Chapter Nine: Peril at the Chess Arena

After leaving Shiyan Village, Fang Guohuan found his journey much hastened thanks to his horse, and the road seemed far less arduous. The memory of the Three-Taste Jade Broth and the Tofu Feast lingered on his palate for days, a lingering aftertaste that left him marveling at how, in all crafts and skills under heaven, a transcendent mastery could awaken an altogether otherworldly experience. Time slipped by, and before long, he crossed into Hubei, then Hunan, learning along the way that Dongting Lake was not far, and that the Tianyuan Monastery at Lianyun Mountain could be reached within a few days. The anticipation filled him with both excitement and a faint nervousness.

One evening, Fang Guohuan arrived at a large town called Fengtai. As dusk approached, he sought out an inn for the night. After stowing his belongings in his room, he went downstairs, chose a table, and ordered a meal. At a neighboring table, several guests were engaged in an animated discussion, which at first he ignored—until he overheard one of them exclaim, “That fellow named Li certainly talks big! Just because he’s set up a chess challenge for over ten days without a worthy opponent, he thinks his skill is unmatched in the world?” The mention of “chess” piqued Fang Guohuan’s interest; he tuned in more closely. Another replied, “Would he dare set up a chess challenge if he had no real ability? Perhaps he’s a master come out of retirement.” “A chess challenge?” Fang mused in surprise. “I’ve heard of martial challenges, but never one for chess. What could be the purpose?” Yet another added, “There’s a thousand taels of silver prize money on the line, and in over ten days, no one’s managed to claim it. Scholar Wang from the east of town, the best player in Fengtai, was utterly routed by this Li yesterday, losing every single piece on the board. ‘Devouring the whole board, leaving not a single piece’—the saying fits perfectly.” Fang was astonished. “To capture every piece from a skilled opponent—what kind of expert is this?” He knew even he could not manage such a feat; it was almost impossible.

Unable to curb his curiosity—the nature of a chess player—Fang rose and approached the table, bowing politely. “Gentlemen, may I trouble you?” The men, seeing an unfamiliar youth, replied, “Is there something you need, young sir?” Fang said, “I overheard your conversation and found it curious. Might I ask for the full story?” One man replied, “You must be a traveler, unfamiliar with the local excitement. Since you wish to hear, let me explain. In Fengtai, there’s a wealthy family headed by Wang En, whose brother Wang He holds a high post in the capital. About half a month ago, Wang He returned home and picked up a chess master named Li Ruchuan along the way—a player of truly extraordinary skill, much like a grandmaster emerging from seclusion. To indulge him, Lord Wang arranged a chess challenge at Iron Dragon Monastery: Li Ruchuan to face all comers, with a prize of one thousand taels of silver for anyone who could defeat him. But in over ten days, not a single local expert has prevailed.” Another added, “Li Ruchuan’s skills are such that he often devours the entire board, leaving not a single piece to his opponent—a true grandmaster’s hand. With no more challengers, yesterday he announced that if anyone could manage even to keep a few living pieces on the board, they’d win fifty taels; take a hundred points of territory, and it’s five hundred taels—no longer judged solely by victory or defeat. He’s boasting, but clearly hoping to draw out a worthy adversary.” Fang was astonished, thanked the gentlemen, and returned to his room. Before reaching Tianyuan Monastery, he had already encountered such a formidable player; unable to find worthy rivals, he was so excited that he could not sleep all night, resolved to test himself at the chess challenge the next day.

Early the next morning, Fang left the inn and made his way to Iron Dragon Monastery, following the crowds drawn by the chess event as if to a festival. By the time he arrived, the square before the Great Hall was packed, people even climbing the walls for a view. Though it was a chess challenge, the scene was livelier than any martial contest. Before the main doors, a platform about a meter high had been erected, covered with a red carpet and centered by a tall chess table flanked by two jars of pieces. Off to the right, a row of bamboo chairs and a table draped in red cloth displayed the prize money. The area was cordoned off by low railings, guarded by a dozen burly servants—though ostensibly a chess match, the atmosphere was as imposing as a real arena. Fang struggled through the crowd to the front, waiting for his chance to step forward.

