Chapter 101: Placing the Move Across the World

Li Hao carried food and drink, making his way back through the bustling streets. The city was already ablaze with glowing lanterns, the market lanes alive with chatter and laughter. Pedestrians strolled past, some escorted by household servants leading towering warhorses, while carriages rolled behind them, their wheels turning smoothly—unremarkable on the surface.

Yet, every one of the horse-lead servants was clearly at the Continuation of Soul Realm stage. Truly, Qingzhou City was teeming with energy.

Li Hao smiled faintly.

With the Li Clan’s True Dragon Ascension decision drawing near, the city had become a hotbed of hidden currents. In recent days, he’d seen countless figures in foreign provincial attire slipping into the metropolis. Even in the taverns, the conversations were all about it—rumors that a high-ranking official, a man of third-rank rank, had arrived to support his nephew’s bid.

From what Li Hao knew, his mother had no blood relatives. Madam Da had once said she came from a minor family that had been wiped out by a Demon Creature. It was only when her father, Li Tiangang, had rescued her that they met—forming a First Level bond.

Now, all these visitors were clearly here because the Second Lady refused to let go.

How splendid, Li Hao thought, amused. He didn’t care. He merely counted the days in silence, eagerly awaiting the day that would change everything.

Near a lively bridge embankment, he paused to watch a game of Go. It was too late to return home now—he had time to spare.

“Get back, will you!”

“Why are you crowding, kid?”

The onlookers were mostly middle-aged or elderly. Aside from Li Hao, only two young men in their early thirties were among the crowd.

When he finally reached the board, he saw the game was already in the mid-stage—yet the outcome had long been decided.

Li Hao glanced at the board and immediately knew: the white pieces were doomed.

Though white had formed a Jiao Dragon formation, it was trapped at both ends, with no path to escape. The only hope lay in the bold move of Coiling and Severing the Head—chopping off a vital black limb to survive. But someone forced into such a corner, so clearly afraid, would never have the Qi魄 to pull off such a desperate gambit.

Li Hao shook his head slightly, then looked at the man playing black.

An old man with rosy cheeks and snow-white beard sat calmly, a smile playing on his lips as he gently fanned himself, stirring a soft evening breeze. He waited, composed, for his opponent to concede.

“I forfeit,” the white player sighed, placing his last stone back into the stone box.

“Ah, what a pity.”

“Too bad—there was still hope if he’d played there earlier.”

“Nonsense! It was clearly the move at that point…”

“I can’t even feel it anymore—why give up so soon?”

The onlookers murmured in disappointment, some lamenting the missed opportunity, others blaming the earlier misstep. A few simply didn’t understand—the game was already over.

Then, a sudden clatter of hooves echoed from across the bridge.

A carriage approached, drawn by a warhorse with bloodline markings. The driver, a man in a coarse coat, bellowed, “Clear the way! Move aside, you fools—what are you blocking for?”

His tone was arrogant, drawing anger from the crowd. But when they saw the Dragon-Blooded Warhorse, their faces paled. Without hesitation, they scrambled aside, terrified of provoking the beast—or worse, its master.

The crowd parted swiftly. The carriage rolled through.

As it passed the Go stall, the driver spat, “Get lost, you useless lot!”

The others muttered in low voices—this man had been cowed by his master for so long, now he’d grown insolent, abusing his power.

Furious though they were, they dared not resist. The players scattered, retreating from the board—no matter how just their cause.

In an instant, only Li Hao and the old man in black remained. Behind the old man stood two men in their thirties, their eyes cold.

The black-piece elder still fanned himself, his gaze fixed on the willow trees swaying by the riverbank, as if the noise around him were nothing.

But the two youths behind him—those eyes of theirs flashed with a sudden, chilling intent. One turned his head, locking onto the approaching carriage driver with a glare.

“Looking at me?” the driver snarled. He sensed something unusual about the few left behind—this group had presence. But even so, he wasn’t intimidated.

Who could rival our master’s power? Emperor Yu himself?

“If you value your family’s safety,” he sneered, “get out of here. Do you even know who’s sitting in the back?”

Suddenly, one of the youths stepped forward—not with a sprint, but with a blur of motion, vanishing from sight and reappearing right before the driver. One sharp slap—his head twisted violently, neck snapping instantly. He collapsed, dead.

The scattered onlookers gasped in shock.

Some felt a grim satisfaction—evil deserved its due.

Others pitied the man, thinking he hadn’t deserved death.

But the youth didn’t glance at the corpse. Instead, he raised the carriage curtain with a single motion and stepped inside.

