After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeves and slowly approached the crowd, as if victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew surrender wasn’t in his nature, so he stepped forward toward the massive wall.
“Playing dirty,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this playing dirty?” Qinglong retorted. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first—this was a mutual decision.”
“Ha,” Chen Junnan scoffed. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you’d stab me? What, now you always get the first stab?”
“Unfortunately, that’s how life-and-death bets work,” Qinglong said. “Once both sides agree, there’s no backing out.”
At that moment, Zheng Yingxiong sniffed the air, clearly detecting hesitation emanating from Qi Xia, who stood not too far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about this answer.
With Qi Xia’s face hidden behind the wall, no one could guess what he was thinking.
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeves and slowly walked up to the group, as if victory was already assured.
“It’s your turn, Qixia,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qixia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would do, so he stepped forward behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong retorted. “Qixia agreed to let me create first. This was the result of mutual negotiation.”
“Hah,” Chen Junnan laughed. “If we were fighting, would it be fair if I stabbed you first, then you stabbed me? Why do you always get to strike first now?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how life-and-death bets work,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qixia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about his answer this time.
Now, with Qixia hidden behind the giant wall, no one could see his face or guess what he was thinking.
What other character containing “兵” (bīng) could possibly be important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still unsure of where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qixia’s side?
If Qixia lost the bet… would he have to die along with him?
But thankfully, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left. His mission was accomplished, so he wasn’t too worried.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiajin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qixia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qixia could secure victory in the second round, there would be no need for a third.
But now… could he really find a character more important than “米” (mǐ, rice) among the remaining options?
The group waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qixia still hadn’t made a move.
In front of the “Phoenix Book Pavilion,” he stroked his chin, carefully pondering the abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” From this perspective, even if Qinglong had prepared beforehand, he believed “米” was the only answer. As long as he created “米,” he was already in an unbeatable position.
If that was the case… was there any way to turn the tables in this game?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qixia narrowed his eyes and glanced up at Xuanwu, who was standing beside the giant wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous thing in this game might be the “referee.”
Because it involved a “life-and-death bet,” the game didn’t use the display’s built-in scoring system. Instead, Xuanwu was tasked with determining victory.
So, was there a character that could distort the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qixia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components reassembled and scattered, swirling like butterflies in his mind, fluttering forward to rotate and recombine with “兵.”
Like a creator overlooking everything, Qixia examined all possible combinations these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qixia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qixia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
It seemed like a character had just flickered past, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the sea of characters.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to confuse Xuanwu.
He isolated the radicals that made up this character and imagined them rotating several times by ninety degrees, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only emerged for a fleeting moment when they were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, created at a slanted angle.
A smile tugged at Qixia’s lips as he realized the answer.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped in conventional thinking.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why couldn’t they rotate forty-five degrees?
Qixia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the devices in front of him.
The only problem now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pavilion” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t the same—only the shape is similar,” Qixia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qixia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in the “Cangjie Game”?
The group stared at the empty screen in front of the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, but Qixia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face darkened with impatience, and he turned to Xuanwu. “Isn’t it about time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to say something when the giant screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qixia had given.
A few seconds later, the character “八” (bā, eight) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong smirked coldly. After all, he had already considered all possibilities containing “八,” and nothing was more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never expected to see.
“父” (fù, father)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame ‘母’ (mǔ, mother) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qixia said calmly as he emerged from behind the giant wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even predates ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Could those characters really be combined to form “父”?
————
Han Yimo stood dumbfounded, still unsure of his own stance.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s?
If Qi Xia lost the bet… would he have to die too?
At least Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left, and his mission was complete. That eased his worries somewhat.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiajin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze all held their breath for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were getting more abstract by the minute, and victory in the next round was far from certain.
If Qi Xia could win the second round, the third would be unnecessary.
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeve and slowly walked up to the group, looking as though victory was already in his grasp.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would ever do, so he stepped forward toward the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong replied. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first—it was a mutually negotiated decision.”
“Ha,” Chen Junnan laughed. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you’d stab me? What, now you get to stab first every time?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how betting with your life works,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation coming from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about his answer this time.
Now, with Qi Xia hidden behind the giant wall, no one could see his face or guess what he was thinking.
What other character containing “兵” (bīng) could possibly be important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still unsure of where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia lost this bet… would he have to die along with him?
But thankfully, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left. His mission was accomplished, so he wasn’t too worried.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jijin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, there would be no need for a third.
But now… could he really find a character among the remaining options more important than “米” (rice)?