As the sun climbed higher, a steward ascended the platform and addressed the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen, since ancient times there have been martial challenges, but now my master hosts a contest of wit—a chess challenge for all to see, hoping to draw out the true masters. Alas, for over ten days, not a single challenger has matched Mr. Li.” Someone in the crowd called out, “If Mr. Li is so formidable, why not give a handicap? That would make for a lively contest and encourage more challengers.” The steward shook his head: “Mr. Li’s purpose is to see if there are any opponents in the world who can stand with him in a fair match. A handicap only proves unequal skill, which does not interest him. His style is: devour the whole board, leave not a single piece. Should anyone manage to preserve even a few living pieces, there’s a reward. Will any master step forward today?” Suddenly, a derisive voice rang out, “Such arrogance! ‘Devour the whole board, leave not a single piece’—if he were truly that skilled, why bother with this challenge at all? Is he mocking us here in Hubei?” A scholar stepped from the crowd and onto the platform. The steward greeted him, “Are you here to challenge, sir? May I have your name?” The scholar sneered, “I am Lu Wenyu from Jingzhou. Go fetch your chess master—he may take the first three stones as a handicap.” The crowd erupted in astonishment, and so did Fang Guohuan, sensing a true master had arrived. The steward, delighted, said, “Young Master Lu is clearly well-prepared. Mr. Li has been hoping for an opponent like you. Please wait a moment.” With that, he entered the hall.

Soon, a group emerged from the Great Hall, led by a man in blue, over fifty, with a thin face and yellowing beard, his expression dark and unfriendly. Beside him was a rotund official and several local dignitaries. The blue-robed man seated himself at the chess table—this was Li Ruchuan, the challenger. The fat man was Wang He, Vice Minister of Rites, who—having witnessed Li Ruchuan's invincible chess on the road—had been eager to secure his services, believing such a master would earn him the emperor’s favor and advance his career. Li Ruchuan, though cold and arrogant, eventually agreed to travel with him, recognizing his high official rank. Now, Wang He, in plain clothes and surrounded by local officials, watched from a bamboo chair, pleased to have secured such a prodigious talent for his own benefit.

Lu Wenyu, seeing Li Ruchuan seat himself without so much as a glance in his direction, was somewhat affronted. “To set up a chess challenge is something even the three great masters of our age would hesitate to do, yet I have never heard your name, sir. Is this merely a ploy for attention?” Li Ruchuan glanced coolly at Lu Wenyu, “Enough words. If you have the skill, let’s see it on the board.” His cold, triangular eyes flashed with a chilling light. Lu, momentarily unnerved, collected himself and bowed, “I am Lu Wenyu of Jingzhou, here to learn from you.” Li Ruchuan replied, “Since you dare to challenge, you may take black and make the first move.” Silenced by Li’s chilling presence, Lu abandoned the idea of giving three stones, trusting in his own ability and hoping to prevail. He began the game. Li Ruchuan responded calmly, and the match was underway. The crowd fell silent, all eyes on the board, each wondering who would finally claim the thousand-tael prize.

Though Fang Guohuan had made it to the front, the chessboard was too distant for him to discern the moves clearly. He waited patiently for the outcome. After several dozen moves, Lu Wenyu appeared increasingly agitated and surprised, while Li Ruchuan remained impassive and composed, responding instantly to every move. Fang was impressed: “Li Ruchuan is truly a master. I must seize this rare opportunity to learn from him.” As the midgame approached, Lu Wenyu’s resources seemed spent; he stared blankly at the board, then conceded with a sigh, “Sir, you are indeed a master! Such grand skill—surely the greatest in the world!” Humbled, he prepared to leave, but Li Ruchuan sneered, “You have kept dozens of points alive—do you want the reward?” Lu’s face flushed with shame; he covered his face with his sleeve and hurried away through the crowd. A wave of awe swept through the onlookers, and Wang He nodded, ever more delighted.