A cry rang out from within.

A plump, opulently dressed old man sat in the interior, stunned—no one had ever dared intrude like this. A woman of noble bearing was with him, gasping in terror, about to scream—until the youth’s cold, piercing gaze froze her mid-breath. Her face turned ashen, paralyzed by the threat of instant death.

“Cover your mouth. Kneel. Then leave.”

Eight words. Cold, clear.

The fat old man trembled, furious. “Do you know who I am? I’m a friend of the Yan Prince—”

“Maybe someone above you,” the youth cut in, voice like ice, “but my master’s head… has no one above it.”

“Say one more word,” he added, “and not a single one of you walks out alive.”

A chilling killing Qi filled the carriage. The women trembled, tears welling, unable to cry. The old man’s face turned the color of rotten meat. Even with all his power, in the face of a man’s wrath, even emperors and generals were no different.

He bit his lip, then forced his own hand over his mouth, then sank to his knees—humiliated, broken.

The youth stepped back, then gave the Dragon-Blooded Warhorse a sharp slap on its rump.

The beast, normally wild and unmanageable, reared in panic, galloping wildly down the road. Pedestrians screamed in alarm, scrambling out of the way.

But without a rider, it bolted straight toward the river, charging blindly—plunging into the water with a thunderous splash, dragging the entire carriage down with it.

The noise drew dozens of onlookers from afar.

And the youth? He stood as if nothing had happened. Calmly, he returned to the old man at the Go board, as if he’d never left.

The elder sighed softly, watching the ripples on the autumn river. “A pity. Such a fine stretch of water.”

He started to rise.

But then his eyes caught a young man still standing beside the board—Li Hao—still holding the Go stone box in his hand.

Throughout the entire scene, Li Hao hadn’t once glanced at the arrogant driver or the carriage. In Qingzhou City, he didn’t need to bow to anyone.

Unless it was that mansion.

Now, he picked up the white stones from the box, placing them one by one—three, five, seven—arranging them in a line, forming a pattern. The shape grew into a claw-like formation, tearing a bloody gap through the black stones.

He wasn’t continuing the game. The result was already decided.

He wasn’t playing for victory.

He simply couldn’t stand the sight of such a trapped, suffocating position.

So he altered it. Just a single stroke.

The old man raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the board—then froze.

In the shadows behind him, the two young men exchanged a sharp look. One of them took a step forward, ready to strike Li Hao—but the old man raised his fan, halting him.

“Little friend,” the elder said, smiling, “do you know Go?”

“Just a little,” Li Hao replied, setting down the last stone. He felt a quiet satisfaction.

“Your placement,” the elder continued, “is clever. And full of youthful spirit. Admirable.”

“Every youth has their own wild pride,” Li Hao said lightly. “Forgive me, elder.”

The old man repeated the words in silence. Then, a warm smile spread across his face.

“You understand the game. Why not join me for a match?”

Li Hao glanced at the board. After a moment, he nodded. “All right.”

The onlookers had long since left. Now only the four of them remained beneath the willow trees. Li Hao placed his snacks and acrobatic toys onto the grass, then sat down.

The elder chuckled inwardly. Still such a child at heart.

But as Li Hao removed the last of his belongings, the elder’s gaze fell upon the jade pendant swinging at the boy’s waist.

His eyes narrowed—just slightly.

Behind him, the two youths also stiffened. They’d noticed the boy’s background—his earlier poise, his aura—hadn’t been ordinary. And now, the Dragon-Blooded Jade on his belt? Their pupils contracted.

“Please,” Li Hao said, “you may begin.”

The old man snapped back to himself, smiling. He hadn’t expected to meet him again—this boy, just like the child from long ago.

He began the game.

The first move went to black. Li Hao played white, second.

The scattered onlookers, still far away, dared not return. They’d seen the two youths’ earlier display—clearly not from an ordinary family. They didn’t want to risk drawing trouble.

Others were drawn to the scene of the carriage plunging into the river, some already tossing ropes to help.

But on the board, the battle had begun.

With the opening moves complete, the real war started.

Li Hao played without mercy—every move a killing blow. More ferocious than ever before.

The elder’s pace slowed. His once-lazy fan had vanished. Now, he sat motionless, frowning deeply with every move, pondering long before placing a stone.

The boy, meanwhile, was swift, precise, and merciless—his attacks like a rolling tide, overwhelming.

The elder’s face grew solemn. He was utterly focused.

Behind him, the two youths exchanged glances. Their eyes burned with anger.

If the elder gave the word, they would strike—without hesitation.

Li Hao felt their gaze.

