“Qi Xia!”
Zhang Chenze saw Qi Xia rush out of the riverbed, calling out in a low voice behind him.
But Qi Xia merely crouched on the ground, examining Qiao Jiajin’s injuries.
“What?” Qi Xia asked grimly without looking up.
Zhang Chenze stepped away from the door and approached the “riverbed,” her face filled with confusion. “You’re the ‘commander’… How can you leave the ‘preparation zone’?”
Qi Xia still didn’t raise his head, reaching out to check Qiao Jiajin’s pulse. His heartbeat was dangerously weak, and his face was covered in wounds.
At the moment, it was impossible to tell whether he had passed out or was simply asleep—he had completely lost consciousness.
“The rules never said the ‘commander’ can’t leave the ‘preparation zone,’ only that points must be scored by the ‘commander,'” Qi Xia replied. “I carry a ‘character’ too, so I’m naturally one of the pieces.”
“But it’s too dangerous here…”
Zhang Chenze glanced at Qiao Jiajin, then at Zhang Shan, who lay unconscious not far away. It was clear a brutal fight had just taken place.
She had worried about this very scenario before the game began—that massive man was built like a tank. What would happen if a fight broke out?
And yet, the tattooed man before her had actually taken him down.
“Lawyer Zhang, help me retrieve the ‘character,'” Qi Xia said. “The enemy would never expect our ‘commander’ to make a move personally. I need your help now.”
“Alright…!”
Without hesitation, Zhang Chenze ran to Zhang Shan’s side and reached into his pockets. Sure enough, there was a “character,” but as soon as she touched it, her expression changed.
Ignoring her reaction, Qi Xia bent down and hoisted Qiao Jiajin onto his back. “Whatever the ‘character’ is, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”
“Qi Xia… but this ‘character’…” Zhang Chenze’s eyes flickered. “If Qiao Jiajin fought this battle for this ‘character’… then what exactly are we—”
“All I know is he won,” Qi Xia said. “That ‘character’ is his spoils of war. We’ll take it for him.”
Realizing Qi Xia had already considered this possibility, Zhang Chenze fell silent for a few seconds before wordlessly slipping the “character” into her pocket.
Just as she was about to stand, she noticed blood-flecked foam trickling from Zhang Shan’s lips. Pausing, she instinctively reached out to check his pulse.
His heartbeat was fading fast—he was in shock. Without medical attention, he would die any moment.
His throat and temple bore obvious signs of severe trauma, the bones deformed. It seemed that during their exchange of blows, Qiao Jiajin had instinctively targeted his vital points.
But it was unavoidable. This had been a fight to the death, blood staining the entire “riverbed”… Who would even care where the punches landed?
In a life-or-death struggle like this, where only instinct and willpower remained, Zhang Shan had ultimately lost to his own subconscious.
In his dazed state, when throwing his final punches, he had still chosen non-lethal strikes.
It was a restraint rooted deep within him—one even he couldn’t control.
Zhang Chenze turned her gaze to Qiao Jiajin, slumped over Qi Xia’s back.
Had he truly wanted to kill?
No. It was simply that his body wanted to win, his fists wanted to win. In that final moment, every part of him had acted on its own, taking control and securing victory. They believed that even if it meant crossing the line and staining his hands, it was worth it.
Now, Zhang Shan could only lie on the cold “Chu-Han boundary,” waiting for death—with no one to help him.
“Let’s go,” Qi Xia said. “Don’t let anyone see us.”
Zhang Chenze understood his meaning. Leaving with Qiao Jiajin now would only leave their enemies with endless questions.
Zhang Shan had been beaten to death, yet Qiao Jiajin wasn’t at the scene. So how had he killed Zhang Shan? How had he escaped? Where was he now?
The enemy would assume Qiao Jiajin had used some trick to slip away unscathed.
From then on, even if Qiao Jiajin spent the entire time resting in the “preparation zone,” he would still cast an overwhelming psychological shadow over their opponents.
They would forever be on guard against the man who had killed Zhang Shan—waiting for him to strike at any moment.
The three of them quickly maneuvered around several empty rooms, encountering Zheng Yingxiong and Tian Tian along the way. The sight of Qiao Jiajin’s bloodied face left them all horrified, but Qi Xia offered no explanation.
Once back in the “preparation zone,” Qi Xia helped Qiao Jiajin sit against the wall, then reconsidered and laid him flat.
In his daze, Qiao Jiajin’s lips seemed to move, prompting Qi Xia to lean in close, pressing his ear to his mouth.
His words were entirely in Cantonese, but Qi Xia could still grasp the gist—
“That big guy… dangerous… go save him… quick…”
“Don’t worry,” Qi Xia said softly. “He won’t face any more danger. Just rest.”
Qiao Jiajin’s lips twitched, as if understanding. His expression went blank for a moment before he settled back into stillness.
His eyelids were dark purple, never opening—whether he was awake or asleep was unclear.
