Chapter 477 - 24: Chinese Chess_3
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The unstable flicker of the flame cast the chessboard into a complex interplay of light and shadow.
Sunday had no interest in enjoying the food, his eyes fixed on the chessboard. He often picked up a piece only to put it down again, scratching his head, looking unusually tense.
He and Chen Zhou weren’t playing the straightforward game of Gomoku, but the more strategically demanding Chinese chess.
The rules of Chinese chess are much more complex than Gomoku, and there are more factors to consider during the game.
But for Sunday, who had various skills and faintly exuded a sense of aggression, Chinese chess was clearly more to his liking.
After learning how to play Chinese chess from Chen Zhou, he often dragged the locals to play against him.
However, the locals were no match for him; they couldn’t even understand the basic moves, bullying them felt like bullying children, offering no sense of achievement.
Later, Sunday started pestering Saturday.
Saturday’s chess skills were naturally far superior to the locals’, and he could put up a tough fight against Sunday.
But Saturday had too many matters to handle, and finding time to play with him depended on his availability. Otherwise, Sunday couldn’t afford to delay the "Celestial God’s" important affairs.
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Tonight, at the banquet, everyone found themselves rarely at leisure.
Chen Zhou happened to see Sunday forcing a poor local shepherd into a game, mischievously reducing his pieces to just the general. So he challenged Sunday to a match.
The two of them set up the chess by the bonfire, and it went on for over two hours.
Typically struggling to find rivals, Sunday suddenly faced Chen Zhou, the "neighborhood’s number one chess king", and just like when he bullied the locals, he lost twelve games in a row.
He wasn’t the type to concede defeat willingly; even against the overwhelmingly strong "Celestial God", he remained resilient, growing braver with each setback.
But the gap in chess skills between him and Chen Zhou was simply too vast.
Chen Zhou began playing Chinese chess at the age of five, often honing his skills with his father and several familiar players during school breaks.
By his teenage years, even his father was no match for him, and even when offering a piece or two, he could still beat his father decisively.
After entering university, one of the few clubs Chen Zhou joined was the Chinese chess club.
There, Chen Zhou competed with Chinese chess enthusiasts from all over the country.
According to an experienced chess master he met, when Chen Zhou was in good form, his skills were close to the master’s level, though at the bottom in professional circles, he had no trouble dealing with ordinary folk experts.
Having been introduced to Chinese chess for less than two months, Sunday encountered the formidable Chen Zhou, and even with his utmost effort, he couldn’t win.
Among the twelve games played with Chen Zhou, he lost the shortest one in less than four minutes; the rest depended on how quickly or slowly Chen Zhou captured his pieces.
If Chen Zhou focused on capturing pieces, Sunday’s loss would be slower; if Chen Zhou focused on the board, he couldn’t hold on for many moves.
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Finally, after Chen Zhou sipped the last of his milk lemonade, this game with Sunday was lost again.
"Want to play another?" Chen Zhou asked.
Sunday didn’t respond, looking at the general trapped by the "Double Horses Drinking from the Spring" move, with no light left in his eyes.
He felt his confidence trampled by a thousand charging bulls, leaving a chaotic mess.
Even the bravest person, facing such an opponent, couldn’t recklessly challenge again, and Sunday could already sense the "Celestial God" found chess dull.
"Yeah, just like me playing against others, winning so easily isn’t fun."
Thinking this, Sunday shook his head in response.
"No more, I’ll go back and think a bit before playing again."
Then, he began tidying up the chess pieces on the table, pressing his lips tightly together.
Chen Zhou could see how humiliated he felt by the repeated checkmates, losing with such lack of dignity.
Picking up a piece of lobster meat and putting it in his mouth, Chen Zhou stood up, patted Sunday’s shoulder, nonchalantly left a remark, and walked towards the bonfire where they were grilling the fish.
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Hearing those words, Sunday’s hand paused while packing up the pieces, feeling that when the "Celestial God" spoke, there was an especially unique aura.
It was only when Chen Zhou reached the bonfire and took the grilled fish from the local’s hands that Sunday’s mind reverberated with that simple sentence—
"Want to learn? I’ll teach you!"