The group waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
He stood before the “Phoenix Book Pedestal,” stroking his chin, carefully pondering this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” From this perspective, even if Qinglong had prepared, he believed “米” was the only answer. Once he created it, the game was already unwinnable for his opponent.
If that was the case… was there any way left to turn the tables?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and looked up at Xuanwu, who stood beside the giant wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous element in this game might be the “referee.”
Because this involved “betting with lives,” the game wasn’t using the display’s built-in scoring system. Instead, Xuanwu was judging victory or defeat.
So, was there a character that could distort meanings and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components combined and separated, swirling like butterflies in his mind, fluttering forward to rotate and reassemble with “兵.”
Like a creator overlooking everything, Qi Xia simultaneously examined all possible combinations these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
Something had just flickered past—a character that vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the vast sea of possibilities.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to disrupt Xuanwu’s thoughts.
He isolated the radicals that would form this character and imagined them rotating several times by ninety degrees, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only emerged for an instant when they were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, creating it at a tilted angle.
A smile tugged at Qi Xia’s lips as he realized this.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped in conventional thinking.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why not forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the equipment before him.
The only problem now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pedestal” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t identical—only the shape is the same,” Qi Xia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in the “Cangjie Game”?
The group watched the empty screen in front of the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face darkened with impatience, and he turned to Xuanwu. “Isn’t that enough time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to speak when the giant screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had submitted.
A few seconds later, the character “八” (bā) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong smirked coldly. He had already considered every possibility containing “八”—nothing could be more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never could have anticipated.
“父” (fù)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame ‘母’ (mǔ) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qi Xia said calmly as he stepped out from behind the giant wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even predates ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Those characters… could they really be combined to form “父”?
————
The group waited in silence for nearly a minute, but Qi Xia remained motionless.
Standing before the *Phoenix Scripting Platform*, he stroked his chin, carefully considering the abstract rule.
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeves and slowly walked up to the group, as if victory was already assured.
“It’s your turn, Qixia,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qixia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would do, so he stepped behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong retorted. “Qixia agreed to let me create first. This was a mutually negotiated outcome.”
“Hah,” Chen Junnan laughed. “If we were fighting, would it be fair if I stabbed you first, then you stabbed me? Why do you always get to strike first?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how life-and-death bets work,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qixia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about his answer this time.
Now, with Qixia hidden behind the wall, no one could see his expression or guess what he was thinking.
What other character containing “兵” (bīng – soldier) could be important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still unsure of where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qixia’s side?
If Qixia lost the bet… would he have to die along with him?
But thankfully, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left. His mission was accomplished, so he wasn’t too worried.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiajin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qixia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qixia could secure victory in the second round, the third round wouldn’t even be necessary.
But now… could he possibly find a character more important than “米” (mǐ – rice) among the remaining options?
The group waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qixia still hadn’t made a move.
In front of the “Phoenix Book Pavilion,” he stroked his chin, carefully pondering this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” Considering this, even if Qinglong had prepared, he likely believed “米” was the only correct answer. Once he created it, the game was already unwinnable for his opponent.
If that was the case… was there any way to turn the tables in this round?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qixia narrowed his eyes and glanced up at Xuanwu, who was standing beside the giant wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous element in this game might be the “referee.”
Because it involved a “life-and-death bet,” the game wasn’t using the display’s built-in scoring system. Instead, Xuanwu was judging the outcome.
So, was there a character that could twist the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qixia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components reassembled and scattered, swirling like butterflies in his mind, rushing forward to combine and rotate with “兵.”
Like a creator overlooking everything, Qixia examined all possible combinations these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qixia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qixia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
Something had just flickered past—a character that vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the vast sea of possibilities.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to disrupt Xuanwu’s judgment.
He isolated the radicals that would form this character and imagined them rotating several times by ninety degrees, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear with ninety-degree rotations—it only revealed itself for an instant when the radicals were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, creating it at an angle.
A smile tugged at Qixia’s lips as he realized the answer.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped in the same constraints.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why not forty-five degrees?
Qixia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the equipment in front of him.
The only challenge now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pavilion” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t the same—only the shape is,” Qixia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qixia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in a game of “Cangjie Chess”?
The group stared at the empty screen in front of the giant display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, yet Qixia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face darkened with impatience, and he turned to Xuanwu. “Isn’t it about time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to speak when the giant screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qixia had submitted.