Only then did Zhang Chenze step forward, pulling the “character” she’d taken from Zhang Shan from her pocket. Slowly, she unfolded her hand before Qi Xia.
It was a bloodstained “shi.”
“Qi Xia!”
Zhang Chenze saw Qi Xia rush out of the river channel and kept calling his name in a low voice behind him.
But Qi Xia merely crouched on the ground, examining Qiao Jiajin’s injuries.
“What?” Qi Xia asked in a deep voice without looking up.
Zhang Chenze stepped away from the door and into the “river channel,” asking with a puzzled expression, “You’re the ‘commander’… How can you leave the ‘preparation zone’?”
Qi Xia still didn’t look up. He reached out and felt Qiao Jiajin’s neck, finding his pulse very weak and his face covered in wounds.
It was impossible to tell whether he had passed out or fallen asleep—he had completely lost consciousness.
“The rules never said the ‘commander’ can’t leave the ‘preparation zone,’ only that the ‘commander’ must score,” Qi Xia said. “I’m carrying a ‘character’ too, so I’m naturally one of the pieces.”
“But it’s too dangerous here…”
Zhang Chenze glanced at Qiao Jiajin, then at Zhang Shan lying unconscious not far away. It was clear that a fierce battle had just taken place.
Even before the game began, she had worried about this—that tall, incredibly muscular man. What would happen if a fight broke out?
But the man with the tattooed arms had actually taken him down.
“Lawyer Zhang, help me retrieve the ‘character,'” Qi Xia said. “The enemy would never expect our ‘commander’ to make a move personally. I need your help now.”
“Alright…!”
Without hesitation, Lawyer Zhang rushed to Zhang Shan’s side and reached into his pockets. Sure enough, there was a “character,” but as soon as she touched it, her expression changed.
Ignoring her reaction, Qi Xia bent down, hoisted Qiao Jiajin onto his back, and said without turning around, “No matter what the ‘character’ is, let’s go.”
“Qi Xia… But this ‘character’…” Zhang Chenze’s eyes flickered. “If Qiao Jiajin fought this battle for this ‘character’… then what were we even…”
“All I know is that he won,” Qi Xia said. “That ‘character’ is his trophy. We’re taking it with us.”
Realizing Qi Xia had already considered this possibility, Zhang Chenze fell silent for a few seconds before wordlessly pocketing the “character.”
As she was about to stand up, she noticed blood-flecked foam continuously trickling from Zhang Shan’s mouth. She paused, then almost involuntarily reached out to feel his neck.
His pulse was fading fast. He was in shock and would die soon without medical help.
There were obvious severe injuries around his throat and temples, both seemingly deformed. It appeared that during their exchange of blows, Qiao Jiajin had instinctively struck his vital points.
But it was unavoidable—this was a fight to the death, with blood staining the entire “river channel.” Who would care where the punches landed?
In a life-or-death struggle where only one could survive, both had fought until only their subconscious and will remained. In the end, Zhang Shan had lost to his own subconscious.
In his dazed state, when throwing punches, he had ultimately chosen non-lethal strikes.
It was a restraint rooted deep within him, something even he couldn’t control.
Zhang Chenze turned to look at Qiao Jiajin, slumped over Qi Xia’s back.
Had he truly intended to kill?
Perhaps it was more accurate to say his body wanted to win, his fists wanted to win. In those final moments, every part of him had acted on its own instinct, taking charge and winning the fight. They believed that even if it meant crossing a line and bearing the consequences, it was worth it.
Now, Zhang Shan could only lie there in the cold “Chu-Han boundary,” drifting toward death with no one to help him.
“Let’s go,” Qi Xia said. “Don’t let anyone see us.”
Zhang Chenze understood his meaning. Leaving with Qiao Jiajin would leave the enemy with countless questions.
Zhang Shan had been beaten to death, yet Qiao Jiajin was nowhere to be found. How had he done it? How had he escaped? Where was he now?
The enemy would assume Qiao Jiajin had used some trick to withdraw unscathed.
Even if Qiao Jiajin spent the rest of the time resting in the “preparation zone,” it would inflict immense psychological pressure on the enemy.
They would always be on guard against the man who had killed Zhang Shan, fearing he might reappear at any moment.
The three of them quickly navigated around several empty rooms, eventually running into Zheng Yingxiong and Tian Tian. Everyone was horrified to see Qiao Jiajin’s bloodied face, but Qi Xia offered no explanation.
Once back in the “preparation zone,” Qi Xia helped Qiao Jiajin sit against the wall but, still uneasy, laid him down flat.
In a daze, he thought he saw Qiao Jiajin’s lips move, so he leaned in close, pressing his ear to Qiao Jiajin’s mouth.
The words were entirely in Cantonese, but Qi Xia could still grasp the general meaning:
“That big guy… is dangerous… hurry and save someone…”
“Don’t worry,” Qi Xia said softly. “He won’t face any more danger. Rest easy.”