Fang Guohuan thought, “Lu Wenyu’s skill was formidable, yet he too was defeated. Clearly, Li Ruchuan, even if he did not achieve ‘devouring the whole board without a single piece left,’ is an exceptional player rarely seen in this world.” His admiration grew, and his interest flared. When servants began clearing the board and Li Ruchuan rose to leave, Fang Guohuan acted on impulse, stepping onto the platform and bowing, “Mr. Li, please wait. I, Fang Guohuan, humbly seek your instruction.” The crowd gasped at the sight of a youth stepping forward. Li Ruchuan paused, surprised to see a handsome young man, and asked, “Oh? Young sir, you know chess?” Fang replied respectfully, “I have studied the game from childhood. Today, I see your profound skill, and cannot let this opportunity pass. I hope you will instruct me.” Li Ruchuan was taken aback by Fang’s poise, studying him closely with a chilling, inscrutable gaze. After a moment, he nodded coldly, “Chess knows no age. Since you dare to come forward, you must have some extraordinary ability—perhaps a prodigy. I will make an exception for your youth and allow you a nine-stone handicap: if you can hold a hundred points of territory, the thousand taels are yours, lest I be accused of bullying the young.” His words dripped with disdain. The crowd murmured, “If this young man has any skill, a nine-stone handicap is a huge advantage.” A young monk squeezed to the front, surprised to see a boy stepping up, and watched intently.

Fang, sensing Li’s cold arrogance, felt his initial respect wane—such was the temperament of a chess player—and shook his head, “I am not accustomed to handicapped games. Only by facing you as an equal can I truly appreciate your mastery and learn from it. I beg you not to withhold your instruction.” Li Ruchuan was again surprised, thinking, “Such arrogance from a child! Perhaps he has some background, yet he seems not to know his limits.” His expression grew impatient. “Very well, let us play as equals. Show me your skill. You may take black.” Fang, perceiving Li’s contempt, knew that only on the board could he make his case. He calmed himself, bowed, and, without ceremony, placed his first black stone on tengen—the center point.

Li Ruchuan’s expression changed abruptly, his eyes flashing murderously as he raised his left hand. But seeing Fang’s innocent concentration and glancing at the crowd, he slowly lowered his hand. Fang’s opening at tengen had previously startled Master Zhishan at Maple Grove Cottage; Fang had always used it, confident in his own skill, not out of disrespect. Among the knowledgeable onlookers, those who could make out the opening were astonished: not only did this youth forgo the advantage of a handicap, but he began with such a provocative move. The young monk, too, felt a jolt of surprise: “To open at tengen—a rare talent indeed. Unless he wins here, he may be in grave danger, but even if he does, he may be in danger all the same.” He sensed that Li Ruchuan had, at that moment, been provoked to murderous intent by Fang’s move.

Li Ruchuan saw that, though Fang had opened at tengen, he meant no disrespect, and was all the more intrigued. Inwardly, he thought, “This boy dares to challenge me—does he truly possess skill to rival mine? If so, let it be; if not, he will not leave here alive. I have spent decades in seclusion perfecting my game to shock the world—how can I let a snot-nosed child upstage me?” With that, he opened at the lower left star point; Fang responded at the upper right star. Li followed with a three-star opening, while Fang replied at the lower right “small point” and the three-nine point. Li, unconcerned, split the points; Fang responded with two-space extensions. Both played for broad influence, and after thirty-six moves, Fang felt unprecedented difficulty: though the board was sparsely populated, Li’s white stones already dominated. Fang regretted his tengen opening, realizing he had underestimated his opponent, and played each move with utmost care. After fifty moves, Li Ruchuan was secretly astonished, now realizing this youth was no ordinary player. He composed himself and focused fully on the game. The young monk, with keen eyesight, could see the board clearly and marveled, “These two are rare equals, their skill nearly unmatched in the world—a game between such masters is seldom seen.” Both players were now completely absorbed, the crowd holding its breath, the crisp sound of stones striking the board clear and sharp.