He looked up—then looked away. He wasn’t afraid.

If they wanted a fight, he’d give it to them.

The game ended soon after.

The elder’s face darkened. He hadn’t lost in years. And this—this defeat was brutal.

The two youths in the shadows glared at Li Hao, their killing intent barely restrained.

But Li Hao didn’t flinch.

“Another game,” the elder said quietly, staring at the board.

Li Hao had already set down his stones. “You’ll lose again.”

The elder stiffened. No one had ever spoken to him like that.

But he saw no mockery in the boy’s eyes. Only truth.

He took a deep breath, calming his Qi. “Fine. If you win again, I’ll give you a gift.”

“I have everything I need,” Li Hao said.

Then he smiled.

“Still,” the elder said, “you’ll love what I give.”

“Maybe,” Li Hao replied, “but if I win again, I worry your companions might try to protect you.”

The two youths’ eyes turned icy.

The elder waved his fan. “They don’t understand. Don’t mind them. If you’re displeased, I apologize.”

The youths froze.

Apologize?

They couldn’t believe it. The master—apologizing?

Though they only saw his back, they felt it—the authority radiating from that figure. Their bodies tensed. Their killing intent vanished.

Li Hao blinked, then looked at the elder. His eyes were kind, genuine.

“All right,” Li Hao agreed. “I was too harsh earlier. No need to take it out on you.”

The second game began.

This time, Li Hao played more gently—balanced, thoughtful. The elder relaxed, even smiling as they exchanged moves.

“Tell me,” the elder asked, “you’re young, yet you’ve mastered Go. Why not go to the Frontiers, or train for an official title?”

“Fame, wealth, honor—they’re dust,” Li Hao replied, placing a stone. “Prosperity and riches? Just smoke.”

“The ultimate goal in life,” he added, “is simply to eat well and wear warm clothes. I’ve always been blessed with good Qi circulation. Born with comfort. Why strain?”

“Hmph,” one of the youths sneered. “No ambition.”

Li Hao glanced at him. A bodyguard with such pride?

The elder looked at Li Hao, surprised. This wasn’t the talk of a boy. It was the voice of one who’d seen it all—worn down by time, yet still alive.

“Youth should dream of soaring to the clouds,” the elder said, amused. “One day, rule the Nineteen Provinces.”

“Why bother?” Li Hao shrugged. “The summit’s just another corner of the world. Some seek stars and oceans. I seek poetry, wine, and a quiet life. Everyone has their own path.”

The elder paused. His hand froze mid-move.

He stared at the boy. For a moment, something deep within him stirred.

Then the youth behind him scoffed. “You’ve never even climbed the summit. How can you say it’s nothing?”

Li Hao frowned slightly—then ignored him.

The elder snapped back. “Hua’er. Apologize to the young master.”

What?

The youth nearly fell over. Apologize? To him?

He was of noble blood. His apology—could anyone bear it? Who dared accept it?

“Father… I—”

“Hmm?”

The elder turned. His gaze was calm—like the stillness after snowfall. Yet it sent chills down the youth’s spine.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He bowed deeply.

“Young master… I spoke out of turn. Forgive me.”

“Enough,” Li Hao said, waving a hand.

The elder smiled. “A fine lad. Well spoken.”

They resumed the game, chatting casually—about official titles, famous figures, the legends who’d shaped the world.

Li Hao asked, “Are they still alive?”

The elder laughed softly. “Some are. Some aren’t.”

The second game ended.

Li Hao won again.

This time, it was closer—more balanced. He’d held back, letting the elder fight back.

Still, the elder knew.

This boy’s talent… was beyond what even the Fifth Elder could match.

But the truth was, even with natural genius, few reached Master Level in Go by age fourteen—especially while cultivating to the Fifteen Li Stage.

The two youths said nothing.

They couldn’t.

Fourteen years old. Fifteen Li Stage. A prodigy even they could only dream of.

“Your skill,” one of them said, with quiet reverence, “is only revealed on this small board. But the master’s stones… are cast across the entire world.”

The elder smiled. He knew it was flattery. But it warmed his heart.

The frustration of losing twice—vanished.

“Hah! Well said!”

He stood, brushing his sleeves. “Next time we meet, I’ll make you pay on the board!”

He wasn’t ready to admit defeat.

Then, with a chuckle, he turned and walked toward the city gate.

“Master,” one youth called, “we’ve only just arrived. The real show hasn’t even begun. Won’t you stay and watch?”

“I’ve seen enough,” the elder said, still smiling. “Perfect. Truly perfect.”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end