14. Damn it, the NPC just gave me a quest.

After winning seven consecutive rounds, he immediately launched a high-intensity assault on the old man, who sat atop the stage like a man on pins and needles, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. The crowd below grew larger and louder.

“Come on, Zhuge! Don’t hold back—destroy him completely!”

“Yeah, why is Mr. Zhuge so flustered all of a sudden?”

Only a few days ago, people had been crushed by this old man, but now they had returned to clean up the battlefield. Having lost money to this old strategist, their words naturally dripped with venom. It would be one thing to concede a game or two for fun, but this was the eighth round already. Every move on the board looked like a death sentence in Zhuge’s eyes. Realizing he was about to lose, he abruptly lifted a piece and said, “Young friend, your skill is divine. I was blind not to see it sooner. I concede.”

“Concede? Then pay up quickly! Stop babbling nonsense. I think you Zhuge should just drop the ‘Zhu’ and stick with ‘Ge’—it suits you better.”

The crowd bickered loudly. Before Xia Lin could even speak, the young onlookers below clamored, making the old man’s face turn pale then red. Yet Xia Lin smiled and declined Zhuge’s surrender. He made several poor moves in a row, effectively allowing Zhuge to launch a counterattack. Zhuge finally won a game, but there was no joy in it. He looked up at Xia Lin and merely nodded in thanks.

In the remaining two rounds, Xia Lin played as if he were a novice, his previous sharpness gone. His moves, after long consideration, were all terrible. Onlookers understood, and so did Zhuge—this was the god of chess holding back, sparing the old man from complete humiliation. Quietly stepping down the ranks was the best outcome.

But that was only what they thought they understood. In truth, Xia Lin had put away his phone and relied solely on his “exquisite” skill to captivate the audience. His deep concentration, furrowed brows, and stern gaze were genuine.

People are like that—once a preconceived notion takes root, even a face etched with despair can be mistaken for masterful acting.

Losing a game and still receiving thanks from the opponent—what a ridiculous thing.

After conceding three rounds, Zhuge rose to gather the board silently. This kind of game brought no pleasure; in fact, upon reflection, it was even more painful than a straightforward loss. But the boy was young, and despite his ability to sweep the board, he chose to hold back. That kind of composure was uncharacteristic for his age. How could the old man find fault with that?

Xia Lin, drenched in sweat after those three rounds, realized how weak he truly was. His real strength couldn’t withstand the old man’s third-round counterattack. By midgame, his mind was a muddle. He had once mocked the old strategist’s skills while watching livestreams, but now it was clear—the old man was truly formidable.

Yet the scene was almost absurd. Though Xia Lin had lost three rounds in a row, the crowd erupted when he stood, and the young noble lady clapped so hard her hands reddened, her fan devotion unmistakable.

But Zhuge had lost all face; his aloof, otherworldly demeanor vanished, replaced by a pitiful appearance that invited ridicule.

Watching him busy himself on stage, Xia Lin suddenly recalled who this man was. This old strategist was the greatest counselor of the Wei Dynasty, who entered service at fifty-five and held the storm-battered Wei steady for twenty years. At seventy-seven, when twenty-seven barbarian tribes invaded the capital, he resisted for over four years, ultimately exchanging his own grandson for the seven-year-old young emperor and escorting him south to Jiaozhi, prolonging Wei’s existence for another twelve years.

Until he died of illness in Jiaozhi in his nineties, the young emperor renamed the kingdom Southern Ming and returned to rule the Central Plains. The old man was posthumously honored as a prince with the title of Wen Zheng.

Now, this old man was still a civilian, though his age suggested an official career was imminent.

Having packed up, he hurried off the stage amid the crowd’s laughter. Passing Xia Lin, he smiled sheepishly.

“Mr. Zhu, please wait,” Xia Lin called out suddenly, stepping forward. “Mr. Zhuge, you need not heed these people’s words. Your chess skill is superb, and your abilities exceptional. Why not try to serve the court?”

Zhuge sighed, shaking his head. “I am old now. These days, I only manage to eke out a living by trickery.”

Xia Lin pursed his lips. “Please wait a moment.”

He took the young noble lady aside, crouched, and whispered, “This old man is a true talent. If you recommend him to the young prince, the prince will be delighted.”

“Why don’t you recommend him yourself? Why me?”