A few seconds later, the character “八” (bā – eight) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong smirked coldly. After all, he had already considered every possibility containing “八”—none were more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never could have anticipated.
“父” (fù – father)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame I couldn’t form ‘母’ (mǔ – mother), but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qixia said calmly as he emerged from behind the giant wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even predates ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Those characters… could they really form “父”?
So… was there any way to turn this around?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of play was against him… So what *was* in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and glanced at Xuanwu standing beside the towering wall.
Ah. The most advantageous thing in this game might just be the *referee*.
Because this was a life-and-death wager, the game didn’t rely on the screen’s automated scoring system—Xuanwu was the one judging the winner.
Was there a character that could twist the logic and confuse Xuanwu?
Qi Xia closed his eyes, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, breaking apart into radicals and components.
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeves and slowly walked up to the group, as if victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew that giving up was not something he would ever do, so he stepped forward behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong retorted. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first. This was the result of mutual negotiation.”
Chen Junnan laughed coldly. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you stab me? How come now you always get to strike first?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how a life-or-death gamble works,” Qinglong said. “Once both sides agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about his answer this time.
Now, with Qi Xia hidden behind the massive wall, no one could see his expression or guess what he was thinking.
What other character containing “兵” (bīng) could be important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still somewhat confused about where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia lost this life-or-death gamble… would he have to die along with him?
Fortunately, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left, and Han Yimo had accomplished what he set out to do. There wasn’t much left to worry about.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiajin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, there would be no need for a third.
But now… could he possibly find a character more important than “米” (mǐ) among the remaining options?
The group waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
He stood before the “Phoenix Book Pedestal,” stroking his chin as he carefully pondered this abstract rule.
It was clear that Qinglong had prepared in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” From this perspective, even if Qinglong had rehearsed, he believed “米” was the only correct answer. As long as he created “米,” he had already secured an unbeatable position.
If that was the case… was there any way left to turn the game around?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and glanced up at Xuanwu, who was standing beside the massive wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous element in this game might be the “referee.”
Because this involved a “life-or-death gamble,” the display’s built-in scoring system wasn’t used. Instead, Xuanwu was tasked with determining the winner.
So, was there a character that could distort the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components rearranged and spun like dancing butterflies in his mind, swirling and recombining with “兵.”
Like a creator overlooking his creation, Qi Xia examined all the possible combinations these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
It seemed like a character had just flickered past, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the vast sea of characters.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to disrupt Xuanwu’s train of thought.
He isolated the radicals that would form this character and imagined them rotating several times by ninety degrees, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only revealed itself for a fleeting moment when the rotation was forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, creating it at a tilted angle.
A faint smile tugged at Qi Xia’s lips as he realized this.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped in conventional thinking.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why not forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the equipment before him.
The only challenge now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pedestal” could recognize such an unconventional character.
“The strokes aren’t the same—only the shape is,” Qi Xia murmured to himself.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in the “Cangjie Game”?
The group stared at the empty screen in front of the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face darkened with impatience, and he turned to Xuanwu. “Isn’t it about time? Even ‘creating a character’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to speak when the massive screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had submitted.
A few seconds later, the character “八” (bā) slowly lit up.
The group fell into silence. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong smirked coldly. After all, he had already considered every possibility containing “八,” and nothing was more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never could have anticipated.
“父” (fù)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame ‘母’ (mǔ) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qi Xia said calmly as he emerged from behind the massive wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even predates ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Could those characters really be combined to form “父”?
From a godlike vantage point, Qi Xia observed every possible permutation of these radicals.
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeves and slowly walked up to the group, as if victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would do, so he stepped forward behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong retorted. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first. This was the result of mutual negotiation.”
“Ha,” Chen Junnan laughed. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you’d stab me? What, now you get to strike first every time?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how life-and-death bets work,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about this answer.
Now, with Qi Xia’s face hidden from view, no one could tell what he was thinking.
What other possibilities were there for a character containing “兵” (bīng) that was also important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still somewhat confused about where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia lost this life-and-death bet… would he have to die along with him?
But thankfully, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left, and he had accomplished his mission. There wasn’t much to worry about anymore.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiajin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, there would be no need for a third.
But now… could he really find a character more important than “米” (mǐ) among the remaining options?
The group waited quietly for nearly a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
He stood before the “Phoenix Book Pedestal,” stroking his chin as he carefully pondered this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” Considering this, even if Qinglong had prepared beforehand, he likely believed “米” was the only correct answer. As long as he created “米,” he had already secured an unbeatable position.
