“Wait a second… I’m not convinced!” Chen Junnan protested. “Why does he win just by saying those two sentences?”
The serpent paused and replied, “Because my teacher once taught me a theory called ‘survivorship bias.'”
“That applies here?” Chen Junnan retorted. “A restaurant owner using ‘survivorship bias’?”
“Yes, just as this young man said…” The serpent nodded. “Those who leave feedback are always the minority. Take the most idealized example—if out of a hundred customers, one person thinks the food is too salty today and leaves a comment, the owner might reduce the salt to accommodate that opinion. As a result, ninety-nine others find the food too bland.”
“Huh…?” Chen Junnan froze, realizing the argument made more sense than his own.
The serpent, too, found it increasingly reasonable. “This answer is perfect… That’s ‘survivorship bias.’ In this idealized scenario, it’s not just ninety-nine people who find it bland—it’s a hundred percent.”
“What do you mean?” Chen Junnan asked.
“Because the person who left the feedback likely won’t return to a restaurant they were dissatisfied with. Only those who had no complaints will endure the consequences of the change.” The serpent seemed to have grasped some profound truth. “You must have noticed—some restaurants we love, after a few weeks away, suddenly serve food far worse than before. Eventually, we stop going, and the place closes down. Meanwhile, those decades-old eateries that never changed their recipes stay in business. So, while feedback is worth listening to, it must be filtered and analyzed—not blindly followed.”
“That does make sense… Running a restaurant really is an art.”
Chen Junnan agreed outwardly but felt uneasy inside. This time, sheer luck had let Kim Won-hoon score. He needed to be more careful next time—otherwise, if he failed to secure the “pawn” in his possession, things would get even more complicated.
The serpent pulled out a nearly rotten pencil from his sleeve and lightly marked a check next to the question.
“Whether it’s running a restaurant or living life, the principle is the same,” the serpent mused. “The people who criticize and nitpick your life will always be the minority. If you constantly adjust yourself to their demands, you’ll lose your way.”
Chen Junnan and Kim Won-hoon fell silent.
The serpent asked, “How’s that for elevating the discussion?”
“The idea’s fine, but the delivery’s a bit pretentious,” Chen Junnan remarked.
“I’ll work on that next time,” the serpent said.
“Great, you’ve completely missed the point of ‘survivorship bias.’ Let’s move on to the next question,” Chen Junnan said. “I thought these were all logic puzzles, but now we’ve got theory questions too. Are there math and humanities problems as well?”
“Possibly,” the serpent replied. “These hundred puzzles are my treasures. Normally, I just read them like a book—I never attempt to solve them.”
“But why?” Chen Junnan pressed. “You don’t seem stupid. If you put in the effort, you could solve them all in a few days, right? Why rely on our answers to judge?”
“I’m conflicted,” the serpent said, flipping through his notebook. “Do you know what that person told me? He said if I answered all a hundred correctly, he’d return and help me become an ‘Earth-level.'”
“Wait…?” Chen Junnan was taken aback.
“But has he ever considered…” The serpent’s eyes flickered. “If he really left, I might not want him to come back.”
“Who exactly is this person—”
“Someone who once meant everything to me,” the serpent said softly. “Or perhaps I misunderstood. These hundred questions don’t just lead to a hundred answers—they’re a hundred solutions, a hundred philosophies for life. By the time I finish, I might not even need him to return. I’d be able to handle most situations here on my own.”
“Now you’re just getting cryptic…”
“That’s why I said these hundred puzzles are like tickets,” the serpent murmured wistfully. “I thought I had all the time in the world to wait—to board whenever I felt ready and journey into the future. But now, sitting here, I realize I might die in this game. It’s all too late.”
“Hold on, that’s terrifying,” Chen Junnan cut in. “Let me make this clear—I have zero interest in ‘betting lives’ with you. You’re not dying.”
He then nudged Kim Won-hoon. “Little Kim isn’t betting his life either, right?”
“Why would I ‘bet my life’…?” Kim Won-hoon asked.
The serpent shook his head. “It’s not about that. You don’t want to bet against me, and I don’t want to bet against you. We’ll naturally stay unharmed. But I could still die.”
“So who did you piss off…?” Chen Junnan demanded.
“Piss off?” The serpent chuckled bitterly. “In this place, you don’t need a reason to die. Maybe just because I refuse to ‘bet lives,’ I’ll be killed.”
“What kind of bullshit logic is that…?” Chen Junnan growled. “Don’t worry, if anyone comes for you, just tell me!”
“Qinglong.”
“…Then tell Old Qi!” Chen Junnan quickly amended.
“Hopefully,” the serpent said with a faint smile, flipping the notebook open. “Next question.”
The two tensed up again. This next puzzle could decide the fate of their “characters,” so neither dared slack off.
“Two generals are besieged by enemy forces, with their troops stationed on Mount A and Mount B respectively. If they break out simultaneously, they can encircle and defeat the enemy, escaping together. But if one attacks alone, they’ll be annihilated. Understood so far?”
They nodded. “Got it.”
“To coordinate a simultaneous breakout, they must agree on a time. But the distance is so vast they can’t even see each other’s smoke signals—they can only rely on messengers risking their lives to deliver orders. Suppose General A sends a messenger to Mount B with the order ‘Break out at noon.’ But he can’t be sure if the messenger will be ambushed or even reach Mount B. Until the messenger returns, he won’t dare act rashly.”
Chen Junnan scratched his head. “A bit abstract, but I follow.”
“General B faces the same dilemma. Even after receiving the message, he can’t be sure the messenger will make it back to Mount A to confirm ‘The message was received.’ So he, too, hesitates to act.”
“Tsk…” Chen Junnan frowned as the problem’s difficulty skyrocketed in just a few sentences.
“So the question is—under these conditions, how can the two generals guarantee they’ll break out simultaneously?”
Chen Junnan and Kim Won-hoon exchanged blank looks, stumped.
“Can’t they just send the whole mountain as messengers…?” Chen Junnan ventured.
“…?”
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