Chess Devil was astonished. With his experience and cultivation, he could usually see through a fifteen or sixteen-year-old youth with just a glance.
But he couldn't see through the person before him.
He had thought that someone capable of developing such chess strategies and sword techniques must have a heart as firm as a rock, unmoving as a mountain—someone who, even if they could achieve seven parts, would strive for ten.
Coupled with extraordinary talent and unparalleled aptitude, such a person would inevitably be arrogant and aloof, looking down on everyone.
Could someone of such temperament also be entangled in matters of love?
"For a woman?" he couldn't help but ask curiously. "Is she your dao companion?"
Song Qianji lifted the wine jar, the liquor trickling down the corner of his mouth and soaking his front robe: "Not exactly."
They had never performed the rites, never registered as a couple—at most, they had only held hands. It truly couldn't be considered a dao partnership.
Later, when Miaoyan became the destined partner of the savior Wei Zhenyu, it wasn't even a matter of remarrying.
Li Ying suddenly grew indignant: "If she's not your dao companion, why did you learn chess for her? Did you find it so easy, grasping the pieces and comprehending the Dao in an instant?"
"Easy? Far from it. I'm no genius. Back then, I nearly lost my life learning it. When I returned, that person only said two words..."
"'Thank you'?" Li Ying interjected. "Since you did it for her, she must have been very grateful and said thank you!"
After speaking, she stuck out her tongue. She shouldn't have interrupted in front of her master.
But seeing that her master was in a good mood, smiling and even giving her an appreciative glance, it was clear he also wanted to know but was too embarrassed to pry too much.
Li Ying exchanged a look with Chess Devil: Master has matters, and it's the disciple's duty to serve. Don't worry.
"Ha, she would never say thank you to me. Anything I did for her was taken for granted. She said, 'Not bad.'" Song Qianji laughed so hard he choked on his wine. "At that time, I thought that even if I went through life-and-death struggles, earning a 'not bad' from her would be worth it."
Though he was laughing, Li Ying felt her eyes sting. She set down her hairpin brush and rubbed her eyes.
"Smack!" The old man suddenly slammed his palm on the stone table.
Faint cracks appeared at the corner of the table.
Li Ying was startled. If not for the protective formations of the Huawel Sect's Star-Picking Platform, the pavilion would have collapsed.
"Young man, too much tenderness weakens a hero's resolve!" Chess Devil said angrily.
"Now that you're apprenticing under me, what woman couldn't you marry? Whether it's a fairy from the heavens or the earthly Fairy Miaoyan, this old man will decide it for you!"
Li Ying thought to herself, In recent years, Master has been detached and weary, not even bothering with major events at Purple Cloud Temple. Yet he's meddling in a young man's romantic affairs?
Barring any surprises, this person would soon become her senior brother.
Though he was a drunkard, he wasn't unpleasant. Fine, I'll accept it.
At most, when I brew medicine for Master every day, I'll make some sobering soup for you too.
Hearing the name "Miaoyan," Song Qianji waved his hands in panic: "No, no, old sir, please don't decide for me! I'd rather die than marry Miaoyan! If you really make me marry her, I'll turn against you!"
"Ah?" Li Ying was stunned. "You don't like Fairy Miaoyan?"
"Don't like her!" Song Qianji slapped the stone table decisively. "Don't care for her!"
Li Ying wondered, Just who is the woman he fancies?
For her, he didn't even care for the "Number One Beauty," the peerlessly graceful Fairy Miaoyan.
If I had been born a few years earlier and met him before she did, had Master take him in as a disciple, and become his junior sister... If I treated him well, he wouldn't be drowning his sorrows alone tonight.If not for being lovesick and muddled by drink, this man would surely have been the earliest renowned, peerless genius of his time.
Whenever some elder took a liking to him and offered to arrange his marriage, he'd slam the table declaring, "I don't need it—I already have my junior sister."
Thinking of this, Li Ying couldn't help but laugh.
But she was young, like a fledgling leaving the nest, still naive and unaware of where these feelings came from.
The Chess Devil, worldly-wise and perceptive, glanced at his blushing disciple and leisurely remarked:
"I've always thought Miaoyan was just average. Look at my disciple here—her low profile is only because she dislikes showing off. In terms of talent, beauty, innate gift, or background, what does she lack compared to Miaoyan?"
Li Ying's cheeks flushed crimson as she whispered, "Master flatters me too much. I dare not compare myself to Fairy Miaoyan."
Normally carefree and unrestrained, she suddenly grew bashful, losing all the boldness she'd shown earlier when making bets and demanding to be called "little ancestress."
"Why dare not compare?" Song Qianji stared straight at her for a moment before slurring loudly, "As long as you're true to yourself and others, you're a thousand—no, ten thousand times better than Miaoyan!"
Catching the fruity wine scent on him, Li Ying's face reddened deeper than if she were drunk herself. She hissed, "Nonsense!"
Song Qianji looked bewildered. "I only spoke the truth. Why is it nonsense?"
"I'm not calling you nonsense, I just..." Li Ying said urgently, "Must you take everything others say so seriously?"
How much suffering had that female cultivator put him through, to make him always blame himself for everything?