If that was the case… was there any way left to turn the game around?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and glanced up at Xuanwu, who was standing beside the massive wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous thing for him in this game might be the “referee.”
Because this involved a “life-and-death bet,” the game hadn’t used the scoring system built into the display screen. Instead, Xuanwu was tasked with determining the winner.
So, was there a character that could twist the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components combined and separated, swirling like butterflies in his mind, fluttering forward to rotate and reassemble with “兵.”
Like a creator overlooking everything, Qi Xia examined all possible combinations these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
It seemed like a character had just flickered past, but it was gone in an instant, disappearing into the vast sea of characters.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to confuse Xuanwu.
He isolated the radicals that would form this character and imagined them rotating several times by ninety degrees, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only emerged for a fleeting moment when they were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, created at a tilted angle.
A smile tugged at Qi Xia’s lips as he realized this.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped by conventional thinking.
Who said radicals could only be rotated ninety degrees at a time? Why couldn’t they be rotated forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the various devices before him.
The only problem now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pedestal” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t the same—only the shape is similar,” Qi Xia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in a game of “Cangjie’s Chess”?
The group stared at the empty screen on the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face was full of displeasure as he turned to Xuanwu and said, “Isn’t that enough time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to say something when the massive screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had given.
A few seconds later, the character “八” (bā) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they were all mentally calculating the possibilities—what could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong smirked coldly. After all, he had already considered all possibilities containing “八,” and none were more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never could have anticipated.
“父” (fù)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame ‘母’ (mǔ) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qi Xia said calmly as he emerged from behind the massive wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even predates ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Those characters… could they really be combined to form “父”?
————
“Wait…”
Qi Xia’s brows furrowed in the darkness of his mind as a strange flash of inspiration struck him.
Something had just flickered past—a character that vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the sea of possibilities.
If that character *did* exist… it might just be enough to throw Xuanwu off balance.
He isolated the radicals of the two characters, rotating them in ninety-degree increments. But something felt off.
The character wouldn’t form at ninety degrees—only at a forty-five-degree tilt, appearing for just an instant.
To create this character, one radical needed to be rotated *forty-five degrees*, skewed at an angle.
The realization made Qi Xia’s lips curl into a faint smile.
*So this is the hidden secret of Chinese characters?*
Just moments ago, he’d accused Qinglong of limited thinking—yet he himself had been trapped by the same rigidity.
Who said radicals could only rotate in ninety-degree increments? Why not forty-five?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and gazed at the equipment before him.
The only question now was whether the *Phoenix Scripting Platform* could recognize such an unorthodox character.
“The strokes aren’t identical—just the shape,” Qi Xia murmured.
If it *could* recognize it… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, ancient script creators never cared about stroke order—only form.
He shook his head wryly. Who could’ve predicted this character would emerge in a game of *Cangjie Chess*?
The crowd watched the empty screen, tension thick in the air. Zhang Chenze and Tian Tian’s palms were slick with sweat, yet Qi Xia remained still.
Qinglong’s expression darkened as he turned to Xuanwu. “Enough. Even ‘creating characters’ has a time limit. Are we waiting until nightfall?”
“Fine…” Xuanwu began to speak, but the massive screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up as Qi Xia’s answer slowly materialized.
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeve and slowly walked up to the group, as if victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would do, so he stepped forward behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong replied. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first. This was a mutually negotiated outcome.”
“Ha,” Chen Junnan laughed. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you stab me? What, now you get to strike first every time?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how betting with your life works,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about this answer.
Now, with Qi Xia hidden behind the massive wall, no one could see his expression or guess what he was thinking.
What other character containing “兵” (bīng – soldier/weapons) could be important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still somewhat confused about where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia lost this bet… would he have to die along with him?
But thankfully, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left, and he had accomplished what he set out to do. There wasn’t much left to worry about.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jijin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, there would be no need for a third.
But now… could he possibly find a character more important than “米” (mǐ – rice) among the remaining options?
The group waited quietly for nearly a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
In front of the “Phoenix Book-Carrying Platform,” he stroked his chin, carefully pondering this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” Considering this, even if Qinglong had prepared, he likely believed “米” was the only correct answer. As long as he created “米,” he had already secured an unbeatable position.
If that was the case… was there any way to turn this game around?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and looked up at Xuanwu, who was standing beside the massive wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous element in this game might just be the “referee.”
Because this involved “betting with lives,” the game wasn’t using the display’s built-in scoring system. Instead, Xuanwu was judging the outcome.
