Chapter 582: Take Xie Guan

The sun was about to set behind the western hills.

The sky was overcast; the light snow that had just fallen had already ceased.

Su Yun led a group of servants into the carriage amid the cold wind.

"Giddy-up—"

Everyone in Bianjing recognized the Su family's carriage.

Along the way, passersby and vehicles wisely made way, or glanced up briefly before lowering their heads.

Smooth passage!

"Whoa—"

"Young Master has arrived!"

The carriage finally stopped before a grand mansion, its gate hung with a plaque.

The two large characters "Su Fu" were written in bold, flowing script—rumored to be penned by the Second Master of the Academy himself.

The gatekeeper hurried forward to greet them.

Su Yun and Chen Jiuyan arrived in separate carriages; gender separation was a matter of propriety.

Su Yun stepped down from the carriage, aided by servants.

Chen Jiuyan leapt down effortlessly, landing without a sound.

Though heavy snow had fallen these past days!

Longyu Street had been swept clean, bright and spotless.

Few people walked the street; some children, bundled in thick red coats and tiger-skin hats, their faces flushed red from the cold, exhaled visible steam as they threw snowballs.

They had been called home by elders, their faces still marked with reluctant reluctance.

Bianjing. Longyu Street.

Its name carried unmatched prestige in the capital of Da Qi.

After leaving the Imperial City, the main gate had originally been Chengtian Gate—but a hundred years ago, they rerouted the western gate leading to Longyu Street to become the new Chengtian Gate.

Illogical!

Yet Bianjing's common folk took it in stride, for Longyu Street housed two great clans.

The Su family. The Xue family.

The Xue family differed from the other nine great clans: they displayed no flamboyance, and few held official posts.

Among the nine great clans, the Xue family ranked low in influence, and over the years had produced no notable figures.

Though they controlled Bianjing's "meat market," several major moneylenders, pawnshops, and vegetable markets.

Yet compared to the other nine clans, who routinely monopolized grain transport and salt-iron trade, they were indeed discreet.

The Xue family enjoyed a good reputation in Bianjing; their moneylending practices never imposed the exorbitant terms like "nine out, thirteen back," "interest paid in severed heads," or forcing debtors into ruin with human collateral.

Yet rumors had long circulated in Bianjing.

The Academy's Second Master was born into the Xue family—though a collateral branch, not highly regarded, with old grievances and tangled grudges between them.

Whether true or false, only the nobility of Da Qi could know for certain.

Common folk preferred gossip; such tales were the wine's accompaniment in taverns and teahouses.

The main gate of the grand mansion remained closed; instead, they entered Su Fu through the southwest gate with Chen Jiuyan.

Chen Jiuyan followed closely behind Su Yun, her thoughts still fixed on the ten games of weiqi she had played against Xie Guan, her demeanor distracted.

Su Fu was vast, even more spacious than Xie Fu, yet its layout was simple and clear: a narrow path led directly to the back courtyard's weiqi pavilion, where Su Jing resided.

Su Yun walked calmly; he remembered his grandfather should have returned from the Grand Secretariat today.

He intended to pay his respects.

His grandfather came home only once or twice a month.

Servants they passed bowed respectfully to Su Yun.

The Fourth Master, Su Jing, had married early; his wife was merely the daughter of a butcher from a back alley.

After giving birth to Su Yun's father and his three brothers, she died young.

Su Jing never remarried; he raised all four sons alone.

After the four sons grew up and married, fearing their father would live in lonely solitude, none of them separated households.

The four Su brothers maintained harmonious relations, starkly different from the bitter rivalry within the Xie family.

When Su Jing's reputation soared, he was already in his forties or fifties; his four sons were already married and established.

Their wives were mostly common women, inheriting their father's devotion—each of the four married only one wife, never taking concubines.

Su Yun's father was the youngest of the four brothers.

Among Su Yun's generation, he had only two older sisters and one older brother, and a younger sister under ten.

Male heirs were relatively scarce!

Su Yun's older brother served in the imperial court, immersed in officialdom, rarely seen in public.

Su Yun was the only male of the family who moved about openly.

His two sisters: the eldest eloped with a nomadic slave to the northern Changsheng Tian; the second took up Daoist scriptures and became a Kun Dao.

These two incidents caused uproar at home; even Su Yun's uncles nearly expelled them from the family.

In the end, it was his grandfather who intervened.

"Children have their own fortunes; leave them be."

The grandfather personally escorted the eldest sister; she wept bitterly, kneeling and kowtowing at the city gate to him.

He simply said, "Once you leave Da Qi, do not return."

The second sister trained at the Chaoyang Monastery in Beihai Dao, returning once a year—always avoiding her grandfather.

It was nearly New Year's Eve; yet she had not returned this year.

Su Yun shook off his thoughts; he had reached the weiqi pavilion in the back courtyard.

Upon entering the courtyard, servants withdrew; only he and Chen Jiuyan remained.

The so-called weiqi pavilion was a three-story building.

The first floor received guests; the second housed books; the third was for living quarters.

Night had fallen.

The cold had deepened.

Outside the pavilion's entrance stood a small hut serving as its gatehouse.