Hearing this, Qiao Jiajin’s lips twitched as if he understood. His expression went blank for a moment before he quieted down again.
His eyelids were dark purple and swollen shut. It was impossible to tell whether he was awake or had fallen back asleep.
Only then did Zhang Chenze step forward, pulling the “character” that had belonged to Zhang Shan from her pocket and slowly opening her hand to show Qi Xia.
It was a blood-stained “士” (shì).
It was “士,” not “仕” (shì).
“Qiao Jiajin almost traded his life for this ‘士,'” Zhang Chenze said, her eyes filled with sorrow. “And Zhang Shan died for this ‘士’… What exactly is…?”
“It’s fine. Give it to me.” Qi Xia took the “士” from Zhang Chenze and turned toward the “Phoenix Message Platform.”
“They’re truly cunning…” Zhang Chenze frowned. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a fair fight? The enemy’s ‘commander’ reduced their stakes in advance. Qiao Jiajin fought sincerely with a ‘相’ (xiàng), but the enemy was only a ‘士’…”
Qi Xia didn’t answer. Instead, he used the “士” and “干” (gān) to score two points.
Fifteen points in total.
“The enemy didn’t hide the ‘亻’ (rén) radical,” Qi Xia said. “They never had it to begin with.”
“What…?”
“My mistake,” Qi Xia said. “I should have figured it out earlier. If the enemy had the ‘亻’ radical from the start, this game would have ended long ago.”
Zhang Chenze was taken aback. She lifted her head and looked at the walls of the “preparation zone,” only now realizing that Qi Xia had covered them with writing.
There were at least a hundred characters, including some that didn’t look like proper “characters” and others that could only be combined through unconventional methods.
“If the enemy had the ‘亻’ radical from the beginning, combined with the three components of ‘将’ (jiàng) and ‘卒’ (zú), they could have directly formed twenty-eight characters.”
“Qiao Jiajin nearly traded his life for this ‘shi,'” Zhang Chenze said, her voice heavy with sorrow. “And Zhang Shan died for it too… What even is this…?”
“It’s fine. Give it to me.” Qi Xia took the “shi” from her and turned toward the “Phoenix Scroll Stand.”
“Qi Xia!”
Zhang Chenze saw Qi Xia rush out of the river channel and kept calling his name in a low voice behind him.
But Qi Xia merely crouched on the ground, examining Qiao Jiajin’s injuries.
“What?” Qi Xia asked in a deep voice without looking up.
Zhang Chenze stepped away from the door and into the “river channel,” asking with a puzzled expression, “You’re the ‘commander’… How can you leave the ‘preparation zone’?”
Qi Xia still didn’t look up, reaching out to feel Qiao Jiajin’s neck. His pulse was very weak, and there were many wounds on his face.
It was impossible to tell whether he had passed out or fallen asleep—he had completely lost consciousness.
“The rules never said the ‘commander’ can’t leave the ‘preparation zone,’ only that the ‘commander’ must score,” Qi Xia said. “I’m carrying a ‘character’ too, so I’m naturally one of the pieces.”
“But it’s too dangerous here…”
Zhang Chenze glanced at Qiao Jiajin, then at Zhang Shan, who was lying unconscious not far away. It was clear that a fierce battle had just taken place.
Even before the game began, she had worried about this—that tall, incredibly muscular man. What would happen if a fight broke out?
But the man with the tattooed arms had actually taken him down.
“Lawyer Zhang, help me retrieve the ‘character,'” Qi Xia said. “The other side would never expect our ‘commander’ to make a move personally. I need your help now.”
“Alright…!”
Without hesitation, Lawyer Zhang immediately ran to Zhang Shan’s side and reached into his pocket. Sure enough, there was a “character,” but as soon as she touched it, her expression changed.
Ignoring Lawyer Zhang’s reaction, Qi Xia bent down, hoisted Qiao Jiajin onto his back, and said without turning around, “No matter what ‘character’ it is, let’s go.”
“Qi Xia… but this ‘character’…” Zhang Chenze’s eyes flickered. “If Qiao Jiajin fought this battle for this ‘character’… then what were we even…”
“All I know is that he won,” Qi Xia said. “That ‘character’ is his trophy. We’re taking it with us.”
Zhang Chenze knew Qi Xia had already considered this possibility. She fell silent for a few seconds before wordlessly pocketing the “character.”
Just as she was about to stand up, she noticed blood-flecked foam continuously trickling from the corner of Zhang Shan’s mouth. She paused, then, as if compelled by some unseen force, reached out to feel his neck.
His pulse was fading fast. He was in shock and would die soon without medical help.
There were clear signs of severe trauma to his throat and temples, both visibly deformed. It seemed that during their exchange of blows, Qiao Jiajin had instinctively struck his vital points.
But it was unavoidable—this was a fight to the death that had already stained the entire “river channel” with blood. Who would care where the punches landed?
