Chapter 32: Conceding Defeat

"No, I do not agree!"

As the most devoted admirer of Wang Yuyan, Duan Yu could not bear to see his goddess suffer such humiliation, and immediately voiced his objection in a forceful tone.

"Young Master Murong, you cannot, nor should you, use Miss Wang as a stake in this wager. It is simply unfair to her!"

Seeing Duan Yu so agitated in his protest, those around cast vibrant, curious glances at Murong Fu. This only deepened the somber gloom on Murong Fu’s face, making it as dark as the bottom of a pot.

"Silence!" Murong Fu snapped, his gaze laced with murderous intent as he looked at Duan Yu.

The bodyguards at Duan Yu’s side quickly stepped forward, positioning themselves protectively before him, eyes full of caution, having caught the deadly glint in Murong Fu’s eyes.

But Duan Yu was unfazed by Murong Fu’s lethal glare and was about to protest further, when those at his side swiftly struck his pressure point to silence him.

They knew well that if their young master spoke another word, it would bring disaster and possibly death.

Seeing Duan Yu finally subdued, Murong Fu closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath as the murderous intent faded from his gaze.

"Cousin."

Just then, a gentle, plaintive voice sounded in his ear. Murong Fu turned to see a face of exquisite beauty, pitiful and enchanting, her eyes brimming with tenderness that could melt a heart.

But Wang Yuyan had overestimated her place in Murong Fu’s heart and underestimated his determination to restore the Great Yan.

Mere beauty could not sway him in the slightest.

The restoration of Great Yan was the mission bestowed upon Murong Fu from the day he was born.

"Cousin," Murong Fu called softly, his eyes falling on Wang Yuyan, his tone tinged with a plea.

Wang Yuyan lowered her gaze, silent, her heart in turmoil.

So clever was she that she could not fail to guess what her cousin intended.

With so many martial artists present unable to solve the Zhenlong Chess Game, how could Yun Zhonghe—a man known for his lechery and lack of true skill—possibly succeed?

From the very start, they had stood on invincible ground with this wager.

When the time came, her cousin could rid the martial world of a great scourge without lifting a finger, and his reputation would rise to a new height, greatly benefiting his quest to restore Great Yan.

But if word of this spread, what face would she have left as a young woman?

Her thoughts whirled, and Wang Yuyan bit her red lips in distress.

Seeing Wang Yuyan’s prolonged indecision, an awkward look flashed across Murong Fu’s face. He had already spoken in front of everyone.

If his cousin went back on her word, the Murong family’s name would be utterly disgraced before the heroes of the realm.

At that moment, Yun Zhonghe glanced at Murong Fu, impatience flickering across his face. "Are we gambling or not? Give me a straight answer. I have no time to waste on this."

These words became the final straw that broke Murong Fu’s resolve.

"Cousin."

This time, Murong Fu’s tone grew firmer, revealing his unwavering determination to Wang Yuyan.

So be it.

For her cousin, she had memorized countless martial arts from all under heaven.

What was her reputation compared to that?

So long as she could aid him in achieving his dream of restoring Great Yan, she would do anything, asking only that he remember her kindness now and then.

"Very well."

With her mind made up, Wang Yuyan took a step forward, gazing straight at Yun Zhonghe.

That single word, so simple, seemed to bear a thousand pounds, finally lifting the weight from Murong Fu’s heart. He exhaled deeply.

A bright smile bloomed on Yun Zhonghe’s face, as radiant as a flower.

Meeting Yun Zhonghe’s unrestrained, lingering gaze made Wang Yuyan uncomfortable.

At that moment, Murong Fu stepped forward, shielding Wang Yuyan from view, blocking Yun Zhonghe’s prying eyes.

Unable to feast his eyes on the beauty, Yun Zhonghe withdrew his gaze with a sheepish snort, sneering at Murong Fu’s belated chivalry. Now he stepped up—what use was it?

With a flicker of thought, Yun Zhonghe turned, saluted Su Xinghe, then fixed his attention on the chessboard.

As Yun Zhonghe began to tackle the chess puzzle, all eyes followed his movements, and murmurs filled the air.

"Do you think Yun Zhonghe can really solve the chess game?"

"Nonsense. He’s just buying time, hoping to find a way out. Who’d have thought Murong Fu would actually accept the wager?"

"I wonder how many moves Yun Zhonghe can last?"

A crisp sound rang out.

A palm-sized chess piece, driven by internal energy, landed on the board.

When the onlookers saw where the piece was placed, a hush fell over the crowd.

Then, laughter erupted like thunder, shaking the earth.

"I take back what I said before—Yun Zhonghe doesn’t know how to play at all!"

"To think he looked so confident just now—I almost fell for it!"

"One move, and he’s handed over a whole swath of his own pieces!"

Derisive remarks filled the air.

Unable to bear it any longer, A’Zi lashed out, "What’s so funny? The game’s not lost yet! True gentlemen observe without comment, don’t you know?"

At her rebuke, the noise subsided considerably.

In the crowd, a smile of happiness lit Wang Yuyan’s face.

Her joy was not for herself, but for finally being able to help her cousin.

Seeing this, Murong Fu’s somber expression eased a little. Yun Zhonghe’s failure to solve the puzzle was the best outcome—it would minimize any damage to his reputation.

An utter fool could never hope to ascend to greatness.

Murong Fu had already decided: once he attained the Eightfold Sutra, he would immediately silence Yun Zhonghe, ensuring that this secret belonged to him alone.

The restoration of Great Yan would be within his grasp.

Sitting at the base of the chessboard, Su Xinghe watched Yun Zhonghe’s play with secret astonishment.

To find life at the very brink of death—this man, unremarkable in appearance, possessed true wisdom.

He stroked his beard. With a surge of inner energy, the black piece spun through the air in a graceful arc, landing on the intersecting lines of the board.

Back and forth the contest went.

Black and white pieces tangled like two giant dragons, biting and entwining each other.

With every move, hidden dangers lurked; a single misstep would spell utter ruin.

Though the game was fraught with peril, the onlookers were no fools.

For Yun Zhonghe to hold his own against Su Xinghe for so long showed he was more capable than they had thought.

While the crowd was merely astonished, Murong Fu looked at Yun Zhonghe in shock, for he was well versed in the art of chess.

He could see more clearly than the rest: what had been a deadlocked, stagnant game, devoid of life, had been stirred by Yun Zhonghe’s seemingly suicidal opening move, creating a sliver of hope and opening a whole new path.

Was it a coincidence?

Or was there a master guiding Yun Zhonghe from the shadows?

While Murong Fu’s thoughts raced, Yun Zhonghe, seeing the game’s shifting tides, broke into a smile. He cupped his hands to Su Xinghe and said, "Senior, thank you for letting me win!"