At this thought, tears fell uncontrollably, pattering down.
Song Qianji was shocked.
Why was she crying?
He looked at the old man, eyes pleading for help.
But the old man merely smiled faintly, washing his hands of the matter as if enjoying the spectacle.
Song Qianji immediately felt a headache coming.
He Qingqing cried to him, Meng Heze cried to him, Ji Chen cried to him.
Now even a girl he'd just met was crying before him.
Counting his lived years, he could've been her ancestral grandfather—how could he bully someone like this?
Song Qianji hurriedly said, "I'm nonsense, I'm nonsense. Whatever I did wrong, I apologize. Please don't cry."
"Why are you apologizing?" Li Ying cried even harder, not caring that her master was nearby. "With a temperament like yours, no wonder female cultivators cheat you!"
Song Qianji thought, Now even apologizing is wrong?
Since when does that make sense?
"Then what do you want, little ancestress?"
Tears still streaking her face, Li Ying's eyes darted, wondering how he usually pursued that female cultivator.
Did he do as in the storybooks—reciting poetry beneath moonlit blossoms to please his beauty?
She demanded petulantly, "Sing me a song."
Song Qianji smiled wryly. "I can't."
"Tell me a joke."
"I can't do that either."
Li Ying stamped her foot. "Compose me a poem! Don't say you can't this time!"
"I really can't. Will a doggerel verse do?"
Li Ying nodded eagerly, handing him her hairpin brush.
Song Qianji gripped the brush, pondered for a moment, then wrote fluidly across the stone table:
"I'd blend spring breeze into drunken wine, Let life's countless grievances resign.
Who among heroes can stand as my peer? Seeking immortality is less dear than—"
At the final three characters, his writing was blocked by a spread notebook on the table—Li Ying's freshly inked chess records from earlier.
As Li Ying moved to clear the obstructing notebook, Song Qianji, unwilling to break his flow, simply wrote directly on her papers: planting potatoes.
With a sudden giggle, the girl's tears turned to laughter."Seeking immortality is not as good as growing potatoes? What does 'growing potatoes' mean? Did you just make that up?"
Song Qianji laughed: "I didn't make it up. I really do grow potatoes."
Just as Li Ying was about to ask why he grew them, sudden noisy voices and footsteps echoed from the mountainside.
"Senior Brother Song, are you there?" countless voices shouted, startling the birds into flight.
In the darkness, torchlights wound like a long dragon, extending all the way up to the mountaintop.
"I'm here," Song Qianji called out, then said to the old man enjoying the cool air, "Someone's come looking for me. I'll take my leave first."
He swayed as he stood up. Li Ying moved to support him, but he had already steadied himself against the pavilion pillar, indicating it wasn't necessary.
Chess Devil smiled: "Our gathering tonight was brief. Let me give you half a volume of chess manuals. You can look through them in your spare time to pass the time."
Chess manuals?
Song Qianji heard his casual tone and watched him take out a thin booklet without even a cover—nothing like "Thirteen Chapters on Chess" or "Four Masters' Manuals."
It more resembled "108 Must-Learn Set Patterns for This Lifetime," "A Book That Teaches You to Become a Chess Master," or "Exclusive Famous Manuals to Help You Dominate the World."
Back when he was fleeing for his life, he had hidden among common folk in the markets. Some old men would wake from their afternoon naps, wave palm-leaf fans, and play chess in the shade.
Stalls nearby sold booklets just like this.
Song Qianji casually accepted it: "Thank you, old sir."
Soon, many people crowded into the mountain pavilion. They swarmed around the drunkard.
Li Ying stood stunned as someone wiped his sweat with a silk handkerchief, another draped a cloak over him, and yet another fed him sobering soup.
They wore the robes of Huawel Sect's outer sect disciples, looking at him with reverence and admiration. It seemed they would have gladly carried him away in a soft sedan chair if they could.
"No need to support me, I'm not drunk!" Song Qianji, wrapped in his cloak, walked a few steps before turning back to wave, "Young lady, old sir. May we meet again!"
"Senior Brother Song, what are you talking about? There's clearly no one in that pavilion," Meng Heze said in surprise.
"No one?" Song Qianji was astonished. "Can't you see them?"
The outer sect disciples shook their heads in unison, swearing earnestly:
"Really, there's no one, just two fallen leaves."
"Senior Brother, you've drunk too much. Come back with us quickly. Everyone was worried when you didn't return."
"I really must be drunk."
It's normal not to win against the old man when you're drunk and not playing well.
Song Qianji smiled, allowing Meng Heze to support him as they left.
The moon was affectionate, the spring breeze as gentle as ever.
Li Ying murmured in a daze: "I thought he had no friends because his chess style was so solitary, that he was drinking alone in depression. I never expected..."
"He truly has no friends," Chess Devil sighed.
Li Ying watched his retreating figure.
He was surrounded by crowds, well taken care of.
Calling friends, leading companions, like stars clustering around the moon.
Yet Li Ying suddenly felt he was profoundly lonely, like someone walking alone through a howling north wind on a deep night.
The moonlight shone cold and desolate upon him, as if a snowfall had settled.
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