Li Ruchuan, though facing a mere youth, was delighted to find a worthy opponent at last. “This boy’s skill is truly remarkable for his age—nearly on par with my decades of practice…” Suddenly, a strange sensation flickered through his mind. “Though I’m confident of victory, this match is hard-fought. Let me test him with a subtle probe and see if…” With that, Li deliberately played a slow move. Fang, struggling to break free from Li’s relentless pressure, was overjoyed to spot this lapse, quickly seizing the chance to pin down one of Li’s large groups and gain a slight advantage—a glimmer of hope. Li was shocked: “Such subtlety! Only a true master would notice this. Can this boy really be so gifted? If he continues, he will surpass me in the future—a formidable rival for my life’s work. Then all my decades of effort will be for naught.” Jealousy and murderous intent flickered briefly in his eyes, though he showed nothing outwardly and continued the game as if nothing had changed—a subtle shift noticed only by the young monk, who frowned in concern.

Though Li’s slow move gave Fang a brief advantage, Li soon unleashed a series of brilliant plays and regained control. When the game ended, Li Ruchuan had won by six stones, but he could feel he was at his limit, while his opponent’s strength only seemed to grow; though victorious, he felt as if he had lost. He knew that unless this youth were eliminated, he would become a serious threat in the future. Fang had given his all, and, despite the chance from Li’s slow move, his initial mistake at tengen cost him dearly—he lost by six stones, but it was a spirited defeat. With deep admiration, he rose, bowed deeply, and said, “Sir, your skill is profound beyond measure—worthy of a national master. It has been an honor to learn from you, and though I lost, I am greatly enriched.” Li Ruchuan sat motionless, his face growing darker and more menacing, his eyes fixed on Fang with murderous cold. Fang recoiled at the sight, sensing imminent danger; he quickly bowed again and said, “Your skill is unmatched; I am not worthy. Thank you for your instruction. I have other matters to attend to—farewell.” With that, he leaped from the platform and hurried away. The crowd burst into discussion. An old man mocked, “Children, not knowing their place, think they can challenge a master like Mr. Li just because they know a few moves. They have no idea how high the heavens are.” Another, peering at the dense endgame, mused, “The boy played well and seemed to hold a sizable territory. He should have claimed a reward—why did he simply leave?” Meanwhile, Li Ruchuan sat by the chess table, his face ashen as if he had lost, the darkness in his expression growing only more fearsome.

Fang Guohuan hurried away from Iron Dragon Monastery, returned to the inn, gathered his belongings and horse, and rode out of Fengtai in haste. After a while, seeing nothing amiss behind him, he relaxed a bit and sighed, “Li Ruchuan’s skill is unfathomable—a rare chess master indeed. But why did his eyes flash with murderous intent? Such enmity…” He puzzled over it, unable to think what he might have done to offend Li. The memory of those cold, venomous eyes sent a chill through him. He rode on until, exhausted, he and his horse rested in a wooded grove. Reflecting on the day’s events, Fang sighed, “To meet such a master in chess is a rare fortune; it’s a pity he is so dark and strange in character. One cannot befriend such a man—what a loss!” He shook his head, deeply regretful.

After a brief rest, Fang prepared to continue his journey. Suddenly, he sensed someone before him. Looking up, his face went pale—Li Ruchuan stood there, having somehow overtaken him. Li stood with hands clasped behind his back, his face cold. “You run fast—I nearly didn’t catch you,” he said. Fang drew a sharp breath, chilled to the bone; he realized his danger and regretted ever stepping onto the platform that day. Yet he steadied himself, rose, and bowed, “Sir, may I ask why you have pursued me so urgently?” Li regarded him and shook his head. “Since heaven has given me, Li Ruchuan, why must it also give the world a Fang Guohuan?” The words came with a murderous glare, intent clear. Fang gasped, “Your skill is unmatched—I am no rival and deeply admire you. Why such words?” Li sneered, “I have spent decades in seclusion perfecting my game to conquer the world. I did not expect you, with such rare talent, to surpass me in years to come. Do not blame me for ruthlessness—I cannot bear the prospect of you rivaling me for fame. Only by ending you can I be at peace.” With that, he advanced menacingly. Fang suddenly understood: Li Ruchuan’s jealousy had turned to murder, fearing Fang would one day eclipse him. Though in peril, Fang grew calm, retreating as he said indignantly, “Chess is a refined art, and victory and defeat are its natural course. Must one kill over questions of skill? Li Ruchuan, you disgrace the noble art…” Before he finished, his back struck a tree. Li, seeing Fang had no way out, grinned savagely, “Don’t blame me today—it seems the heavens do not favor a prodigy like you.” He lunged, fingers poised like claws for Fang’s throat.

