Chapter Eighty-Six: A Wild Torment, Nearly Questioning Life

"Good, good, good! Young people really do have some energy."
"Let’s see if your sharp tongue can keep up later. When I’ve beaten you so badly you’re left in tatters, I wonder if you’ll still be this confident."
Upon hearing this, Zhang Weimin straightened up, his face full of pride and confidence.
"Haha, Old Zhang, you better go easy on him later. Don’t turn him into a bald commander too. Young folks should be taught, not just defeated."
"Boss Chen, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Old Zhang is a top-level player in Nanming City. He’s never failed to place in the top three in the city’s annual chess tournament."
Niu Quan chimed in from the side with a chuckle, as if giving Chen Huajiang a reminder, but in reality, he was just heaping praise on Zhang Weimin.
His flattery was so skilled that even someone like Zhang Weimin could get along with him.
Chen Huajiang smiled without replying, and opened with a pawn push.
Having observed a previous game, he’d already noticed Zhang Weimin favored the Marshal Hu style—mobilizing his entire force for an overwhelming offensive.
Such an approach was indeed imposing, and demanded great skill. It was no surprise; this era belonged to Marshal Hu. The legendary ten consecutive titles that would be celebrated by chess enthusiasts for years were unfolding right now—this should be the year of his eighth win.
The ninth and tenth would follow, establishing a dynasty all his own. Even when future chess prodigies emerged, they could only marvel at such a record.
As the trendsetter of his age, Marshal Hu’s style naturally inspired imitators across the country, Zhang Weimin among them.
"Knight’s leap."
Facing Chen Huajiang’s pawn push, Zhang Weimin shook his head slightly and jumped his knight.
Chen Huajiang responded by shifting his cannon across the board, pressing forward behind his advancing pawn.
Zhang Weimin grew more disdainful. The sequence was unfamiliar to him, so he assumed Chen Huajiang lacked skill.
After all, openings followed set patterns, which every chess player memorized and studied. Any deviation from these patterns, in most players’ minds, was just random play—a sign of incompetence.
Chen Huajiang’s approach was indeed a set pattern—just not the present-day one, but a future style: the “mechanical flow.”
On the third move, Chen Huajiang struck with his cannon, sacrificing the left flank to launch a full-scale attack on the right.
His lone pawn advanced relentlessly, the rook and knight working in tandem, all focused on storming the palace.
As for the left, if the cannon was lost, so be it; if the knight was given up, so be it; even the rook—take it if you wish.
"Tsk tsk, kid, your play is a complete mess. To protect a pawn, you give up your rook, knight, and cannon? How do you expect to win now?"
Niu Quan shook his head in disdain from the sidelines.

Until the advent of the mechanical flow, the world’s evaluation of a chess game’s outcome was based solely on material.
Whoever retained their rook, knight, and cannon was considered to have the advantage; whoever lost them was at a disadvantage.
Now, with Chen Huajiang three major pieces down, he was clearly in a losing position.
Zhang Weimin grinned, confident and certain of victory, sharing Niu Quan’s view.
But—
"Pawn advances to the sixth."
Chen Huajiang’s pawn broke into the enemy palace, and Zhang Weimin’s expression changed.
As a chess master, he didn’t just look one move ahead but calculated several steps in advance.
With the pawn in the palace, the threat to his king was immediate; it had to be addressed.
Meanwhile, the rook and knight were coordinating on the right, and the central cannon held the middle line with deadly intent—an implicit but deadly threat to his king.
After a long contemplation, Zhang Weimin moved his rook to challenge the central cannon, believing that capturing or forcing it to move would resolve the crisis.
But the moment his piece landed, Chen Huajiang used that very cannon to shatter his entire defensive line.
The pawn then pressed deeper, pinning the elephant, fixing the general in place, while the rook and knight swept in—three moves later, Zhang Weimin was checkmated.
His face was grim, his right hand gripping the rook, brows knotted in disbelief—he couldn’t accept he’d lost until the very end.
Niu Quan, too, stared wide-eyed in surprise.
"This—Old Zhang must have been careless."
"With such a commanding advantage, he lost it all by underestimating his opponent."
He quickly found an excuse to save Zhang Weimin’s pride.
Zhang Weimin agreed with a nod. On the board, he’d been in complete control; if not for dismissing Chen Huajiang’s advancing pawn, how could he have lost?
"Again. You still have the first move."
As he reset the board, Zhang Weimin spoke with stubborn determination.
Chen Huajiang smiled slightly, seeing that his opponent still hadn’t grasped the true situation.
The second game opened like the first, at least through the initial set moves. This time, however, Zhang Weimin advanced his elephant early, blocking the pawn’s crossing.
But the pawn crossing the river was only a means to an end for the mechanical flow, not its aim for a swift attack.

Now, Chen Huajiang sent both knights forward, his rook patrolling the river, guarding the knights’ advance.
Zhang Weimin’s play was too orthodox, his attack developing too slowly. Once Chen Huajiang’s twin knights crossed the river, they formed a linked-horse formation.
With a flurry of moves, the linked knights tore through Zhang Weimin’s ranks, drastically shrinking his strategic space.
After fifteen moves, Chen Huajiang created another deadly situation—double cannons blasting the gates, twin knights hunting the general.
Zhang Weimin, face darkening, conceded. This time, he held no advantage at any point, and on defense, Chen Huajiang’s forces picked off his rook and cannon, leaving the board in shambles.
"Didn’t expect you to be a chess master, Boss Chen—pretending to be a sheep when you’re a wolf!"
Niu Quan feigned amazement to ease Zhang Weimin’s embarrassment.
After all, though Zhang Weimin was a strong player, he’d been routed twice; naturally, he was in no mood to smile.
Chen Huajiang only smiled in response.
To him, these two games were mere target practice; Zhang Weimin hadn’t troubled him in the slightest.
Of course, this was because Chen Huajiang’s style was ahead of its time—the mechanical flow, invented by Grandmaster Wang in the future, also known as the “computer style.”
It was all about calculation, breaking through with precision, launching quickly, and striking decisively.
Unlike traditional masters, Wang had no pedigree, no formal training, and was initially unrecognized by chess clubs and the chess community.
But he rose as an outsider, playing endlessly against computers, studying their methods, and eventually developed his own—rigid, methodical, mechanical.
With this style, he achieved a career win rate of ninety-six percent, shocking the world and earning nicknames like “Alien” and “Human Computer.”
Such computer-like play lacked elegance and rarely produced miraculous reversals, drawing criticism from traditionalists and many enthusiasts.
But Chen Huajiang loved this approach. As a businessman, he admired the calculated, ruthless pursuit of victory—abandoning everything if necessary to achieve one’s goal.
Just as in the first game, he’d willingly sacrificed his entire left flank to launch a decisive offensive on the right.
Business was like the chessboard; often, one must stop at nothing to win—just as in his previous life, when he risked everything for a backdoor listing.
In the end, he succeeded, turned the tables, and emerged as the victor.
Now, Zhang Weimin finally came to his senses, looking at Chen Huajiang with a grave expression. He had nearly been defeated to the point of doubting himself.