"To put it plainly, it was for a woman."
This answer left both the old and the young in the pavilion utterly stunned.
Song Qianji himself was actually quite surprised.
He thought, with my chess skills, I managed to survive the tomb of the Great Adept Thousand Canals King and take away his treasured qin score. I always considered myself a master.
But tonight, I couldn't even defeat a sickly old man—we only ended in a draw.
Damn it, Thousand Canals King. You're really not up to par!
Indeed, there is always someone better beyond your reach, and skies beyond skies. An old man will always be an old man.
He no longer dared to claim he was "particularly skilled at chess."
The sea of learning is boundless—he only knew a little, after all.
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