On the stage, Xin Muyi stared at the stone Ye Zhao had just placed, falling silent for several breaths.
"It is not too late to regret your move. We could easily start a new game," Xin Muyi said, his tone ambiguous. It sounded like a reminder, but in truth, the nerves in his brain were unconsciously tightening.
"Regret?" A faint chuckle escaped the lips of the man opposite him. His eyes, brilliant as a sea of stars, narrowed slightly as he drawled, "The one who should regret this is you, Xin Muyi."
Xin Muyi’s gaze turned wary as he watched the man. "What do you mean by that?"
...Actually, it didn't really mean anything. Ye Zhao was simply trying to suppress his opponent through sheer presence, contradicting him out of habit.
It was difficult to explain and impossible to answer. Thus, Ye Zhao chose not to respond at all. He simply smiled, maintaining an air of profound mystery, and lightly tilted his chin. "Your turn."
Xin Muyi lowered his head to look at the board. The remnants of the game against Pei Yunting were still there, save for the addition of a single black stone at the *Tianyuan*—the center point. It was jarringly out of place, yet for some reason, once his eyes landed on it, he couldn't look away.
*Clack—* He reached out and placed a stone.
The attendant responsible for the display board replicated their moves onto the large wooden vertical board for the audience to see.
Ye Zhao played quickly—so quickly it seemed as though he was simply dropping stones wherever there was an empty space. In contrast, Xin Muyi’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
Finally, after a short while, Xin Muyi placed a stone that instantly captured and "slaughtered" several of Ye Zhao's black pieces.
"Aieee..."
"What kind of amateur play is this?!"
"My five-year-old son plays better than him!"
It was painful to watch, a sight that made one's eyes turn red with frustration. The spectators in the tower broke into a chorus of sighs and groans, every one of them wishing they could beat Ye Zhao to death.
Pei Yunting had held out for so long only to lose by five stones; this man, however, hadn't even been up there for fifteen minutes and had already doubled the deficit.
Ye Zhao heard the voices around him. "..."
"You have lost," Xin Muyi said flatly.
Below the stage, Jiang Ziqi slapped his own forehead. With a mournful face, he muttered, "It’s over, it’s all over... I shouldn't have let Ye Zhao go up there! What a terrible idea!"
*And he’s pretending to be Lord Tianshu?! With those 'stinky' skills, he’s completely exposed now!*
Ye Zhao looked up at him, his lips still curved in that same smile. He appeared unhurried, his fair, slender fingers toyed with his folding fan. "What is the rush? Useless stones should make room for others; that is their final purpose."
The way he said it made it sound as if he had intentionally allowed Xin Muyi to slaughter that section of the board.
Ye Zhao turned his head and said nonchalantly to the attendant, "Clear the stones."
The attendant hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to remove the captured black stones from the board as instructed.
A large empty space appeared once more.
Suppressing the panic in his heart, Ye Zhao casually dropped another stone. When he looked up, his eyes were dark and bottomless, filled with a faint, playful mockery. "Play."
That single word, "Play," sounded like a command. It was as if this match were nothing more than a game to him, and Xin Muyi was merely a plaything brought along for his amusement.
The smile on his lips seemed to fade slightly, yet he still projected no sense of urgency, only a chilling nonchalance.
However, Xin Muyi did not see it that way. His entire body stiffened, his fingers trembling as he pinched a stone from the bowl and placed it down. He was not nearly as calm as he appeared on the surface; his speed had slowed significantly.
Ye Zhao, however, remained unchanged. He placed his stones calmly, his only words throughout the process being "Play" and "Clear the stones." He showed no reaction to the fact that he was ostensibly losing, to the point where the people below the stage didn't even want to curse him anymore. They simply looked at him as if he were a complete fool.
Tired of shouting, someone finally spoke up: "Hey, do you think this guy has lost his mind?"
"I think there's something wrong with his head!"
Another person lamented, "Thank goodness the stakes are capped at three cities. Otherwise, if we counted by the number of stones lost, this guy would have gambled away the entire State of Wei!"
Looking at the pile of captured black stones sitting to the side, the crowd felt utterly speechless.
Ye Zhao continued his performance, ignoring the gazes that treated him like a lunatic.