Inside, a fire burned.

An old man with white hair and beard, hunched and frail, one leg missing from the pant leg, lay dozing on a chair beside the stove.

Su Yun stepped forward and bowed to the old man: "Old Man Chang, is Grandfather here?"

The old man known as Chang opened his cloudy eyes slightly; upon recognizing Su Yun, he did not rise.

"Oh, it's Young Master Yun. The Elder returned and said if you came, you should enter directly."

Chen Jiuyan snapped back to awareness—this was her first time meeting the Master since arriving in Bianjing.

She adjusted her robes, bowed to the old man on the reclining chair, then followed Su Yun inside.

This Old Man Chang was no ordinary man—he was a martial cultivator of the Ninth Rank Xuan Dan, grievously wounded, who had served the Fourth Master for years.

The old man watched the two enter the pavilion, said nothing more, merely closed his eyes and gently rocked his chair, murmuring:

"The Master's final disciple is truly exceptional—a girl barely over ten, already entered the middle three realms of martial cultivation; her spiritual radiance is deeply internalized, likely on the verge of breaking into the Sixth Realm of Primordial Spirit."

"Cultivating the Primordial Spirit is the true path; otherwise, one ends up nothing but an old cripple!"

"Young Master Yun's bone structure is excellent—but alas, he has no interest in martial cultivation… such a pity."

Su Yun and Chen Jiuyan gently pushed open the door; the interior was sparse, holding only a few weiqi boards and tea tables.

An old man waited within.

Su Yun bowed respectfully: "Ruwen, pays respects to Grandfather."

Su Yun's courtesy name was Ruwen.

"Chen Qiongyan, pays respects to Master."

The woman's true name was Chen Qiongyan.

Both stood by the door.

A weathered, slightly amused voice came: "Close the door."

Su Yun swiftly shut the door.

Seated behind the weiqi board sat an aged man, his appearance even more weathered than Old Man Chang outside—eighty or ninety years old.

Thin and frail, dressed in a loose blue robe, his face deeply lined, yet traces of youthful handsomeness remained—now like a withered tree in the mountains.

Yet beneath his sparse white brows, his eyes glimmered with faint, quiet radiance.

Su Yun stepped forward and skillfully brewed tea.

To outsiders, "Su Xiang" stood atop the clouds—yet now, a faint smile appeared on his face.

The old man first studied the woman, nodded slightly, and said kindly: "Sit. Don't be formal."

Chen Qiongyan sat opposite the old man, a weiqi board between them, bearing only five or six scattered stones.

Strangely, a single white stone occupied the "Tianyuan" point; the woman's expression flickered with confusion.

White played Tianyuan after just a few moves!

She instantly recalled today's tenth game, the loss, and Xie Guan's words: "Weiqi is not the Dao—it is the Art of War."

Her expression froze.

The old man asked, "What's wrong with Qiongyan today?"

Su Yun quietly brewed tea for both of them and interjected, "Grandfather may not know yet—Qiongyan lost her game today."

The old man tossed the stones back into the bowl, revealing a withered right hand, its knuckles protruding, speckled with age spots, skin thin, veins and tendons clearly visible.

He coughed violently, his chest rising and falling, his left hand hidden within his wide sleeves.

"In Bianjing, only Du Jing and Tang Zi'ang among the Chess Attendants can consistently beat Qiongyan," the old man said slowly.

Su Yun, seeing his grandfather like this, filled with worry in his eyes.

"Grandfather, don't go to the Grand Secretariat tomorrow. Rest for a few days."

The old man waved his hand. "Just an old ailment."

Chen Qiongyan found it strange—how could someone of her Master's cultivation base be so frail? Ever since she became his disciple, he had always been this weak.

Su Yun knew his grandfather's nature—once decided, no persuasion could sway him.

He dared not delay: "It wasn't Master Du or Old Master Tang—it was someone from our Grass Hall Poetry Society. He hasn't even reached adulthood yet."

At these words!

The old man looked at Chen Qiongyan's dejected expression and chuckled, "Qiongyan, who's always dominated others with her chess, has finally met her match."

Chen Qiongyan lifted her head, tone defiant: "He must've trained since childhood and deliberately hid his strength—deceitful. If we started over, I certainly… wouldn't lose."

The woman recalled the final games of their match and reluctantly amended: "I'm not certain I'd lose to him."

The old man, observing her lack of confidence, grew curious.

Su Yun recounted the day's events in full, including the ten games against Xie Guan.

"Xie Guan?"

The old man paused, then asked, "Could it be the student who wrote, 'The roc flies north, the phoenix faces the sun, carrying books and sword through boundless paths'?"

Su Yun nodded, smiling brightly: "Yes. Xie Guan is now part of our Grass Hall Poetry Society."

The old man smiled—he was well aware of the Poetry Society Su Yun had founded.

"To win six games straight against Qiongyan—this man is truly extraordinary."

But then the woman changed the subject: "Master, what is chess, truly?"

Su Jing laughed softly.

"That's your own question—you come asking me? Whatever you think it is, that's what it is."

"Then what do you think it is?"

