Chapter 63: Overwhelming Luck

Qi Xia licked his dry lips and picked up a piece from his hand.

Lin Qin’s pupils dilated the moment she saw it.

It was a white piece.

*”Qi Xia… I can only lie… You must not believe me…”* Lin Qin screamed inwardly, desperately hoping for a miracle that would let Qi Xia hear her.

She was terrified—terrified that Qi Xia’s trust in her would cost him his life.

*”Don’t believe me… Don’t believe me…”* She repeated the words in her mind like a mantra.

Qi Xia contemplated for a moment, but instead of asking, he took out a black piece instead.

Lin Qin frowned. She knew that no matter whether it was black or white, she could only give the opposite answer.

Slowly, Qi Xia raised the black piece before her eyes and said, “Lin Qin, tell me…”

Lin Qin covered her mouth with her hand, on the verge of breaking down.

She didn’t want to tell Qi Xia *”This is white,”* but if she didn’t lie, the mechanism on her glasses would activate.

Qi Xia seemed to sense something and calmly said, “Don’t panic, Lin Qin. Keep your mind sharp. It’s not over yet.”

Lin Qin nodded in despair.

Once he confirmed she had stabilized somewhat, Qi Xia asked:

“Lin Qin, tell me—what color would Old Lü say this piece is?”

“Huh?”

Both Lin Qin and Old Lü froze. Even the Pig’s eyes flickered.

“Listen carefully. I’ll ask again,” Qi Xia repeated. “What color would Old Lü say this piece is?”

*Old Lü…?*

Lin Qin glanced back at Old Lü, her mind racing.

Her glasses felt icy against her skin—definitely a sign she had to lie. The Pig had never lied so far, meaning his rules were absolute. Therefore, Old Lü would tell the truth.

In that case, Old Lü would say the piece was *black*.

Just as she was about to blurt out *”black,”* a realization struck her—

She was bound to lie. She couldn’t tell Qi Xia *”black.”*

Even if Old Lü would say *”black,”* she had to say *”white.”*

Which meant… everything would just loop back to the start!

The crux of this game wasn’t Old Lü—it was *her*.

Lin Qin bit her lip and finally forced out the words: “White.”

She felt like someone strangling the truth—anything real that passed through her lips inevitably turned false.

Old Lü clutched his forehead in frustration, certain everything was lost.

“White, huh…” Qi Xia turned slightly, as if examining the piece in his hand, then smiled faintly. “I see.”

The Pig contemplated briefly, thinking to himself: *”What will you do, Qi Xia? The person you trust most just told you the piece in your hand is white. What choice will you make?”*

Qi Xia set the black piece aside and picked up a white one instead.

He extended it toward the Pig.

“Oh? You’ve decided?” the Pig asked, deliberately keeping his tone flat this time—learning from his earlier mistake.

Now, Qi Xia wouldn’t be able to deduce the piece’s color from his voice.

“Yes, I’ve decided,” Qi Xia nodded. “But not the one in your hand. That white piece is *yours.*”

“What?”

Ignoring the Pig, Qi Xia gripped the black piece and declared:

“The black piece in my hand is *‘life.’* The white piece in yours is *‘death.’* The game is over.”

As everyone stared in stunned silence, Qi Xia slowly removed his blindfold.

Everything had gone exactly as he’d anticipated.

The only discomfort left was the sensitivity of his eyes to the light after wearing the blindfold for so long.

“You…” The Pig trembled with rage. “What kind of joke is this…?”

Qi Xia met his gaze and said, “I *bet my life* on this. Why would I joke?”

Then he pointed at Lin Qin and Old Lü. “Release them. A bet’s a bet.”

The Pig stood frozen for a long moment before finally sighing in defeat. He pulled a remote from a drawer and pressed a button, dazed.

With a *click*, the mechanisms on their glasses disengaged.

The two immediately ripped off the deadly contraptions and tossed them aside.

“Qi Xia! You damn genius!!!” Old Lü roared, slapping Qi Xia’s back hard. “Did you win the lottery or somethin’?! What kinda luck is this?!”

“Luck?” Qi Xia shook his head. “This wasn’t luck. The Pig just underestimated me.”

The Pig turned slowly. “I… underestimated you?”

“Exactly.” Qi Xia straightened his clothes and stood. “I told you earlier—smart people don’t rely on luck. But you didn’t take it seriously.”

“So you’re saying…” The Pig rose, disbelief in his voice. “All of that… was part of your plan?”

“Yes.” Qi Xia nodded. “My strategy was simple—as long as you gave me one black and one white piece, I would win. A *100%* guaranteed victory. No chance of failure.”

The Pig’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating.

This was the first time since becoming a *”Pig”* that he had lost so completely.

“To ensure you’d pick one of each, I even told you, *‘Once you’ve chosen, it’ll be easier for me.’*” Qi Xia picked up two black and two white pieces from the table, mimicking the Pig’s earlier dilemma.

“You must’ve debated it, right? But in the end, you decided giving me one of each was the safest move.”

The Pig’s voice was hollow behind the mask. “You even predicted *that*…”

“Should I call you overly cautious… or just careless?” Qi Xia weighed the two white pieces in his hand. “If you’d trusted your first instinct and given me two whites, I’d be dead by now.”

The Pig said nothing, only glaring hatefully.

Qi Xia continued, “Once I had both colors, all I needed was to ask the question I did—and I’d know the answer *with absolute certainty*.”

Lin Qin quickly ran through the logic—then gasped.

Qi Xia’s question had been *brilliant*.

By asking *”What would the other person say?”*—regardless of whether the person lied or told the truth—if Qi Xia held a black piece, the answer would *always* be *”white.”*

When he asked Lin Qin, she knew Old Lü would say *”black,”* but her forced lie turned it into *”white.”*

Had he asked Old Lü, Old Lü would’ve directly repeated Lin Qin’s answer: *”white.”*

Even if, by some fluke, Qi Xia received *”black”* as an answer, he’d instantly know the other piece was the correct one.