So, was there a character that could twist the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components reassembled and scattered, swirling in his mind like dancing butterflies, rushing forward to rotate and recombine with “兵.”
Like a creator looking down from above, Qi Xia simultaneously examined all possible combinations these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
Something had just flickered past—a character that vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the vast sea of characters.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to disrupt Xuanwu’s train of thought.
He isolated the radicals that would form this character and imagined them rotating several times by ninety degrees, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only revealed itself for a fleeting moment when they were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, created at a slanted angle.
Upon realizing this, Qi Xia couldn’t help but smile.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped in conventional thinking.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why couldn’t they rotate forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the various devices in front of him.
The only challenge now was whether the “Phoenix Book-Carrying Platform” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t the same, just the shape,” Qi Xia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on form.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in a game of “Cangjie’s Chess”?
The group stared at the empty screen in front of the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
A look of displeasure crossed Qinglong’s face. He turned to Xuanwu and said, “Isn’t that enough time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to say something when the massive screen flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had given.
A few seconds later, the character “八” (bā – eight) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong smirked coldly. After all, he had already considered every possibility containing “八”—nothing could be more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never could have anticipated.
“父” (fù – father)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame ‘母’ (mǔ – mother) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qi Xia said calmly as he emerged from behind the massive wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even predates ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Could those components really form “父”?
————
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeves and slowly walked up to the crowd, as if victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew only that giving up was not something he would do, so he stepped forward toward the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong replied. “Earlier, Qi Xia agreed to let me create first. This was the result of mutual negotiation.”
Chen Junnan laughed. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you’d stab me? What, now you get to stab first every time?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how betting with your life works,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about this answer.
Now, with Qi Xia’s face hidden from view, no one could tell what he was thinking.
What other possibilities were there for a character containing “兵” (bīng) that was important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still somewhat confused about where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia failed in this bet… would he have to die along with him?
Fortunately, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left, and he had accomplished his mission, so he wasn’t too worried.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiajin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating bullets for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming increasingly abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, the third round wouldn’t even be necessary.
But now… could he really find a character among the remaining ones more important than “米” (mǐ, rice)?
The crowd waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
He stood before the “Phoenix Scroll Platform,” stroking his chin as he carefully considered this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance. He hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” From this perspective, even if Qinglong had prepared beforehand, he believed “米” was the only answer. Once he created “米,” the game was already unwinnable for his opponent.
If that was the case… was there any way to turn the tables in this round?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and looked up at Xuanwu, who stood beside the massive wall.
That was it. The most advantageous thing for him in this game might be the “referee.”
Because it involved “betting with one’s life,” the game didn’t use the scoring system built into the display screen. Instead, Xuanwu was tasked with determining victory.
So, was there a character that could twist the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia silently closed his eyes, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into countless radicals and components.
These radicals and components combined and separated, swirling like butterflies in his mind, rushing forward to rotate and reassemble with “兵.”
Like a creator, Qi Xia looked down from above, examining all the possibilities that could emerge from rotating these characters.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the various components had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
Something had just flickered past, but it was gone in an instant, lost in the sea of characters.
If that character really existed… it might just be enough to confuse Xuanwu.
He isolated the radicals that made up these two characters and imagined rotating them ninety degrees several times, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only emerged for a fleeting moment when they were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, created at a tilted angle.
A smile tugged at Qi Xia’s lips as he realized this.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped by conventional thinking.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why not forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the various devices in front of him.
The only problem now was whether the “Phoenix Scroll Platform” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t the same, just the shape,” Qi Xia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, when ancient people created characters, they didn’t consider stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in the “Cangjie Game”?
The crowd watched the empty screen on the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face was full of displeasure. He turned to Xuanwu and said, “Isn’t that enough time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to say something when the massive screen flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had given.
A few seconds later, a “八” (bā, eight) slowly lit up.
The crowd fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong sneered. After all, he had already considered all possibilities containing “八,” and nothing was more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, and a character he never expected appeared.
“父” (fù, father)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly quiet.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“Unfortunately, ‘母’ (mǔ, mother) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qi Xia said calmly as he stepped out from behind the massive wall. “Only parents can give life to humans. This rule even precedes ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Those characters… could they really form “父”?
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeve and slowly walked up to the group, as if victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would do, so he stepped forward behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong replied. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first. This was the result of mutual negotiation.”
“Ha,” Chen Junnan laughed. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you stab me? What, now you get to stab first every time?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how betting with your life works,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about this answer.