Scratching the back of his head, Xia Lin feigned modesty. “Princess, I am insignificant. Your words carry much more weight. This is a win-win.”

The young noble lady considered but remained suspicious. “Aren’t you worried that something might go wrong and you’ll be blamed?”

“Do you think I’m really that despicable?” Xia Lin pointed at the old man and began to spin a tale. “They say people are like chess pieces. When I played with him, I felt he was meticulous yet decisive, with a sharp mind. The young prince urgently needs capable men; he’s a perfect fit.”

The young lady, too young to resist Xia Lin’s mischievous coaxing, believed him and immediately spoke to Zhuge about recommending him. Zhuge, surprised to hear such words from children younger than his own son, nonetheless had no money and no dignity left, so he resigned himself to tagging along to the villa.

What they discussed with the young prince remained unknown to Xia Lin and Old Zhang—they were still lowly commoners barred from the inner mansion.

However, at lunch, an extra seat was set for Zhuge, placed conspicuously closer to the young prince than Xia Lin, clearly a sign the prince was pleased with him.

True enough, Xia Lin knew that without cheating devices, he couldn’t even come close to this old man’s skill. Now that a bond had formed, the old man’s temperament suggested he wouldn’t make things difficult for him in the future.

More friends, more paths.

At the table, the young noble lady chattered nonstop, enthusiastically recounting how Xia Daosheng had outplayed the old strategist in chess—the full-on fangirl routine.

The “old strategist” beside her was visibly uncomfortable, glancing awkwardly around before lowering his head to drink silently.

“Mr. Zhu, don’t be disheartened. Though this young man is young, he’s a rare genius. Those three poems that swept the city overnight were all his. Still, he is young and falls short of your mastery in many ways. He will need your guidance and refinement, or he will never become exceptional,” the young prince praised while subtly downplaying Xia Lin and elevating Zhuge.

Xia Lin wasn’t offended at all. Two key phrases stood out: “this young man” and “in the future.” The prince, despite his youth and high status, wouldn’t normally use such informal terms unless he was either very close to the person—impossible, since Xia Lin had only met him days ago—or deliberately trying to draw closer. Compared to addressing Zhuge as “sir” repeatedly, “this young man” felt much more intimate.

The word “future” implied an intention to groom talent. Whether in career or romance, few speak so naturally of the future without some plan.

If Xia Lin had exploded over such seemingly disparaging words, he would have been the first major character to die within three chapters of a novel.

They say keeping company with a ruler is like keeping company with a tiger. The crown prince was still a prince, after all. Dealing with such a person required utmost caution. Climbing close to someone like this meant skyrocketing faster than a eunuch ever could.

“Not at all, young friend’s talent far surpasses mine. Though young, he is like the phoenix of Mount Qi, destined to one day perch upon the parasol tree and sing to the world.”

See how the old strategist speaks? First a humble self-deprecation, then lavish praise for Xia Lin. But even that praise was measured—the phoenix must choose a good tree to roost. In context, the prince was the parasol tree, the perfect place for the phoenix to settle.

High-level subtlety indeed.

All are people with countless hidden agendas. If Xia Lin hadn’t stopped Old Zhang from drinking, this meal would have ended with a massacre and a family purge.

While Xia Lin pondered this, the young prince spoke again, turning to Zhuge. “Mr. Zhu, I have a doubt weighing on my mind and seek your counsel.”

“Speak freely, Your Highness.”

Hearing this, the prince glanced at Xia Lin. “Mr. Zhu, this young man is a natural genius. If he were to take the imperial exam, it would be like hiding a pearl in muddy waters. I propose he be appointed as a local magistrate directly. After a few years of honing his skills, he should flourish. What do you think, Mr. Zhu?”

Zhuge’s eyes flickered, clarity dawning. This was clearly an attempt to bypass the examination system and fast-track his own young protégé. In other words, this young prince—or rather, crown prince—was about to assume regency. His first act would likely be to challenge the chief minister.

He couldn’t do it alone; he must have already sown many seeds. Though Zhuge saw the risk, it was a sound strategy.

“Excellent,” Zhuge nodded. “A young man must weather many storms.”

Hearing this, Xia Lin raised his eyelids and glanced at the prince, heart pounding. “Damn, NPCs give missions so fast? He’s straight up promoting me to village chief?”

The End.