In a life-or-death struggle where only one could survive, both had fought until only their subconscious and will remained. In the end, Zhang Shan had lost to his own subconscious.
In his dazed state, when throwing punches, he had ultimately chosen non-lethal strikes.
It was a restraint rooted deep within him, something even he couldn’t control.
Zhang Chenze turned to look at Qiao Jiajin, slumped over Qi Xia’s back.
Had he truly intended to kill?
Perhaps it was more accurate to say his body wanted to win, his fists wanted to win. In those final moments, every part of him had gained a will of its own. They took charge and won this fight. They believed that even if it meant crossing a line and bearing the guilt, it was worth it.
Now, Zhang Shan could only lie there in the cold “Chu River Han Border,” slowly dying, with no one to help him.
“Let’s go,” Qi Xia said. “Don’t let anyone see us.”
Zhang Chenze naturally understood what Qi Xia meant. Leaving with Qiao Jiajin now would leave the other side with countless questions.
Zhang Shan had been beaten to death, yet Qiao Jiajin wasn’t at the scene. So how had he managed to kill Zhang Shan? How had he left? Where was he now?
The enemy would think Qiao Jiajin had used some trick to escape unscathed.
From now on, even if Qiao Jiajin stayed in the “preparation zone” to rest, it would exert immense psychological pressure on the other side.
They would always have to be on guard against the man who had killed Zhang Shan, fearing he might appear at any moment.
The three of them quickly skirted around several empty rooms. Along the way, they encountered Zheng Yingxiong and Tian Tian. Everyone was horrified to see Qiao Jiajin’s bloodied face, but Qi Xia said nothing.
After returning to the “preparation zone,” Qi Xia helped Qiao Jiajin sit against the wall but, after a moment’s thought, felt uneasy and laid him down flat.
In his daze, Qi Xia noticed Qiao Jiajin’s lips move slightly. He quickly leaned down, pressing his ear to Qiao Jiajin’s mouth.
The words were entirely in Cantonese, but Qi Xia could still grasp the general meaning:
“That big guy… is dangerous… hurry and save someone…”
“Don’t worry,” Qi Xia said softly. “He won’t face any more danger. Rest easy.”
Hearing this, Qiao Jiajin’s lips moved again, as though he understood. His expression went blank for a moment before he quieted down.
His eyelids were dark purple, and they never opened. It was impossible to tell whether he was awake or had fallen asleep again.
It was only then that Zhang Chenze stepped forward, pulling the “character” that had belonged to Zhang Shan from her pocket and slowly opening her hand in front of Qi Xia.
It was a blood-stained “士” (shì).
It was “士,” not “仕” (shì).
“Qiao Jiajin almost traded his life for this ‘士,'” Zhang Chenze said, her eyes filled with sorrow. “And Zhang Shan died for this ‘士’… What exactly is…?”
“It’s fine, give it to me.” Qi Xia took the “士” from Zhang Chenze and turned toward the “Phoenix Holding Scroll Platform.”
“They’re truly cunning…” Zhang Chenze frowned. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a fair fight? The other side’s ‘commander’ reduced their stakes in advance. Qiao Jiajin fought sincerely with his ‘相’ (xiàng), but the other side was only a ‘士’…”
Qi Xia didn’t answer. Instead, he used the “士” and “干” (gān) to score two points.
Fifteen points in total.
“The other side didn’t hide the ‘亻’ (rén) radical,” Qi Xia said. “They never had it to begin with.”
“What…?”
“My mistake,” Qi Xia said. “I should have figured it out earlier. If the other side had the ‘亻’ radical from the start, this game would have ended long ago.”
Zhang Chenze was taken aback. She lifted her head and looked at the walls of the entire “preparation zone,” only now realizing that Qi Xia had covered them with writing.
A rough count revealed at least a hundred characters, including some that didn’t look like “characters” and others that could only be combined through unconventional methods.
“If the other side had the ‘亻’ radical from the beginning, combined with the three components of ‘将’ (jiāng) and ‘卒’ (zú), they could have directly formed twenty-eight characters with the ‘characters’ in their possession.”
“Qi Xia!”
Zhang Chenze saw Qi Xia rush out of the riverbed, calling out to him in a low voice from behind.
But Qi Xia merely crouched on the ground, examining Qiao Jiajin’s injuries.
“What?” Qi Xia asked in a deep voice without looking up.
Zhang Chenze stepped away from the door and into the “riverbed,” her face filled with confusion. “You’re the ‘commander’… How can you leave the ‘preparation zone’?”
Qi Xia still didn’t look up. He reached out and felt Qiao Jiajin’s neck, finding his pulse extremely weak, with numerous wounds on his face.
It was impossible to tell whether he had passed out or fallen asleep—he had completely lost consciousness.
“The rules never said the ‘commander’ can’t leave the ‘preparation zone,’ only that points must be scored by the ‘commander,'” Qi Xia said. “I’m carrying a ‘character’ too, so I’m naturally one of the pieces.”