Now, with Qi Xia’s face hidden from view, no one could tell what he was thinking.
What other possibilities were there for a character containing “兵” (bīng) that was important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still somewhat confused about where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia failed in this life-or-death bet… would he have to die along with him?
But fortunately, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left, and he had accomplished his mission. There wasn’t much to worry about anymore.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiajin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, there would be no need for a third.
But now… could he really find a character among the remaining ones more important than “米” (mǐ)?
The group waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
He stood before the “Phoenix Book Pedestal,” stroking his chin, carefully considering this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” From this perspective, even if Qinglong had prepared beforehand, he believed “米” was the only answer. As long as he created “米,” he was already in an unbeatable position.
If that was the case… was there any way to turn this game around?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and glanced up at Xuanwu, who stood beside the massive wall.
That was it—the most advantageous thing for him in this game might be the “referee.”
Because this involved “betting with lives,” the game hadn’t used the scoring system from the display screen but instead left it to Xuanwu to determine victory or defeat.
So, was there a character that could twist the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components combined and separated, swirling like butterflies in his mind, rushing forward to rotate and reassemble with “兵.”
Like a creator, Qi Xia looked down from above, examining all the possible combinations these characters could form.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
Something had just flickered past—a character that vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the vast sea of characters.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to disrupt Xuanwu’s thoughts.
He isolated the radicals that made up these two characters and imagined them rotating several times at ninety-degree angles, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only emerged for a fleeting moment when they were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, created at a tilted angle.
Upon realizing this, Qi Xia couldn’t help but smile.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped in conventional thinking.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why not forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the various devices before him.
The only problem now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pedestal” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t the same, just the shape,” Qi Xia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about strokes—they focused on shape.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in the “Cangjie Game”?
The group watched the empty screen on the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t moved.
Qinglong’s face darkened with displeasure, and he turned to Xuanwu. “Isn’t that enough? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to say something when the giant screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had provided.
A few seconds later, a “八” (bā) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong sneered. After all, he had already considered all possibilities containing “八”—nothing could be more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never expected to see.
“父” (fù)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame we can’t form ‘母’ (mǔ), but ‘父’ is enough to convey what I mean,” Qi Xia said calmly as he emerged from behind the massive wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even precedes ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Those characters… could they really form “父”?
But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he *never* expected.
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeve and slowly walked up to the group, as if victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would do, so he stepped forward behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong replied. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first. This was the result of mutual negotiation.”
“Ha,” Chen Junnan laughed. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you stab me? What, now you get to stab first every time?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how betting with your life works,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about this answer.
Now, with Qi Xia hidden behind the wall, no one could see his expression or guess what he was thinking.
What other character containing “兵” (bīng) could be important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still unsure of where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia lost this bet… would he have to die along with him?
But thankfully, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left. His mission was accomplished, so he wasn’t too worried.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiajin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze all held their breath for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, the third round wouldn’t even be necessary.
But now… could he really find a character more important than “米” (rice) among the remaining options?
The group waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
In front of the “Phoenix Book Pavilion,” he stroked his chin, carefully considering this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” From this perspective, even if Qinglong had prepared beforehand, he believed “米” was the only correct answer. As long as he created “米,” he’d already secured an unbeatable position.
If that was the case… was there any way to turn this game around?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and glanced up at Xuanwu, who stood beside the massive wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous thing in this game might be the “referee.”
Because this involved “betting with lives,” the game didn’t use the scoring system from the display screen. Instead, Xuanwu was tasked with determining victory.
So, was there a character that could distort the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components reassembled and scattered, swirling like butterflies in his mind, rushing forward to rotate and recombine with “兵.”
Like a creator overlooking everything, Qi Xia examined all possible combinations these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange inspiration flashed in the darkness.
It seemed like a character had just flickered past, but it was gone in an instant, disappearing into the vast sea of characters.
If that character really existed… it might just be enough to confuse Xuanwu.
He isolated the radicals that would form this character and imagined them rotating several times at ninety-degree angles, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only revealed itself for a fleeting moment when the radicals were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees, created at an倾斜 angle.
A smile tugged at Qi Xia’s lips as he realized this.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, but he hadn’t realized he was also trapped in a box.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why not forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the various devices in front of him.
The only problem now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pavilion” could recognize such an unconventional character.
“The strokes aren’t the same, just the shape,” Qi Xia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in the “Cangjie Game”?
