The lights in the main hall of the Old Residence died completely under the impact of “Chaos Mode.” Only two white candles on the ancestral altar remained, their flames pressed low, flickering ghostly in the draft.
The old master had been helped to the backyard by Xiaotian. Before leaving, he had placed his broken Huqin on the square table. It lay there like an unhealed wound. Madame Shen stood in the shadows, twisting her prayer beads, but her eyes were locked rigidly on the shadow cast by the floor tiles.
“Dashan. Ruyi. Come here.”
Wan Changqing’s voice returned. But this time, it was no longer the wailing echo from the wall cracks. It was异常 (abnormally) cold, mechanical, stripped of all emotion, carrying a毒性 (toxicity) that came after purification.
Hummm…
In the center of the main hall, white light began to bleed through the cracks of the blue bricks—originally laid for moisture proofing. The lines intersected, projecting a massive Go (Weiqi) board onto the marble floor.
“Father,” Dashan said, standing at the edge of the board, his toe barely touching the Tengen (Center Point). “Are you playing for your life, or just playing chess?”
“In the Wan family,” the voice echoed, “life is the game. The game is life.”
A holographic image coalesced again. Wan Changqing sat in the high-backed armchair, his face hidden in darkness, except for his eyes—constructed entirely of shimmering pixels, radiating a scrutinizing glare.
“This is the unfinished game from thirty years ago in the Rose Garden,” Changqing said. “Across from me sat the ‘Noble Patron’ who wanted to swallow Old City. He played the ‘Dead-End Strategy’. I sought only a ‘Sliver of Life’.”
Ruyi sneered, her voice sharp. “So for that sliver of life, you left Mom in the fire?”
“Ruyi, there are no ‘what ifs’ in algorithms. Only ‘Trade-offs’.” Changqing raised his phantom hand, pointing to the residual game on the board. “That man withdrew back then. But his capital hunting dogs are still guarding the gate outside. Zhao Tianqi is merely one of his pawns. If you want to save the Wan family and reclaim the key, you must finish this game with me.”
Dashan looked at the board. Black stones formed a dragon; white stones formed a lock. The white stones were subtly forming a encirclement—a perfect simulation of the external capital’s strangulation of Wan Corp.
“What are the rules?” Dashan asked.
“Best two out of three,” Changqing stated flatly. “Each move corresponds to a core asset of Wan Corp. Win a move, I give you a fragment of the key. Lose a move, I transfer control of that asset directly to Zhao Tianqi outside.”
Xiaotian, who had peeked back in, collapsed in terror. “Big Brother! We can’t play! If we lose even one, the Wan family will be empty!”
“If we don’t play,” Dashan said calmly, “the Wan family is already empty.”
He leaned down and picked up a black stone from the bowl. It was ice-cold and heavy—real obsidian. He realized instantly: Changqing had connected the virtual board to physical mechanisms beneath the old house. This was not just a simulation; every move had physical consequences.
“Round One: The ‘Breath’ (Qi) of the Trust Fund,” Changqing announced, his finger hovering over the southeast corner of the board. “Dashan, you represent the Wan family’s ‘Flesh’. You move first.”
Dashan took a deep breath. He did not look at the standard tactical patterns (Joseki) on the board. Instead, he recalled the “broken frequency” of the old master’s fiddle. He understood: To defeat an algorithm, one must never play by algorithmic logic.
Clack!
Dashan dropped the stone.
It didn’t land on any strategic point. It landed on the very edge of the board, in a “dead position” with almost no chance of survival—a classic suteishi (sacrificial stone).
“Oh?” Changqing’s pixelated eyes flashed slightly. “Sacrificing the chariot to save the king? Or are you trying to sing opera in a dead corner like your mother?”
“Father, you taught me: Always keep a backup plan in business,” Dashan said, locking eyes with the hologram. “But today, I want to teach you something: Those who follow the rules don’t necessarily have to win. They just have to ensure that a ‘god’ like you doesn’t get to flip the board over.”
Outside the wall, Zhao Tianqi’s equipment suddenly regained one bar of signal.
What he saw on the screen was not the Wan family begging for mercy. Instead, a core real estate project of Wan Corp had suddenly entered an “Abnormal Lockdown State”.
It was the ripple effect of Dashan’s move. By sacrificing that stone, he hadn’t tried to capture territory. He had changed the rules of the board itself, making that asset untouchable by anyone—including his father.
[SYSTEM ALERT: MOVE VALIDATED.]
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[ASSET STATUS: FROZEN (PROTOCOL: SACRIFICE).]
[OPPONENT (AI): CALCULATING… CALCULATING… LOGIC LOOP DETECTED.]
[WARNING: UNCONVENTIONAL STRATEGY DETECTED. HUMAN VARIABLE: UNPREDICTABLE.]
Zhao stared at the screen, his face pale. “He… he just froze his own asset? Why? What is he planning?”
Inside, Dashan picked up a second stone, his expression unreadable.
“Your turn, Father,” he said softly. “Let’s see if your algorithm can calculate the value of nothing.”
[CURRENT SCORE: WAN DASHAN (1) - EVERGREEN AI (0)]
[NEXT ASSET: THE ROSE GARDEN DATA CORE]
Dashan just made the most UNEXPECTED move possible: playing a Sacrificial Stone in a dead zone! ?? Why? Because AI can calculate profit, but it can't calculate sacrifice!
By 'losing' that spot, he actually froze the asset and changed the rules. Checkmate by breaking the game! ????
Next Chapter: Round Two begins! The asset at stake: The Rose Garden Data Core. This is where the secret of his mother and the fire lies. Will Dashan dare to touch that painful memory?
Question: Do you know how to play Go? Or do you prefer Chess? Which game do you think is more 'human'? ????
