Chapter Thirty-Four: Harvest

Another black stone landed on the smooth, translucent board of cypress wood, the offensive move unfolding in full, and with this single placement, three more breaths of the white stones’ vitality were severed.

The web of moves and the shifting situation on the board were so intricate that any observer would be left deeply awed by this game.

Pei Xiunian pondered for a moment, then placed a white stone. This move deftly cut off the black’s momentum and revived his position once more.

He had played over a hundred moves with the Grand Minister of Fate—what an extraordinary feat was that? Yet Pei Xiunian knew his own skill was only at the novice level; he was by no means a master of Go. Even challenging a seasoned elder in the market would cost him considerable effort.

His ability to contend so effortlessly and hold his own against the Grand Minister was simply because he had seen this game before and knew what kind of endgame would ultimately form.

This very game had been set out on the table atop the Celestial Tower when Pei Xiunian first arrived.

To replay so many moves was certainly difficult, but every step from the Grand Minister subtly guided Pei Xiunian toward the final state of that laid-out game.

From the initial struggles to a gradually increasing pace, Pei Xiunian sensed that the Grand Minister had reconstructed this game more than once.

He was well aware of making plenty of mistakes, and toward the end, it felt less like playing Go and more like piecing together a puzzle.

Still, the board was silent; another hundred moves fell. With Pei Xiunian’s final white stone, the game was set.

Looking back at the match, the black stones’ aggression was unmistakable, always pressing forward, while the white stones’ defense was impenetrable. Both players who had produced such a game must have been dazzling talents.

Pei Xiunian sipped his tea and asked quietly, “Grand Minister, was this the match you played against Li the Blind?”

“It was,” the Grand Minister replied without hesitation, sighing softly. “He played black, I white. Ever since, I have wondered how I might win such a deadlocked game, but I have never found the answer.”

Pei Xiunian could not respond—the level of the Grand Minister and Li the Blind was far beyond his reach; their battles were not his to comment on.

“My skills are shallow and I cannot ease your worries, sir. Please forgive my inadequacy,” Pei Xiunian said with a bow, attempting to turn the conversation. “Recently, I have become interested in the Dao. In your view, what cultivation method would suit me?”

The Grand Minister replied calmly, “The Dao has no fixed form; as people differ, so too do their paths. May I ask, Your Highness, by what means do you wish to pursue the Dao? What, indeed, do you seek from cultivation?”

Why seek the Dao?

Pei Xiunian felt his only desire was self-preservation. People are fickle; remaining true to oneself is harder than ascending to the heavens.

He reflected for a moment longer before finally speaking: “I think that to specialize solely in one way always leaves a weakness. If there is a method of adaptability, then whatever I might face, I need not worry, and I might walk calmly through a chaotic world.”

Court intrigue, wandering the martial world, endless strange and perilous affairs—except for prodigies like Jiang Yunhe, who can simply “cut through with a single sword,” most cultivators all have their flaws.

…Even Jiang Yunhe, perhaps, has his vulnerabilities.

In short, with his own position and circumstances, Pei Xiunian felt that the things he might face in the future would be too varied and complex—adaptability was essential.

Upon hearing this, the ethereal Grand Minister seemed surprised that the third prince of Great Zhou harbored such a spirit of the Jianghu. He was silent for a moment before saying, “Your Highness’s path is much like that of my disciple, though she is not here today. Otherwise, you two might have had a fine discussion.”

Pei Xiunian sensed a promising connection and immediately bowed. “If I have the chance, I will certainly visit your disciple, Master.”

The Grand Minister smiled faintly and then continued, “However, Ning’s way is more pure—she acts entirely as her heart desires. Your Highness is different; your path is more like a game of Go.”

Suddenly, the Grand Minister focused his gaze on Pei Xiunian and went on, “On the board, every move is unpredictable, always allowing for adjustment, but once a stone is placed, there is no regret. Your actions are much the same.”

Those ambiguous words and the resolute gaze made Pei Xiunian feel strangely exposed, but he composed himself and replied sincerely, “Thank you for your guidance, Grand Minister.”

The white-haired old Daoist rose with a carefree air, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed down the long imperial road. In a distant tone, he said, “There is a method just like this within the Imperial Observatory, though I know not where it is kept. Someone will deliver it to you soon. Night is falling; Your Highness should return.”

Pei Xiunian was overjoyed and bowed once more, only now noticing the sky had dimmed to dusk, the bell of the Forbidden City had tolled, and the watchtowers had begun changing their sentries.

As he was about to take his leave, he saw the black and white stones on the table gathering themselves into their respective boxes, the board itself rising lightly to hover before him.

With his back still turned, the Grand Minister spoke slowly, “By imperial decree, a weapon is to be forged for Your Highness. We cannot let you return empty-handed.”

Pei Xiunian bowed once again, solemnly. “I am deeply grateful for your generosity, Grand Minister.”

As he descended the steps, the Grand Minister remained in his pose, gazing into the distance, his eyes seeming to settle somewhere beyond the southern hills. He murmured,

“Let’s wager one more game, Blind One.”

—

When Pei Xiunian returned to the Forbidden City, night had just fallen over the capital.

It was the end of September, the crescent moon like a hook in the sky.

He played with the cypress board in his hands, casually replaying the day’s fulfilling events. He still didn’t know how a Go board could count as a weapon, but it was, all in all, a fruitful day.

His steps were light as he entered Chengqian Palace, where he encountered Xiao Qin waiting in the courtyard.

Seeing Pei Xiunian return safely, Xiao Qin finally breathed a sigh of relief. She bowed slightly, respectfully presenting a letter from her sleeve before saying, “Your Highness, while you were out, Prince Qi sent a letter. Also, the Empress Dowager…”

“I know,” Pei Xiunian interrupted, patting her shoulder. “Let her be for now—we’ll speak with her tomorrow.”

“Go to the imperial kitchens and bring me something to eat. Playing Go with the Grand Minister today has left me quite drained.”

Xiao Qin nodded and left the courtyard.

Pei Xiunian pushed open the door to his chambers, casually shedding his outer robe, intending to hang it on the rack by the door. Suddenly, he noticed someone sitting on his bed.

To be precise, it was a beautiful woman in palace attire, draped in a pure white fox-fur cloak.

Her gaze was noble and icy, her features breathtaking. The ornate silk robe she wore was embroidered with voluptuous crabapple blossoms, echoing her figure’s grace.

What beauty—radiant as peach and plum—such was she.

Even without heavy makeup, she was enough to topple a kingdom.

From a single glance, Pei Xiunian felt her allure as irresistible as a fox spirit at the height of her charm. The woman’s red lips curved; she gave a cold hum and said,

“A moment ago, you said you would follow me. Did you mean it?”