The group stared at the empty screen in front of the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face darkened with impatience, and he turned to Xuanwu. “Isn’t that enough time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to say something when the massive screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had submitted.
A few seconds later, a “八” (bā) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong sneered. After all, he had already considered all possibilities containing “八”—nothing could be more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never could have anticipated.
“父” (fù)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame ‘母’ (mǔ) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qi Xia said calmly as he emerged from behind the massive wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—this rule even precedes ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Those characters… could they really form “父”?
Every pair of eyes widened. The air turned deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan finally broke the silence with three words:
“What the hell…”
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeves and slowly walked up to the group, as if victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would do, so he stepped behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong replied. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first. This was a mutually negotiated outcome.”
“Ha,” Chen Junnan laughed. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you stab me? What, now you get to stab first every time?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how betting with your life works,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero lifted his nose and sniffed, clearly detecting the scent of hesitation from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about this answer.
Now, with Qi Xia hidden behind the wall, no one could see his expression or guess what he was thinking.
What other character containing “兵” (bīng) could be important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still unsure of where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia lost this bet… would he have to die along with him?
Fortunately, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left, and he had accomplished his mission. There wasn’t much to worry about anymore.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jiejin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, there would be no need for a third.
But now… could he really find a character among the remaining ones more important than “米” (rice)?
The group waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
He stood before the “Phoenix Book Pedestal,” stroking his chin as he carefully considered this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” From this perspective, even if Qinglong had prepared beforehand, he believed “米” was the only answer. Once he created it, the game was already unwinnable for his opponent.
If that was the case… was there any way to turn this game around?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and looked up at Xuanwu, who stood beside the massive wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous thing in this game might be the “referee.”
Because this involved “betting with lives,” the game wasn’t using the scoring system from the display screen. Instead, Xuanwu was judging the outcome.
So, was there a character that could twist the meaning and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components reassembled and scattered, swirling like butterflies in his mind, fluttering forward to rotate and recombine with “兵.”
Like a creator overlooking everything, Qi Xia examined all possible combinations these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
Something had just flickered past—a character that vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the sea of possibilities.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to disrupt Xuanwu’s thoughts.
He isolated the radicals that would form this character and imagined them rotating multiple times at ninety-degree angles, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear with a ninety-degree rotation—it only emerged for a split second when the radicals were tilted forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees and created at an angle.
A smile tugged at Qi Xia’s lips as he realized this.
Was this the hidden secret of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped in the same constraints.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why not forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the equipment before him.
The only problem now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pedestal” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t the same—only the shape is,” Qi Xia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in the “Cangjie Game”?
The group stared at the empty screen in front of the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face darkened with impatience, and he turned to Xuanwu. “Isn’t that enough time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to say something when the giant screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had submitted.
A few seconds later, the character “八” (bā) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong smirked coldly. He had already considered all possibilities containing “八”—none were more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never could have anticipated.
“父” (fù)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame ‘母’ (mǔ) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qi Xia said calmly as he stepped out from behind the massive wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even predates ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Those characters… could they really form “父”?
Qinglong stared, stunned.
After confirming the answer on the screen, Qinglong flicked his sleeve and slowly walked up to the group, looking as though victory was already assured.
“Qi Xia, it’s your turn,” Qinglong said.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Qi Xia’s face. He knew giving up wasn’t something he would ever do, so he stepped forward and walked behind the massive wall.
“Cheating,” Chen Junnan muttered irritably.
“How is this cheating?” Qinglong replied. “Qi Xia agreed to let me create first. This was the result of mutual negotiation.”
Chen Junnan laughed coldly. “So if we were fighting, I’d stab you first, then you’d stab me? What, now you get to go first every time?”
“Unfortunately, that’s just how betting with your life works,” Qinglong said. “Once both parties agree, there’s no room for regret.”
Zheng Hero sniffed the air intently and clearly caught the scent of hesitation emanating from Qi Xia not far away.
It seemed even he wasn’t confident about his answer this time.
Now that everyone could no longer see Qi Xia’s face, no one had any idea what he was thinking.
What other character containing “兵” (bīng – soldier/weapons) could be important to humanity?
Han Yimo stared blankly at the people in the arena, still somewhat confused about where he stood.
Was he on Chu Tianqiu’s side or Qi Xia’s side?
If Qi Xia lost this bet… would he have to die along with him?
But thankfully, Chu Tianqiu’s entire team had already left. His mission was accomplished, so he wasn’t too worried.