“But it’s too dangerous here…”
Zhang Chenze glanced at Qiao Jiajin, then at Zhang Shan lying unconscious not far away. It was clear a fierce battle had just taken place.
Even before the game began, she had worried about this—that tall, incredibly muscular man. What would happen if a fight broke out?
And yet, the man with the tattooed arms had actually taken him down.
“Lawyer Zhang, help me retrieve the ‘character,'” Qi Xia said. “The enemy would never expect our ‘commander’ to make a move personally. I need your help now.”
“Alright…!”
Without hesitation, Lawyer Zhang rushed to Zhang Shan’s side and reached into his pocket. Sure enough, there was a “character.” But as soon as she touched it, her expression changed.
Ignoring her reaction, Qi Xia bent down, hoisted Qiao Jiajin onto his back, and said without turning around, “It doesn’t matter what ‘character’ it is. Let’s go.”
“Qi Xia… But this ‘character’…” Zhang Chenze’s eyes flickered. “If Qiao Jiajin fought this battle for this ‘character’… then what were we even…”
“All I know is that he won,” Qi Xia said. “That ‘character’ is his trophy. We’re taking it with us.”
Realizing Qi Xia had already considered this possibility, Zhang Chenze fell silent for a few seconds before wordlessly pocketing the “character.”
As she was about to stand up, she noticed blood-flecked foam continuously trickling from Zhang Shan’s mouth. She paused, then, almost involuntarily, reached out to feel his neck.
His pulse was fading fast. He was in shock and would die soon without medical help.
There were clear signs of severe trauma to his throat and temples, both visibly deformed. It seemed that during their exchange of blows, Qiao Jiajin had instinctively targeted his vital points.
But it was unavoidable—this was a fight to the death, one that had already stained the entire “riverbed” with blood. Who would care where the punches landed?
In a life-or-death struggle like this, both fighters relied on pure instinct and willpower by the end. Zhang Shan had likely lost to his own subconscious.
In his dazed state, even as he threw punches, he ultimately chose non-lethal strikes.
It was a restraint buried deep within him, one even he couldn’t control.
Zhang Chenze turned her gaze to Qiao Jiajin, slumped over Qi Xia’s back.
Did he truly intend to kill?
Perhaps it was more accurate to say his body wanted to win, his fists wanted to win. In those final moments, every part of him had gained a will of its own. They took charge and won this fight. They believed that even if it meant crossing the line and bearing the guilt, it was worth it.
Now, Zhang Shan could only lie there on the cold “Chu River Han Border,” slowly dying, with no one to help him.
“Let’s go,” Qi Xia said. “Don’t let anyone see us.”
Zhang Chenze understood his meaning. Leaving with Qiao Jiajin now would leave the enemy with countless questions.
Zhang Shan had been beaten to death, yet Qiao Jiajin wasn’t at the scene. So how had he done it? How had he left? Where was he now?
The enemy would assume Qiao Jiajin had used some trick to escape unscathed.
From now on, even if Qiao Jiajin stayed resting in the “preparation zone,” he would exert immense psychological pressure on the enemy.
They would always be on guard against the man who had killed Zhang Shan, fearing he might appear at any moment.
The three of them quickly navigated around several empty rooms, eventually running into Zheng Yingxiong and Tian Tian. Everyone was horrified to see Qiao Jiajin covered in blood, but Qi Xia offered no explanation.
Once back in the “preparation zone,” Qi Xia helped Qiao Jiajin sit against the wall but, after a moment’s thought, laid him down flat instead.
In his daze, Qi Xia noticed Qiao Jiajin’s lips moving slightly. He quickly leaned in, pressing his ear close to Qiao Jiajin’s mouth.
The words were entirely in Cantonese, but Qi Xia could still grasp the general meaning:
“That big guy… is dangerous… hurry and save someone…”
“Don’t worry,” Qi Xia said softly. “He won’t face any more danger. Rest easy.”
Hearing this, Qiao Jiajin’s lips moved again as if he understood. His expression went blank for a moment before he quieted down.
His eyelids were dark purple and swollen, never opening throughout. It was impossible to tell if he was awake or had fallen asleep again.
It was only then that Zhang Chenze stepped forward, pulling the “character” that had belonged to Zhang Shan from her pocket. She slowly opened her hand in front of Qi Xia.
It was a blood-stained “士” (guard).
A “士,” not a “仕” (another form of “guard”).
“Qiao Jiajin almost traded his life for this ‘士,'” Zhang Chenze said, her eyes filled with sorrow. “And Zhang Shan died for this ‘士’… What exactly is…”
“It’s fine. Give it to me.” Qi Xia took the “士” from Zhang Chenze and turned toward the “Phoenix Message Platform.”
“They’re truly cunning…” Zhang Chenze frowned. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a fair fight? The enemy’s ‘commander’ reduced their stakes in advance. Qiao Jiajin fought sincerely with a ‘相’ (minister), but the enemy was only a ‘士’…”
Qi Xia didn’t answer. Instead, he used the “士” and “干” (dry) to score two points.