As time passed, Xin Muyi began to feel the eerie, familiar rhythm of the strategy used by *that person* years ago. His gaze toward Ye Zhao became filled with shock and suspicion.
Finally, Xin Muyi stopped abruptly. His right hand remained inside the stone bowl, but it trembled so violently he couldn't pick up a single piece. Cold sweat drenched his forehead, and his eyes were wide with terror.
He stared at the black and white grid before him, his lips quivering, unable to speak.
This was...
This was the exact configuration of the black stones at the end of his match with *that man* all those years ago...
Identical.
"What's wrong with him?"
As the minutes ticked by, the crowd below gradually grew quiet. Someone finally noticed Xin Muyi’s abnormal state. Those standing close could clearly see the expression on his face.
Was that... horror?
Amidst the confusion of the crowd, a loud *clatter* rang out. The stone bowl in Xin Muyi’s hand had accidentally overturned, spilling stones all over the floor.
Ye Zhao merely lowered his eyes, glanced at the mess, and then returned his gaze to the man opposite him. His eyes were as still as a stagnant pool. Looking at the reflection in his opponent's eyes, he whispered a single sentence: "Your turn. Play."
His strategy had worked!
The sentence carried no outward pressure, yet it was the final blow to Xin Muyi’s psychological endurance. As he watched Ye Zhao slowly unfurl his fan, Xin Muyi’s composure shattered completely.
"Tian... Tianshu!" Two words were forced out of his constricted throat, his voice dry and raspy, barely audible.
"What? What did Xin Muyi just say?" someone asked, confused.
"I don't know, something about losing..." another replied, dazed.
Pei Yunting, however, had glimpsed a sliver of the truth from the movement of Xin Muyi’s lips. *Tianshu?*
He froze, looking up at Ye Zhao in shock.
Hearing Xin Muyi’s words, Ye Zhao felt a wave of relief. It hadn't been in vain—all that nervous acting had finally paid off.
"Xin Muyi, you have lost..." He tilted his head slightly, smiling softly. His eyes seemed to shimmer with a mysterious, captivating light, yet his words were arrogant and overbearing, as if stating an absolute truth. "You cannot defeat me."
"Just like thirty years ago, you will always be a loser..."
The gentle words felt like a dark enchantment settling into the heart. Xin Muyi’s face was deathly pale. The mask could not hide that familiar presence; the image of that man manifested clearly in Xin Muyi’s mind once more.
The exact same words. It was like a scene from the past replaying itself. The cold sweat on his brow transformed into the rain from that day, soaking him to the bone.
That year, leading the few hundred remaining remnants of his army, he had finally arrived before the gates of the Wei Imperial Palace.
The great gates had slowly creaked open. A man dressed in black had stepped out. The handsome young gentleman held a red umbrella—an umbrella that looked as if it had been dyed in fresh blood. As the rain hit it, it seemed to turn into bloody water, piercing straight through Xin Muyi’s eyes into his soul. That was the color he had seen most that day.
Red was everywhere. Along the road he had traveled, the ground was the color of flowing blood, and the sky was filled with the demonic crimson of fires consuming everything.
He had stumbled before his enemy like a stray dog, yet he could no longer find the courage to resist.
"You have arrived? Now, we can have a proper game of Go." The man had sat down leisurely in a chair. Someone held the umbrella for him, but his presence alone was enough to terrify the hundreds of Xize soldiers so much they didn't dare move. They could only stare at his every movement with wary dread.
Xin Muyi had been like a wooden puppet, forced to sit stiffly opposite him, his frozen mind attempting to do the one thing he was best at—playing Go.
Cold rain lashed against the board and his body.
The opponent had promised that for every stone he won, he could trade it for the life of one Xize soldier, allowing them to leave the city. He hadn't expected that once the game began, his nightmare would begin as well.
The man kept his word; every stone won saved a life. But for some unknown reason, the man suddenly ordered the guards on the palace walls to fire arrows at his soldiers. A single word—"Kill"—instantly claimed five lives.
"Play," the man had said, looking at him with a flat gaze.
It was calm, devoid of any overt pressure, yet it brooked no refusal. The scent of blood in the air grew thicker.
Human life was no different from air in that man's eyes. Xin Muyi felt the chill of those words deep in his marrow. Every stone he placed was done with extreme caution, yet the slaughter continued regardless.
