The final month before the Branch Purge passed in a silent, ink-stained frenzy. The Pavilion of Forgotten Scrolls, once merely dusty, was now a whirlwind of discarded paper. Every surface was covered in scrolls, each one bearing characters written in the sharp, aggressive "Raging River Style." The air itself seemed to crackle with a low hum of residual Sword Intent.
Wei Yuan grew thinner. Dark circles formed under his eyes, a stark contrast to his pale skin. The constant, willing damage to his soul was a heavy price. It was a deep, spiritual exhaustion, a throbbing ache behind his eyes that never truly went away. He felt like a blacksmith hammering his own soul on an anvil, hoping to forge a weapon before the metal itself shattered from the strain.
But he was growing stronger.
The silver threads, once volatile and painful, became more manageable. His control grew more refined. He could now weave a new Strand of Blade-Edge Soul Essence every four days.
He checked his panel, a familiar ritual that was both a comfort and a stark reminder of the looming deadline.
[Name: Wei Yuan]
[Age: 14]
[Cultivation Realm: Qi Sensing (Peak)]
[Physique: Knotted Meridians (Cursed)]
[The Loom of A Hundred Arts]
[Art in Progress: Calligraphy (Adept - 412/500)]
[Art in Progress: Chess Tao (Initiate - 91/100)]
[Insight Threads: 21]
Peak of Qi Sensing. He was only one step away from the Spirit Channeling realm where his genius cousin, Wei Tian, currently resided. A month ago, this would have been an impossible dream. Now, it felt tantalizingly close.
Yet, a deep unease settled in his heart. Raw power wasn't the answer. The tournament rules were a cage designed to trap him. He could have all the Blade-Edge Soul Essence in the world, but if he couldn't display it on the spiritual measuring stone, it was useless.
He was a warrior with a peerless sword who was being forced into a contest of lifting boulders.
His gaze fell upon the old Go board. He had been studying it in his moments of rest, finding a strange solace in its silent, black-and-white logic. The principles of encirclement, of sacrificing stones to gain influence, of seeing the entire board instead of just one skirmish—it was a different kind of thinking. A different kind of power.
"Playing with stones again, little Yuan?"
Old Man Ji had shuffled up beside him, his eyes unusually clear today. He looked at the half-finished game on the board, where Wei Yuan's black stones were waging a fierce, head-on assault against his own white stones.
The old man shook his head slowly. "Too much anger. You fight like a cornered beast. All attack, no flow. You seek to capture, to destroy. The true master does not need to capture. He simply... surrounds."
Without waiting for a response, Old Man Ji sat down opposite him. "Clear the board. We will play one game."
Wei Yuan was stunned. In all his years, he had never seen Old Man Ji initiate a game. He had always assumed the old man's talk of Go was just another half-remembered fragment of his past.
He quickly cleared the stones. "Uncle Ji, you can have the first move."
Old Man Ji just smiled his vacant smile and placed a white stone. He didn't place it in a corner or on the side, the typical opening moves. He placed it almost in the center of the board, a move that was both arrogant and nonsensical.
Wei Yuan frowned but placed his black stone in a standard corner position.
The game that followed was the strangest Wei Yuan had ever experienced. Old Man Ji's moves seemed random, almost senile. He placed stones in seemingly useless positions, creating loose, disconnected shapes that had no obvious purpose. He never directly attacked Wei Yuan's formations, never tried to capture his stones.
Wei Yuan, in contrast, played aggressively. He built strong territories in the corners, launched attacks, and captured several of Old Man Ji's errant stones. On the surface, he was dominating the game. He held more territory, had more captured prisoners. He was winning.
But as the game progressed, a cold sweat began to form on his back.
He realized, with a dawning horror, that he was trapped.
Old Man Ji's seemingly random stones had, over dozens of moves, created a vast, invisible net across the entire board. His own strong, solid territories were now isolated islands in a sea of white influence. He was surrounded. He couldn't expand. Every move he made was now a move inside his opponent's cage.
The old man hadn't captured a single stone in the last fifty moves. He hadn't needed to.
Wei Yuan held a black stone, his hand hovering over the board for a full minute, unable to find a single move that wouldn't tighten the noose around his own neck. He was alive, yet he was already dead.
He slowly placed the stone back in its bowl and bowed his head. "I have lost."
Old Man Ji simply patted the board. "The empty spaces," he rasped, his eyes glazing over again as lucidity fled. "The empty spaces are where the game is won, little Yuan. Not the stones..."
He then stood up, shuffled over to his corner, and promptly fell asleep.