Fifteen points in total.
“The enemy didn’t hide the ‘亻’ (person radical),” Qi Xia said. “They never had the ‘亻’ to begin with.”
“What…?”
“My mistake,” Qi Xia said. “I should have calculated it earlier. If the enemy had the ‘亻’ from the start, this game would have ended long ago.”
Zhang Chenze was taken aback. She lifted her head and looked at the walls of the “preparation zone,” only now realizing that Qi Xia had covered them with writing.
There were at least a hundred characters, including some that didn’t look like proper “characters” and others that could only be combined through unconventional methods.
“If the enemy had the ‘亻’ from the beginning, combined with the three components of ‘将’ (general) and ‘卒’ (soldier), they could have directly formed twenty-eight characters with the ‘characters’ in their possession.”
Total: fifteen.
“Qi Xia!”
Zhang Chenze saw Qi Xia rushing out of the river channel and kept calling out his name in a low voice behind him.
But Qi Xia merely crouched on the ground, examining Qiao Jiajin’s injuries.
“What?” Qi Xia asked in a deep voice without looking up.
Zhang Chenze stepped away from the door and approached the “river channel,” her face filled with confusion. “You’re the ‘commander’… How can you leave the ‘preparation zone’?”
Qi Xia still didn’t look up. He reached out and felt Qiao Jiajin’s neck, finding his pulse very weak and his face covered in wounds.
It was impossible to tell whether he had passed out or fallen asleep—he had completely lost consciousness.
“The rules never said the ‘commander’ can’t leave the ‘preparation zone,’ only that the ‘commander’ must score,” Qi Xia said. “I’m carrying a ‘character’ too, so I’m naturally one of the pieces.”
“But it’s too dangerous here…”
Zhang Chenze glanced at Qiao Jiajin, then at Zhang Shan, who was lying unconscious not far away. It was clear that a fierce battle had just taken place.
Even before the game began, she had worried about this—what if that tall, incredibly muscular man decided to resort to violence?
Yet the tattooed man before her had actually taken him down.
“Lawyer Zhang, help me retrieve the ‘character,'” Qi Xia said. “The enemy would never expect our ‘commander’ to make a move personally. I need your help now.”
“Alright…!”
Without hesitation, Lawyer Zhang rushed to Zhang Shan’s side and reached into his pockets. Sure enough, there was a “character,” but as soon as she touched it, her expression changed.
Ignoring her reaction, Qi Xia bent down, lifted Qiao Jiajin onto his back, and said without turning around, “It doesn’t matter what ‘character’ it is. Let’s go.”
“Qi Xia… but this ‘character’…” Zhang Chenze’s eyes flickered. “If Qiao Jiajin fought this battle for this ‘character’… then what were we even…”
“All I know is that he won,” Qi Xia said. “That ‘character’ is his trophy. We’re taking it with us.”
Realizing Qi Xia had already considered this possibility, Zhang Chenze fell silent for a few seconds before wordlessly pocketing the “character.”
Just as she was about to stand up, she noticed blood-flecked foam continuously trickling from Zhang Shan’s mouth. She paused, then almost involuntarily reached out to feel his neck.
His pulse was fading fast. He was in shock and would die soon without medical help.
There were clear signs of severe trauma to his throat and temples, both visibly deformed. It seemed that during their exchange of blows, Qiao Jiajin had instinctively struck his vital points.
But it was unavoidable—this was a fight to the death, one that had already stained the entire “river channel” with blood. In such a situation, who would care where their fists landed?
In a life-or-death struggle where only one could survive, both had fought until only their subconscious and will remained. In the end, Zhang Shan had lost to his own subconscious.
In his dazed state, even as he threw punches, he had ultimately chosen non-lethal strikes.
It was a restraint rooted deep within him, one even he couldn’t control.
Zhang Chenze turned her gaze to Qiao Jiajin, who was now slumped over Qi Xia’s back.
Had he truly intended to kill?
Perhaps it was more accurate to say his body wanted to win, his fists wanted to win. In those final moments, every part of him had acted on its own instinct, taking charge and securing victory in the fight. They believed that even if it meant crossing the line and bearing the guilt, it was worth it.
Now, Zhang Shan could only lie there on the cold “Chu River Han Border,” slowly dying, with no one to help him.
“Let’s go,” Qi Xia said. “Don’t let anyone see us.”
Zhang Chenze understood his meaning. By leaving with Qiao Jiajin now, they would leave the enemy with countless questions.
Zhang Shan had been beaten to death, yet Qiao Jiajin was nowhere to be found. How had he managed to kill Zhang Shan? How had he escaped? Where was he now?
The enemy would assume Qiao Jiajin had used some trick to slip away unscathed.
From then on, even if Qiao Jiajin stayed in the “preparation zone” to rest, he would still exert immense psychological pressure on the enemy.
