Chu Tianqiu stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide. He had considered countless ways he might lose, but he had never anticipated this one.
“Tian Tian built… a ‘door’?” Chu Tianqiu muttered in disbelief. “She transformed the original door leading to the ‘Rabbit’ room into an ‘Escape Door’…”
“What do you think?” Qi Xia said. “Simple structure, made with readily available materials—even if it fails, it doesn’t matter. After all, the only ones who’d want to enter this ‘door’ are your people. Even if the other side leads straight to a boiling hell, it still counts as her success.”
Chu Tianqiu was momentarily speechless, as if he now understood where Kim Won-hoon had gone.
He turned his head expressionlessly and saw Kim Won-hoon emerging slowly from the shadows not far away.
“Brother…?” Kim Won-hoon seemed to see a savior. “You… why are you here too?”
Chu Tianqiu no longer had the face to answer that question.
He should have realized it sooner—if someone were to vanish from the field with a “word,” the most likely explanation was “escape.”
But because everyone assumed that “escaping” meant certain death, he had never been able to figure out what Kim Won-hoon’s motive for fleeing could have been.
Now, it seemed Kim Won-hoon had never even known he was “escaping.” Most likely, when he had used “Teleportation” to restrain the people in the room, he had inadvertently trapped himself in the same room as Tian Tian.
Seizing the opportunity, Tian Tian had swiftly tricked Kim Won-hoon into “entering the door,” ultimately unlocking the room.
“Qi Xia…” Chu Tianqiu turned back to him. “How exactly did you pull this off? Did you plan from the very beginning to eliminate me, the ‘commander,’ in this way?”
“What can I say, Chu Tianqiu?” Qi Xia shook his head, standing inside the “door.” “You were carrying so many ‘eyeballs.’ Now that you’ve gained ‘Echo,’ if I were to truly face you in a game, I’d be the one to lose.”
“You—”
“So I had to find a way to make you lose before you could activate ‘Echo,'” Qi Xia said, running his hand along the doorframe. “I’ve been planning this since the moment the game began. If we had actually entered a game together, you could have easily killed me with ‘Tian Xing Jian,’ right?”
“As much as I hate to admit it, that’s exactly what I would have done,” Chu Tianqiu replied. “I even had Zhang Shan’s second eyeball in my grasp. But I never expected your scheme would leave me with no room to act.”
“So, are you going to charge in here and kill me now?” Qi Xia asked again.
“I could, but I don’t want to,” Chu Tianqiu shook his head. “A loss is a loss. You gave me plenty of hints, yet I couldn’t find the answer. This time, I accept my defeat wholeheartedly.”
“Yes, I gave you more than enough hints,” Qi Xia said. “From the very beginning, I sent Tian Tian to a room with an ‘Escape Door’ and had her observe the differences between the two types of doors. Then, I learned from your team how to obtain ‘Echo’ and had Zheng Yingxiong relay it to her. Meanwhile, Chen Junan and Qiao Jijin’s attacks were all meant to sow distrust among your ranks, making cooperation impossible.”
The more Chu Tianqiu listened, the more stunned he became. He had thought every step of his plan was meticulously crafted, yet in reality, he had been following Qi Xia’s lead the entire time.
“As long as you didn’t trust your own people, you might resort to using ‘Shapeshift.’ Once I felt the timing was right, I decisively gambled with Yan Zhichun, leaving you ample time to act,” Qi Xia explained. “Because I believed that of all the people on my side, you knew me best—so if you used ‘Shapeshift,’ you’d only take my form. That’s why I told Chen Junan that a ‘strange version of me’ would appear later.”
Chu Tianqiu shook his head helplessly. “So Zhang Chenze was also part of your plan. Her appearance directly led to our defeat.”
“Attorney Zhang is a fascinating person,” Qi Xia said. “No matter how dire the situation, she always responds with the calmest mindset. That’s why she was able to adjust her mentality the fastest and infiltrate enemy territory alone to deduct points repeatedly. In terms of precision and efficiency, no one else in the team could have pulled it off except for me—and her.”
Chu Tianqiu pressed his lips together, silent.
“However, you’re mistaken about one thing. Zhang Chenze’s appearance didn’t directly cause your defeat—it was meant to force you into this game arena,” Qi Xia said. “Losing a few points would heighten your sense of urgency in the short term. Then, Yan Zhichun would appear to tell you that I had arranged to meet you in the ‘riverbed,’ making your appearance inevitable. Everything fell into place naturally. Though none of them were actual spies, they all acted according to my plan—no different from spies.”
“I never imagined you’d already built this ‘door,’ even sending Kim Won-hoon out midway,” Chu Tianqiu said. “Rather than the ‘continuous point deductions’ increasing my sense of crisis, it was Kim Won-hoon’s disappearance that left me most baffled.”
“That was just a coincidence,” Qi Xia replied. “I never instructed Tian Tian on how to handle such a situation. She made the call herself.”
“What a call that was,” Chu Tianqiu chuckled bitterly. “My people were all making their own calls too, but the result was just a scattered mess.”
Qi Xia let out a soft laugh. “Do you know about octopuses?”
“Octopuses…?” Chu Tianqiu frowned. “Of course I do.”
“An octopus has nine brains,” Qi Xia said. “One central brain in its head, and eight auxiliary brains in its arms. So when an octopus moves, it’s like a captain leading eight teammates—the central brain issues commands, and the auxiliary brains receive and execute them independently. I don’t try to control my teammates; I just give instructions. How they carry them out is up to them. They’re my limbs, and I’m willing to accept any consequences that come with that.”
“But I feel less like an octopus and more like a shark—one brain, one body, while the others are just small fish swimming independently around me,” Chu Tianqiu said. “I have to admit, your team is incredibly strong. Even Han Yimo’s presence left me helpless.”
“Han Yimo?” Qi Xia shook his head. “Unfortunately, I never hinted at anything to Han Yimo. Like I said, everything was ‘free development’—I accept all outcomes. Besides, I didn’t want to use Han Yimo’s ‘Echo’ to secure victory. That would have felt utterly boring.”
Chu Tianqiu felt as though all his efforts had been absorbed by a sponge.
He had been cautious, guarding against spies and constantly monitoring Han Yimo’s state of mind. Yet it turned out Qi Xia had never cared about Han Yimo’s condition—nor had he planted any spies at all.
“I lost fairly,” Chu Tianqiu admitted.
“To be honest, you can’t even call this a loss,” Qi Xia said. “This kind of game isn’t your forte. I have something else for you to do next.”
Chu Tianqiu’s expression shifted. “You… have something for me to do?”
“Yes,” Qi Xia nodded. “The others don’t understand you, but I do. I know what circumstances will bring out your full potential.”
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