Wei Yuan stared at the board, but he was no longer seeing the black and white stones. He was seeing the tournament grounds. He was seeing the spiritual measuring stone, the endurance track, the dueling arena.
He had been thinking about how to fight, how to attack, how to win on their terms.
He had been thinking like a warrior.
He had been wrong.
He shouldn't be trying to win their game. He should be playing his own.
The empty spaces are where the game is won.
The tournament rules were the stones. They were rigid, predictable. But what about the space between the rules? The unspoken assumptions? The things the clan elders took for granted?
He didn't need to pass the first test. He needed to make the first test irrelevant.
A brilliant, audacious plan began to form in his mind, a strategy of such stunning arrogance that it made his heart pound with a mixture of terror and glee.
At that moment, a cascade of golden light erupted in his mind.
[Art in Progress: Chess Tao has reached 'Adept' level. 100/500]
[You have comprehended the principles of 'Influence over Force'.]
[State of Mind acquired: Chess Mind]
[Chess Mind: Enhances strategic thinking, pattern recognition, and the ability to perceive weaknesses in an opponent's 'formation,' be it a martial stance or a psychological state.]
He had done it. Another Art had reached the Adept level. The new State of Mind felt like a cool clarity washing over his thoughts, organizing them, sharpening them. His half-formed plan snapped into perfect, crystalline focus.
He now had a path to victory.
A few days before the tournament, Wei Feng made his final visit to the pavilion. He didn't come to taunt this time. He came to deliver the final, crushing blow of psychological warfare.
"I heard the clan head is allowing you to participate out of pity for your father," Wei Feng said, standing in the doorway, not designing to step inside. "I'm here to offer some friendly advice, cousin. Don't show up. Preserve what little dignity your branch has left. It will be a kindness to your father."
In the past, these words would have been like needles under Wei Yuan's skin. Now, with his Chess Mind active, he saw Wei Feng not as a person, but as a formation of Go stones. He saw the aggressive posturing, the overconfidence, the underlying insecurity. He saw the weakness.
Wei Yuan didn't even look up from the Go board he was studying. He just smiled faintly.
"You place your stones too aggressively, Cousin Feng," Wei Yuan said, his voice quiet but carrying clearly through the silent pavilion. "You overextend, always pushing for a quick capture. It leaves your foundation weak. A single, well-placed counter-move... and your entire formation could collapse."
Wei Feng froze.
The words were nonsense. They were talking about a tournament, not some stupid board game. But the way Wei Yuan said it—with such calm, analytical certainty—it was unnerving. It was as if the cripple was looking at something Wei Feng himself couldn't see, a fatal flaw hidden in his own being. It was more unsettling than any threat, more infuriating than any insult.
"What gibberish are you talking about?" Wei Feng snapped, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. "I am a cultivator! You are trash who plays with stones and ink! We are not the same!"
"You are right," Wei Yuan agreed, finally looking up. His eyes were serene, holding the deep, placid calm of a Go master who has already seen the outcome of the game fifty moves in advance. "We are not the same."
Wei Feng felt a chill crawl up his spine. He couldn't explain it, but he felt that he had just lost a battle he didn't even know he was fighting. He turned and fled, unable to bear that placid, all-knowing gaze for a second longer.
The night before the Branch Purge, the Pavilion of Forgotten Scrolls was quiet. Wei Yuan's father, a man whose face was a permanent mask of weary resignation, came to his son's room. He carried a small, chipped bowl of congee.
"Yuan'er," he said, his voice heavy with unspoken sorrow. "Tomorrow... do not push yourself. It is no shame to lose against an unfair fate. Your father... I am already proud of you."
He was preparing his son for their exile. For their end.
Wei Yuan took the bowl. He looked at his father, at the broken man who had borne the clan's scorn for decades. He gave him a small, reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, father," he said. "Fate is just the opening move. The rest of the game is up to us."
His father didn't understand. He just saw his son, a crippled boy with a strange sense of calm, on the eve of his own destruction. He sighed, patted his son's shoulder, and left him to his meal.
Wei Yuan ate the congee slowly. Then, he stood and walked to the pavilion's highest window. From here, he could see the main clan's training plaza. It was lit up by dozens of glowing spirit stones, bright as a small moon. The arena was prepared. The measuring stones were polished. The elders were gathering.
It was a grand stage, set for the triumph of the clan's chosen son, Wei Tian.
They had prepared the board. They had set the rules. They believed they had already won.
Wei Yuan looked upon the scene not with fear, but with the cool, calculating gaze of a master strategist.
He smiled.
It was time to place the first stone.