They would always be on guard against the man who had killed Zhang Shan, fearing he might reappear at any moment.
The three of them quickly navigated around several empty rooms, eventually running into Zheng Yingxiong and Tian Tian. Everyone was horrified to see Qiao Jiajin’s bloodied face, but Qi Xia offered no explanation.
Once they returned to the “preparation zone,” Qi Xia helped Qiao Jiajin sit against the wall but, after a moment’s thought, laid him down flat instead.
In his daze, Qi Xia noticed Qiao Jiajin’s lips moving slightly. He quickly leaned in, pressing his ear close to Qiao Jiajin’s mouth.
The words were entirely in Cantonese, but Qi Xia could still grasp the general meaning:
“That big guy… is dangerous… hurry and save someone…”
“Don’t worry,” Qi Xia said softly. “He won’t face any more danger. Rest easy.”
Upon hearing this, Qiao Jiajin’s lips moved again as if he understood. His expression went blank for a moment before he quieted down.
His eyelids were dark purple and swollen, never opening from start to finish. It was impossible to tell whether he was awake or had fallen back asleep.
It was only then that Zhang Chenze stepped forward, pulling the “character” that had belonged to Zhang Shan from her pocket and slowly opening her hand to reveal it to Qi Xia.
It was a blood-stained “士” (guard).
It was “士,” not “仕” (another form of “guard”).
“Qiao Jiajin almost traded his life for this ‘士,'” Zhang Chenze said, her eyes filled with sorrow. “And Zhang Shan died for this ‘士’… What exactly is…?”
“It’s fine. Give it to me.” Qi Xia took the “士” from Zhang Chenze and turned toward the “Phoenix Message Platform.”
“They’re truly cunning…” Zhang Chenze frowned. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a fair fight? The enemy’s ‘commander’ reduced their stakes in advance. Qiao Jiajin fought sincerely with his ‘相’ (minister), but the opponent was only a ‘士’…”
Qi Xia didn’t answer. Instead, he used the “士” and “干” (dry) to score two points.
Fifteen points in total.
“The enemy didn’t hide the ‘亻’ (radical),” Qi Xia said. “They never had the ‘亻’ to begin with.”
“What…?”
“My mistake,” Qi Xia said. “I should have calculated it earlier. If the enemy had the ‘亻’ from the start, this game would have ended long ago.”
Zhang Chenze was taken aback. She lifted her head and looked around the walls of the “preparation zone,” only now realizing that Qi Xia had covered them with writing.
Upon closer inspection, there were at least a hundred characters, including some that didn’t look like “characters” and others that could only be combined through unconventional methods.
“If the enemy had the ‘亻’ from the beginning, combined with the three components of ‘将’ (general) and ‘卒’ (soldier), they could have directly formed twenty-eight ‘characters’ with what they had.”
“What…?”
“My mistake,” Qi Xia admitted. “I should’ve realized sooner. If they’d had ‘ren’ from the start, this game would’ve ended long ago.”
Zhang Chenze froze, then looked up at the walls of the “preparation zone,” now covered in writing.
At a glance, there were over a hundred—some that barely resembled characters, others pieced together in bizarre configurations.
“Qi Xia!”
Zhang Chenze watched Qi Xia rush out of the river channel, calling out to him in a low voice from behind.
But Qi Xia merely crouched on the ground, examining Qiao Jiajin’s injuries.
“What?” Qi Xia replied in a deep voice without looking up.
Zhang Chenze stepped away from the door and into the “river channel,” asking with a puzzled expression, “You’re the ‘General’… How can you leave the ‘preparation zone’?”
Qi Xia still didn’t look up. He reached out to feel Qiao Jiajin’s neck and found his pulse was very weak, with numerous wounds on his face.
It was impossible to tell whether he had passed out or fallen asleep—he had completely lost consciousness.
“The rules never said the ‘General’ can’t leave the ‘preparation zone,’ only that the ‘General’ must score,” Qi Xia said. “I’m carrying a ‘character’ too, so I’m naturally one of the pieces.”
“But it’s too dangerous here…”
Zhang Chenze glanced at Qiao Jiajin, then at Zhang Shan lying unconscious not far away. It was clear that a fierce battle had just taken place.
Even before the game began, she had worried about this very issue—that tall, incredibly muscular man. What would happen if a fight broke out?
And yet, the tattooed man before her had actually taken him down.
“Lawyer Zhang, help me retrieve the ‘character,'” Qi Xia said. “The other side would never expect our ‘General’ to make a move personally. I need your help now.”
“Alright…!”
Without hesitation, Lawyer Zhang rushed to Zhang Shan’s side and reached into his pocket. Sure enough, there was a “character.” But as soon as she touched it, her expression changed.
Ignoring her reaction, Qi Xia bent down, hoisted Qiao Jiajin onto his back, and said without turning around, “No matter what the ‘character’ is, let’s go.”