But he couldn't stop. He was forced to continue this bloody game.
Later, he gradually figured out the pattern: whenever the opponent connected five stones in a line, people would die. He tried desperately to prevent it.
They were like lambs waiting for the slaughter, able only to accept the master's arrangements, possessing no right to resist.
The ultimate humiliation and helplessness were branded into his heart like a searing iron.
By the end, he was trembling so hard he couldn't muster a shred of strength. His teeth chattered, and as he looked at the man before him, he could no longer conceive of the idea of competing.
This was a man-eating demon, a heartless Asura from hell...
Tianshu had asked him: "Do you wish to continue?"
His face was ashen. He turned to look at his fallen soldiers, his eyes red, unable to utter a single word.
Tianshu had glanced at the Xize soldiers behind him and said with feigned regret, "It seems your skills still require practice. Otherwise, they wouldn't have had to die, wouldn't you agree?"
Then, the man had smiled and suggested: "Next time. Next time, bring more troops to Wei, and we can continue our game."
They sounded like the warm words of a friend, yet to his ears, every syllable was freezing and reeking of blood. His heart felt as if it had fallen into an ice cellar; cold blood flowed through his limbs, making his head spin. He didn't even know what expression he was making.
The Crown Prince of Xize, who had been a proud and noble youth before entering the city, now sat despondently in the rain, seemingly unable to recover from this sudden, catastrophic defeat. He allowed Tianshu to walk up to him and say with a smile, "Your Highness, you have lost."
"No, no... I haven't lost... I haven't lost!" the Crown Prince cried out, his face a mask of dazed horror.
He was stepped on by Tianshu. Xin Muyi and the others watched helplessly as the Prince was forever marked with the brand of a loser. Blood trickled down the right side of his face as Tianshu used the tip of his folding fan to carve the character for "Heaven" (*Tian*) into his skin. "You will never defeat me. You cannot overcome Heaven..."
In that moment of powerlessness, they remembered those words forever.
That man had become the very "Heaven" that pressed down upon their heads.
The highly esteemed Crown Prince of Xize, after meeting that man, had his pride broken. From then on, he never recovered.
The next morning, when the city gates opened, Xin Muyi and the ten thousand Xize soldiers who had entered the city transported the mountain of corpses out of the Heavenly Capital.
Corpses piled like mountains, blocking out the sun. That day became everyone's nightmare.
"I... I lose." Xin Muyi was shaking all over, his clothes already soaked through with sweat.
"I lose..."
As he murmured those words repeatedly, the area below the stage gradually fell silent. It was so quiet one could hear a pin drop. Every face was etched with utter astonishment.
Ye Zhao, wearing a composed smile, tilted his head and repeated the words with a grin. "Correct. You lose. You will never defeat me..."
Xin Muyi stared blankly at the man before him, his eyes vacant, as if trapped in a dream.
Only then did the people in the tower begin to snap out of it.
Someone asked in a daze, "Xin Muyi... admitted defeat?"
The question was filled with disbelief. Someone else followed up, "What?! What did you say?"
"Xin Muyi admitted defeat!!!"
The shout was taken up by one person after another.
*Whoosh—* The entire audience erupted.
The massive display board of the Golden Scale Stage still stood before them, showing the black stones in a state of total ruin.
And yet, Xin Muyi, who was winning the board, had actually surrendered?!
According to the rules, this meant that all the stones the Wei side had lost previously were nullified. This round was a draw!
Incredible! It was utterly baffling!
But in an instant, a cheer louder than any heard before erupted throughout the Que Tower.
***
**Glossary**
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 天枢 | Tianshu | The name of a legendary figure (and a star in the Big Dipper). |
| 天元 | Tianyuan | "Origin of Heaven"; the center point of a Go (Weiqi) board. |
| 西泽 | Xize | Western Ze; a rival state to Wei. |
| 阙楼 | Que Tower | The tower where the competition is held. |
| 金鳞台 | Jinlin Stage | Golden Scale Stage; the platform for the match. |
| 天上京 | Heavenly Capital | The capital city of the State of Wei (Tianshangjing). |
| 太师椅 | Grandmaster Chair | A traditional high-backed armchair signifying status. |
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