Chen Junnan, Qiao Jijin, Tian Tian, and Zhang Chenze were all sweating nervously for Qi Xia.
The “rules” were becoming more and more abstract, and it was hard to say whether they could win the next round.
If Qi Xia could secure victory in the second round, there would be no need for a third.
But now… could he really find a character more important than “米” (mǐ – rice) among the remaining options?
The group waited quietly for almost a minute, but Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
In front of the “Phoenix Book Pedestal,” he stroked his chin, carefully considering this abstract rule.
It was clear Qinglong had practiced in advance—he hadn’t hesitated at all when creating “米.” From this perspective, even if Qinglong had prepared beforehand, he believed “米” was the only answer. As long as he created “米,” this game was already unwinnable for his opponent.
If that was the case… was there any way left to turn the tables?
The rules were against him, the situation was against him, even the order of moves was against him… so what was in his favor?
Qi Xia narrowed his eyes and looked up at Xuanwu, who was standing beside the giant wall.
That’s right—the most advantageous element in this game might just be the “referee.”
Because this involved “betting with lives,” the game wasn’t using the display’s built-in scoring system. Instead, Xuanwu was judging the outcome.
So, was there a character that could distort meanings and confuse Xuanwu’s judgment?
Qi Xia closed his eyes silently, his thoughts spinning rapidly.
Countless characters sprouted like bamboo shoots in his mind, then broke down into numerous radicals and components.
These components reassembled and scattered, swirling like butterflies in his mind, fluttering forward to rotate and recombine with “兵.”
Like a creator looking down from above, Qi Xia simultaneously examined every possible combination these characters could form through rotation.
Ninety degrees, then another ninety degrees—the radicals had already rotated 270 degrees, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t found a suitable character to counter “米.”
“Wait…”
Qi Xia frowned, his eyes still closed, as a strange spark of inspiration flashed in the darkness.
Something had just flickered past—a character that vanished as quickly as it appeared, lost in the vast sea of possibilities.
If that character truly existed… it might just be enough to confuse Xuanwu.
He isolated the radicals that would form these two characters and imagined them rotating several times by ninety degrees, but soon realized something was off.
This character wouldn’t appear when the radicals were rotated ninety degrees—it only emerged for an instant when they were rotated forty-five degrees.
So, to form this character, one of the radicals needed to be rotated forty-five degrees and created at a slanted angle.
A faint smile tugged at Qi Xia’s lips as he realized this.
Was this the hidden mystery of “Chinese characters”?
He had just criticized Qinglong for having a limited perspective, yet he himself had been trapped by conventional thinking.
Who said radicals could only rotate ninety degrees at a time? Why couldn’t they rotate forty-five degrees?
Qi Xia slowly opened his eyes and looked at the various devices in front of him.
The only problem now was whether the “Phoenix Book Pedestal” could recognize such an unusual character.
“The strokes aren’t the same, only the shape is,” Qi Xia murmured softly.
If it could be recognized… there might still be hope for this round.
After all, the ancient creators of characters didn’t care about stroke order—they focused on shape.
Qi Xia shook his head helplessly. Who could have predicted that this character would appear in a game of “Cangjie’s Chess”?
The group stared at the empty screen on the massive display. Lawyer Zhang and Tian Tian were sweating nervously, yet Qi Xia still hadn’t made a move.
Qinglong’s face was full of impatience as he turned to Xuanwu and said, “Isn’t that enough time? Even ‘creating characters’ should have a time limit. Are we supposed to wait until nightfall?”
“Alright…” Xuanwu nodded and was about to say something when the giant screen suddenly flickered.
Everyone looked up to see the answer Qi Xia had given.
A few seconds later, the character “八” (bā – eight) slowly lit up.
The group fell silent. Although it used part of “兵,” they all mentally calculated the possibilities. What could be more important to humanity than “米”?
Qinglong smirked coldly. After all, he had already considered every possibility containing “八,” and nothing was more important than “米.” But before he could speak, the screen flickered again, revealing a character he never could have anticipated.
“父” (fù – father)!
Everyone stared wide-eyed at the screen, and the air grew deathly still.
A few seconds later, Chen Junnan slowly uttered three words: “What the hell…”
“It’s a shame ‘母’ (mǔ – mother) can’t be formed, but ‘父’ is enough to convey my meaning,” Qi Xia said calmly as he walked out from behind the giant wall. “Only parents can give life to humans—a rule that even predates ‘米.'”
Qinglong still found it hard to believe…
Those characters… could they really be combined to form “父”?
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