“Qi Xia… But this ‘character’…” Zhang Chenze’s eyes flickered. “If Qiao Jiajin fought this battle for this ‘character’… then what were we even…”
“All I know is that he won,” Qi Xia said. “That ‘character’ is his trophy. We’re taking it with us.”
Realizing Qi Xia had already considered this possibility, Zhang Chenze fell silent for a few seconds before wordlessly pocketing the “character.”
As she was about to stand up, she noticed blood-flecked foam trickling from the corner of Zhang Shan’s mouth. She paused, then reached out almost involuntarily to feel his neck.
His pulse was fading fast. He was in shock and would die soon without medical attention.
There were clear signs of severe trauma to his throat and temples, both visibly deformed. It seemed that during their exchange of blows, Qiao Jiajin had instinctively struck his vital points.
But it was unavoidable—this was a fight to the death, one that had already stained the entire “river channel” with blood. In such a situation, who would care where their fists landed?
In a life-or-death struggle where only one could survive, both had fought until only their subconscious instincts and will remained. In the end, Zhang Shan had lost to his own subconscious.
In his dazed state, even as he threw punches, he had ultimately chosen a non-lethal way to attack.
It was a restraint rooted deep within him, one even he couldn’t control.
Zhang Chenze turned her gaze to Qiao Jiajin, slumped over Qi Xia’s back.
Had he truly intended to kill?
Perhaps it was more accurate to say his body wanted to win, his fists wanted to win. In those final moments, every part of him had acted on its own instinct, taking charge and securing victory in this fight. They believed that even if it meant crossing a line and bearing the guilt, it was worth it.
Now, Zhang Shan could only lie there on the cold “Chu River Han Border,” slowly dying, with no one to help him.
“Let’s go,” Qi Xia said. “Don’t let anyone see us.”
Zhang Chenze understood his meaning. Leaving with Qiao Jiajin now would leave the other side with countless questions.
Zhang Shan had been beaten to death, yet Qiao Jiajin was nowhere to be found. How had he managed to kill Zhang Shan? How had he escaped? Where was he now?
The enemy would assume Qiao Jiajin had used some trick to slip away unscathed.
From then on, even if Qiao Jiajin stayed in the “preparation zone” to rest, he would still exert immense psychological pressure on the other side.
They would always be on guard against the man who had killed Zhang Shan, fearing he might reappear at any moment.
The three of them quickly navigated around several empty rooms, eventually running into Zheng Yingxiong and Tian Tian. Everyone was horrified to see Qiao Jiajin covered in blood, but Qi Xia offered no explanation.
Once they returned to the “preparation zone,” Qi Xia helped Qiao Jiajin sit against the wall but, after a moment’s thought, laid him down flat instead.
In his daze, Qi Xia noticed Qiao Jiajin’s lips moving slightly. He quickly leaned in, pressing his ear close to Qiao Jiajin’s mouth.
The words were entirely in Cantonese, but Qi Xia could still grasp the general meaning:
“That big guy… is dangerous… hurry and save someone…”
“Don’t worry,” Qi Xia said softly. “He won’t face any more danger. Rest easy.”
Hearing this, Qiao Jiajin’s lips moved again as if he understood. His expression went blank for a moment before he quieted down.
His eyelids were dark purple, and they never opened. It was impossible to tell whether he was awake or had fallen back asleep.
It was only then that Zhang Chenze stepped forward, pulling the “character” that had belonged to Zhang Shan from her pocket and slowly opening her hand to show Qi Xia.
It was a blood-stained “士” (guard).
A “士,” not a “仕” (another form of “guard”).
“Qiao Jiajin almost traded his life for this ‘士,'” Zhang Chenze said, her eyes filled with sorrow. “And Zhang Shan died for this ‘士’… What exactly is…?”
“It’s fine. Give it to me.” Qi Xia took the “士” from Zhang Chenze and turned toward the “Phoenix Offering Scroll Platform.”
“They’re truly cunning…” Zhang Chenze frowned. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a fair fight? The other side’s ‘General’ reduced their stakes in advance. Qiao Jiajin fought sincerely with a ‘相’ (minister), but the other side was only a ‘士’…”
Qi Xia didn’t answer. Instead, he used the “士” and “干” (dry) to score two points.
Fifteen points in total.
“The other side didn’t hide the ‘亻’ (radical),” Qi Xia said. “They never had the ‘亻’ to begin with.”
“What…?”
“My mistake,” Qi Xia said. “I should have calculated it earlier. If the other side had the ‘亻’ from the start, this game would have ended long ago.”
Zhang Chenze was taken aback. She raised her head and looked around the walls of the “preparation zone,” only now realizing that Qi Xia had covered them with writing.
There were at least a hundred characters, including some that didn’t look like “characters” and others that could only be combined through unconventional methods.
“If the other side had the ‘亻’ from the beginning, combined with the three components of ‘将’ (general) and ‘卒’ (soldier), they could have directly formed twenty-eight ‘characters.'”
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