Chapter 22: Offering Advice

Logging into the game account and entering the room, the two connected in a private chamber, preparing for the match. The room was created by Professor Dai, who took the red pieces for the first game. There was no need for hints at the opening; both were well-versed in their own familiar routines. The classic Screen Horse versus River Patrol Chariot, a battle waged across the board with no smoke or fire, yet the verbal sparring between them was fierce, sparks flying with every word.

Professor Dai favored the Screen Horse, and the moment the game began, his opponent, an elderly gentleman named Zhou, started in on him: “You've played for years but haven't improved a bit. Screen Horse as Black is one thing, but you use it as Red too—your chariot comes out half a beat behind. Once I place my chariot by the river, can your horse cross? Honestly, I never liked teaching you as a disciple!”

The two old men were used to jabbing at each other. Professor Dai remained unruffled, shaking his head with a smile, “My Screen Horse is aimed precisely at your grand palace cannon. Isn’t it true you’ve had to change your strategy because of me? Who taught you this River Patrol Chariot? Was it your wife?”

Back and forth they went, not showing any particularly brilliant moves on the board, but their exchanges grew sharper with each sentence. Both were learned men; not a single crude word escaped their lips, though their barbs were enough to make one want to pull a knife.

“You! You’re so hung up on chess. Wouldn’t it be better to join the ladies for some square dancing? Or perhaps a bit of yangge? Build some connections with those old women. You’re all alone—just don’t let the old men catch you... You're always obsessed with chariots, horses, and cannons. The worse you play, the more you love it! Really, there’s no helping you.”

Professor Dai was quick to retort, “Why did I start playing chess? Wasn’t it because you, old rascal, kept inviting me to your house every other day? Playing a game with you meant I could snag a plate of dumplings. Your wife’s cooking is truly excellent. Speaking of you encouraging me to mingle with old ladies, it reminds me—hey, Zhou, don’t you think your third son looks uncannily like me?”

Wen Xiaocheng struggled to keep a straight face nearby. These two must be university professors—models of propriety before their students, always maintaining an air of authority. Who would have guessed that, behind the scenes, they were so irreverent? Even a simple chess match would devolve into such banter, veering into the gutter. Truly, it was absurd.

By the middle game, Xiaocheng began scribbling suggestions on paper. With his analytical skills, he might lack the experience to compete with international masters, but he was more than a match for two amateur old men. After jotting down a dozen moves, Black was already down a dead horse, and Professor Dai saw the opportunity, his spirits soaring.

“Let me give you a riddle: From a distance, it’s a horse; up close, it’s a horse. Hit it, it’s unfazed. Scold it, it doesn’t care. Pull it, and it falls apart! Can’t guess? It’s a dead horse!”

The pressure mounted, and Professor Zhou’s expression grew grave, his earlier arrogance fading. Yet he kept talking: “Oh, you sly old fox! Waiting for me right here? Haven’t seen you improve so much in a few days. Are you practicing some exorcist’s chess manual? No wonder you play chess all the time instead of looking for a new wife—totally detached from worldly desires!”

His words were sharp, but the game was already lost. Professor Dai, meanwhile, was delighted, nodding and swaying, “Why should I rush to find a new wife? I’m just waiting to annoy you to death, then reunite with your third son as father and son, and finally have the family together! Once I’ve beaten you, don’t overthink it—hang yourself if you must, jump off a building if you will, you’re half-buried anyway, so just make room for me!”

Three games were played, two of which ended in decisive victories. With Xiaocheng’s guidance, Professor Zhou was left battered and bruised, and Professor Dai was as gleeful as a child, dancing with joy. As agreed, the loser had to bow and call the winner “Master.” Dai directed from the camera, “Step back a bit, so I can see the whole thing. I’ll say when to start! Otherwise, it doesn’t count. Wait till I record this.”

“Today you got lucky, that’s all—three bows, right? I’ll pay them in advance for your funeral. When I attend your farewell ceremony, don’t blame me if I don’t bend down!”

Professor Dai was