At that critical moment, a voice intoned, “Amitabha! Would you commit murder in broad daylight?” Startled, Li sensed an attack from behind, immediately releasing Fang and leaping aside. He saw, several yards away, a monk—the very one who had watched the chess match at Iron Dragon Monastery. Li stiffened, raising both hands defensively. “Monk, are you seeking death as well?” The monk shook his head, “Heaven cherishes life—why choose death? Victory and defeat in chess are but routine. Why must you go so far as to kill?” Li replied coldly, “And what of it?” The monk continued, “There are always those stronger than ourselves. If you seek to kill every rival, you will never succeed.” Li retorted, “That may not be so. I know my own skill; aside from this boy, none can rival me. Why meddle? I’ll kill you too!” With that, he struck out. The monk, recognizing the skill of an inner martial master, dodged and exchanged a dozen blows with Li; the clearing filled with swirling dust and flying grass, and Fang looked on, stunned.

Suddenly, both Li and the monk sprang apart. The monk steadied himself and said, “So, Master Li, you possess both martial and chess mastery—rare indeed. Why, then, is your heart so narrow that you would not spare even a youth?” His manner remained calm. Li stared at him in horror, unable to speak; his legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees, sweat breaking on his brow, his face contorted in pain—he had been subdued. The monk shook his head, “It’s a pity, Master Li, that such skill is wasted on jealousy and violence. To prevent further murders, I have stripped you of your martial power. Take this as a lesson—repent and begin anew.” Then, turning to the dazed Fang, he smiled, “Are you unharmed, young master?” Fang, recovering himself, knew he owed his life to this master, and bowed deeply, “Thank you, master, for saving my life.” The monk raised him, “No need for thanks. I am Lawless. I saw Li Ruchuan’s ill intent at the chess challenge and followed to protect you. Chess is a noble art, but one must choose one’s opponent wisely.” Fang replied gratefully, “Had you not arrived, I would have perished.” His heart still pounded with fear. Lawless smiled, “It is rare that one’s devotion to chess would nearly cost them their life. This place is not safe; come with me and we can talk further.” Fang glanced at the crippled Li, asking, “What will you do with him?” Lawless replied, “His chess skill is rare; though I have removed his martial arts, I will spare his life and let him repent. He will recover in an hour—leave him be.”

Lawless led Fang back to the road, and after half an hour’s walk, they turned down a side path to a ruined temple. “My master is resting here,” said Lawless. “Let’s go in.” Inside, in the only remaining hall, an old monk sat beside a Buddha statue, wrapped in yellow robes, with a kind face and white beard, his gaze contemplative as he studied a silk chessboard. Lawless stepped forward, “Master, I have brought someone—perhaps the one you seek.” The old monk looked up, “Who is this?” Fang bowed, “I am Fang Guohuan.” The old monk appraised him and thought, “What a fine, delicate child.” He nodded, “I am Master Kuyuan. Please, be seated.” Lawless explained, “Today at Iron Dragon Monastery, I witnessed a rare match—two near-equal masters, one of whom is this young man. His youth and skill may be just what you are seeking, Master.” (Curiously, Lawless said nothing of disabling Li Ruchuan or saving Fang’s life, as if it had never happened.)

Master Kuyuan was mildly surprised, “If my disciple Lawless thinks highly of you, you must be special.” He gestured to the board. “This is a life-and-death problem from the Spring and Autumn period, once played between Chancellor Guan Zhong and the King of Qi. Can you solve it?” Fang knew he was being tested and approached. After a moment’s study, he placed a white stone on a key point. Lawless nodded silently. Master Kuyuan was unconcerned, merely saying, “You are indeed skilled.” He cleared the board, counted out ten black stones, and set them before Fang. “Will you play ten against ten with me?” Fang’s heart leapt, unable to suppress a trace of nervousness.