Chapter Forty-Four: Sword Saint!

Before the match began, Li Zhao already knew that the elder in the blue robe was a master of weiqi.

After playing dozens of moves, Li Zhao was all the more astonished and gave the old man a sixteen-character appraisal: composed and calm, flawless in calculation, commanding the overall situation, and possessing the bearing of a general.

Looking at the formation of the black stones, there was offense at the front, defense at the rear, vigilance on both flanks—every position was watertight.

Each placement of the black stones was precise, every point and area skillfully occupied; not a single move was wasted.

And when the black stones fought fiercely, their momentum was swift as the wind, steady as the forest, as fierce as fire in attack, and immovable as a mountain in defense!

Li Zhao would wager his very manhood that the elder in blue must have a military background, had served as a high-ranking commander, and had survived countless bloody battles. Only those who had been on the battlefield could wield such a sharp and overwhelming style—iron and horses, swallowing rivers and mountains, victory or death, none their equal!

Sadly, he had gleaned little from their earlier conversation and could not learn the old man’s name or origins. Nevertheless, one thing was certain: a man of such extraordinary skill could not possibly be an obscure nobody!

“Young man, what is your name?”

“Junior Li Zhao, courtesy name Yulang.”

“Ah, Yulang, your skill at go is formidable. You’ve already reached the second rank, the ‘Seated Illumination’ realm, and are not far from the top rank, ‘Entering the Divine.’ Such accomplishment at your age is rare indeed. May I ask who your teacher is?”

“I have no master, sir. I merely read a few game manuals in my leisure and picked up a little knowledge on my own.”

“No master?”

“None.”

After dozens of moves, the black stones’ onslaught was indeed fierce, but the white stones yielded nothing, displaying innovative formations and a constant stream of killer moves and secret techniques. This left the elder in blue profoundly shocked.

Especially after discovering that Li Zhao was self-taught, relying only on a few manuals, the old man’s gaze turned thick with admiration.

Today, he had encountered a rare talent!

Under the hands of these two, the black and white stones became armies, waging war across the landscape of the board—sieging cities, shedding blood, neither side willing to yield, and yet neither able to overcome the other. The battle reached a stalemate.

Though the winner was not yet decided, Li Zhao knew in his heart that his white stones were at a disadvantage.

He could do nothing about it—the old man’s control was simply too strong, impeccable in attack and defense. Li Zhao unleashed all manner of killing moves, but still failed to breach the opponent’s defenses, losing many “troops” in the process.

If this stalemate continued, defeat was inevitable... No, he must find a way to turn the tables!

But to do that, he had to find a weakness in the opponent.

The problem was, the old man’s style was too steady—after more than a hundred and fifty moves, he hadn’t revealed the slightest flaw. What now?

Wait, steady?

Ah! Of course—steadiness is an advantage, but from a dialectical point of view, it is also a weakness!

A weakness means a loophole!

But to seize upon it, he would have to take a risk!

At this thought, Li Zhao paused his play, then touched his brow, closed his eyes as if entering deep thought.

In weiqi, a long deliberation before a move is called a “long think.” In ancient times, there was no time limit—an hour, two hours, even a day or two was common. Among masters, it was not unusual for a single game to last three to five days; during the Northern and Southern Dynasties, one match even stretched for four and a half months!

Fortunately, Li Zhao did not drag things out. After pondering for over half an hour, he suddenly raised his brows as if inspiration had struck, and confidently placed a white stone on the left side of the board.

The old man in blue was somewhat surprised.

It wasn’t that the move was so brilliant—on the contrary, it neither attacked nor defended, nor did it claim a key position; it seemed completely useless.

But after more than a hundred moves, the elder knew well how skilled Li Zhao was. For such a formidable player to spend half an hour pondering and then place a stone so confidently—could it really be without purpose?

No, it must serve a purpose, perhaps a great one. He just couldn’t see it yet—and the unknown is always unsettling.

With this in mind, the old man changed tactics, placing seven or eight black stones on the left, reinforcing the defense there, and surrounding that white stone with three more to prevent any mischief.

But stones, like troops, are finite. As the left flank was strengthened, the right inevitably grew weaker. The old man realized this and tried to shore up the right side, but it was already too late.

Li Zhao seized the fleeting chance, commanding the white stones to launch a fierce assault on the right, breaking through the defenses and charging deep, heedless of casualties, cutting down all in his path—he carved out a massive territory in the very heart of the black stones. The previously unfavorable situation was instantly reversed.