The old man gently returned the last white stone, placed on the tengyuan point, to the bowl, and said calmly: "Playing chess is just playing chess. No need to over-interpret."

Chen Qiongyan froze—those words echoed exactly what Xie Guan had said.

She straightened and said firmly: "Master, I want to play one game."

The old man nodded in agreement.

The old man smiled: "How many stones should I give you?"

Chen Qiongyan hesitated—she wanted to ask for eight stones, but remembering her Master's skill, she dared not.

"Give me nine stones!"

The old man took black, gave nine stones.

The woman took white, placed her first move on the tengyuan point.

A handicap of more than nine stones is considered a teaching game.

Chen Qiongyan took black and played against the old man.

Su Yun didn't need to watch—he already knew the outcome.

Indeed, after only a few dozen moves, Chen Qiongyan hesitated, then resigned mid-game.

The woman accepted it as natural, yet was surprised by how decisively she lost.

This time, her Master didn't cleverly seize the tengyuan like Xie Guan—he simply placed stones casually, steadily building momentum until victory was assured.

The Dao's chess cannot overpower the teacher.

The woman sighed faintly, a confusion rising within her—chess seemed forever barred by this mountain of a man.

Over the years, her skill had barely improved; she'd hit a wall.

And then there was that young Xie family bastard she'd met today—his chess was equally treacherous, flawless, yet unexpectedly brilliant.

A wave of despair washed over her. Her once-proud chess skill had been defeated by someone younger than her.

At that moment!

Her thoughts involuntarily drifted back to the illusion Xie Guan had pulled her into within the small courtyard.

Chen Qiongyan's expression grew vacant, her eyelids heavy, pupils unfocused.

She felt herself sinking again into the icy Zehu Lake—the yellow pupils, as large as lanterns, at the bottom filled her with terror.

Like a drowning woman, she desperately tried to escape this horrifying place, her limbs cold, her chest filled with water.

Her whole body trembled uncontrollably, her hands clutching her throat.

"Wake up!"

A weathered voice, like thunder, exploded in Chen Qiongyan's ear, yanking her violently back into the chess room.

The old man lifted his gaze and said slowly: "Hold your heart-mind. Let your primordial spirit sit firm in the Huangting."

"How did you get a heart demon?"

Chen Qiongyan exhaled, steadied her mind, and recounted everything—how Xie Guan had dragged her into the illusion.

This secret clash between the two.

Su Yun, listening beside them, suddenly understood—no wonder Qiongyan had looked so strange earlier.

Though he had never cultivated primordial spirit or martial arts, he knew well how difficult primordial spirit cultivation was. For Xie Guan to possess such terrifying primordial spirit power—unbelievable.

A glimmer of light flashed in the old man's eyes. The woman blinked, then came back to herself.

She was stunned—the dreamlike memories of moments ago had grown hazy, now utterly forgotten.

Su Jing asked: "Zehu Lake?"

"Tell me everything else that happened today."

For the first time, Chen Qiongyan saw solemnity on her Master's face.

The woman described every detail with greater precision—even the exact placement of each stone in all ten games.

"Before leaving, Xie Guan asked me to help him with something."

"His first teacher—he died drunk at home…"

The old man frowned slightly: "First teacher?"

Su Yun added: "I think his name was Dong… Shao."

"Dong Shao!"

The old man's pupils contracted sharply, his expression jolted.

Even Su Yun was startled—he had never seen his grandfather look like this. His grandfather was always calm, composed.

"Grandfather, who is this man…?"

Chen Qiongyan was equally shocked—she had never seen her Master show such an expression, one tinged with fear.

Could Dong Shao have some connection to the Master?

But why would it affect him so deeply? Her mind filled with confusion.

A cold gleam flashed in the old man's eyes. He said nothing more, voice icy:

"This has nothing to do with you."

"Leave."

Seeing Su Jing's grim expression, both dared not linger and quickly took their leave.

The two departed; the door to the chess room closed softly.

Inside the chess room.

Only the old man remained, draped in a wide green robe, head bowed, face hidden in shadow.

A full moon rose above, nearly the fifteenth—round as a plate, casting clear light.

"Chang Qi!"

Chang Qi, outside the room, was jolted awake.

In an instant, he appeared inside—strangely, the door had not opened; he knelt on the cold floor with one knee.

"Old Master, Chang Qi is here."

The old man seated beside the board slowly opened his eyes:

"Go guard the Xie household. If Xie Hong is there, you can't enter. But if Xie Guan leaves the Xie residence, kill him."

Chang Qi merely murmured: "Yes, Old Master."

"Go."

Chang Qi vanished from within the room.

Silence returned. Only Su Jing remained.

Slowly, he extended his left hand from beneath his wide sleeve—the hand was luminous, smooth, like a youth's skin, starkly contrasting his aged face.

He slightly turned his neck, revealing the skin beneath—equally pale and youthful. Even his facial skin began peeling, revealing a younger face beneath.

The eerie sight sent chills down the spine.

Su Jing frowned deeply, eyes filled with complexity and struggle. He exhaled slowly.

Huh—

"Your surname is Dong... Master, your real surname must be Dong, right?"

(End of chapter)