At last, the old man in blue understood: he had been too clever for his own good. That mysterious white stone was actually a decoy, a useless move meant to confuse and provoke him into overreacting.

He had overthought things and paid the price. The cause of his error was his excessive caution, which had turned into suspicion—a fatal flaw for any strategist... What a cunning young man!

“Haha! To spot your opponent’s weakness in the shortest time, to adapt and defeat them—Yulang, if you ever join the army, you will surely become an undefeated general. But your heart is too cold, your methods harsh as fire. If you become a commander, you will not be a benevolent one, but a butcher of men—like the Human Butcher, Bai Qi!

Remember, Heaven cherishes life, and men should not be ruthless to the end. You would do well to study the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, to cultivate your character and perform good deeds—lest you stray down the wrong path!”

“Thank you for your guidance, elder. But in my view, a general must have a heart of iron and regard killing as a matter of course. So long as the realm is secure, the people at peace, and the nation endures, what matter if I become a cold-blooded butcher, cursed by all, cast into the lowest hell after death?

A man must be fierce in his deeds.

Mercy and duty cannot coexist with war.

A man must kill without remorse.

Eternal achievements are wrought through killing.

In ages past, there were heroes who kept their word,

Who would kill for the slightest insult,

And regarded their own lives as dust.

There were tyrants and conquerors,

Who killed so freely that corpses piled high—

Riding across the world, boasting only of sword and spear...”

Though he had fallen for a trick, the old man in blue was not angered. Instead, he praised Li Zhao and spoke to him with the earnest care of an elder.

Unexpectedly, Li Zhao retorted, then rose and sang the “Ballad of the Warrior”—his voice bold and passionate, murderous intent soaring to the skies!

The soldier is the sharp blade of the nation!

When the blade is drawn, it must drink deep of blood, striking terror into the enemy’s heart!

As for benevolence and morality—those come after victory. Only the victor is qualified to speak of such things; the defeated have no voice at all!

Without this awareness, one is unworthy of armor and arms, unworthy to march to war!

On the other side, the old man in blue bowed his head in thought, then looked at Li Zhao, touched the sword at his waist... lowered his head again, looked once more at Li Zhao, and touched his sword yet again... After repeating this three times, he finally let out a long sigh:

“I am sixty-six years old this year. In my youth, I studied literature and martial arts; in middle age, I campaigned across the land; in old age, I have wandered the rivers and lakes. I thought my experience rich beyond compare, that I had seen through all the world’s affairs. Yet in matters of right and wrong, I am less clear-eyed than this youth. He is correct— as a soldier, it is my duty to protect home and country. How can I fear to stain my hands with blood?

Do you not see? The lion and tiger are famed for their hunts, while the poor deer wins only pity. In this world, the strong always prey on the weak; reason alone avails nothing... Haha! With such a bold youth in our Tang dynasty, our nation's fortune is secure for a hundred years—let us drink a great cup to life!”

As he spoke, the old man unhooked the wine gourd from his waist, drained the fine liquor within, and licked his lips, clearly relishing it.

Cui Zongzhi, ever observant, produced a pure silver flask from his robe and respectfully offered it with both hands.

The old man took it, drank deeply, and his eyes lit up: “Rich and fiery, all four qualities in perfect balance—I have never tasted such a fine wine! What is it called?”

“Erguotou.”

“Erguotou? How interesting! Haha!”

Though the old man held his drink well, after a flask of strong liquor, he was slightly tipsy. Suddenly, he leapt up, drew his sword, and began to perform on the mountain summit.

The sword danced like a swimming dragon, spiraling left and right, its frosty edge gleaming through the air... At the height of his performance, the elder suddenly flung the sword skyward, sending it soaring a dozen yards high. Then, in a blink, it plummeted straight down toward his head!

The blade was razor sharp, and falling from such a height, it could easily have pierced him through. But the old man, without so much as a glance, calmly raised the scabbard— the sword fell like lightning and slid perfectly into its sheath, not a hair’s breadth off.

Such swordsmanship was nothing short of miraculous!

Li Zhao, Cui Zongzhi, Bai Mo—all were dumbfounded, eyes wide. Jin Bao’er stopped playing and ran over to watch, clapping her little hands in delight.

Amid the astonishment, Cui Zongzhi seemed to realize something. He leaned close to Li Zhao and whispered, “Yulang, I know who this venerable master is.”

“Oh? Who?”

“The Sword Saint—Pei Min!”

“Truly?”

“No mistake. To throw a sword into the clouds and catch it in the sheath without a miss... In all the world, only the Sword Saint himself possesses such divine skill!”