Chapter 34: Finding Someone to Pay the Bill

Wen Xiaocheng smiled. “Aren’t these your own rules? Bet ten yuan, win a hundred. You set up the endgame, red moves first, black follows, a draw counts as my win. This isn’t our first time doing business together!”

Dagang glanced at the men around him, especially Luohan, who stood like an iron tower, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight.

“It’s just business, running a chess stand. We see each other all the time. You’ve already won over two hundred from me, isn’t that enough?”

“I thought winning a couple hundred would be enough too, but you broke your own rules, sent your guys after me for a beating, and took my money. Still, I won’t hold you to those old debts. You’re just doing business, right? Well, your customer’s here now—let’s get started!”

Dagang felt a bitter taste in his mouth. If this came down to reasoning, he’d have no defense. As for the endgames, this kid had already solved both the Great Western Campaign and his family’s treasured Nine Invasions of the Central Plains, so other setups wouldn’t be a challenge. Left with no alternative, he decided to abandon the endgames altogether and play a straightforward match—chariots and cannons head to head, pure chess skill!

“Central cannon!” Dagang declared.

“Knight jumps!” answered Xiaocheng.

Dagang had built his reputation on endgames, so his chess was solid—better than Professor Dai, even. But with Xiaocheng’s calculating ability, it was still an easy win. By midgame, black’s defeat was sealed, with pieces stretched too thin, no hope of recovery. Dagang frowned, trying to negotiate. “Zhang Peiyue, I admit defeat in this round. It’s getting late, I need to close up shop. Let’s call it even.”

When arguing with Yang Huo yesterday, Wen Xiaocheng had tossed out a line before leaving: “I, Zhang Peiyue, am not someone you can push around in Dongfeng Town.” The message had gotten to Dagang, who now believed Xiaocheng was named Zhang Peiyue.

“Zhang Peiyue was the kid in Nikes at yesterday’s brawl—you slapped him twice yourself. If anything, I should thank you for fighting on my behalf. But that’s beside the point. Today I brought a bunch of brothers here because I expected you’d buy us a drink. A hundred yuan won’t cut it, don’t you think?”

Dagang’s mouth tasted sour, his chest tight. He exchanged a look with Yang Huo, both understanding the situation. This kid, it turned out, knew how to play the game. The first day, he won fifty yuan—he could have taken the win, but deliberately played to a draw, saving Dagang’s face. That kind of style earns respect, win or lose. But then he came back the second day, pressing for win after win, walking away with two hundred yuan. Clearly, it had been a setup to provoke a fight in the afternoon! The boys had been itching for a brawl, and in the end, both sides had been played by him.

A masterful move, indeed!

Dagang wasn’t stupid—he recognized that Xiaocheng’s talk of buying drinks was a way to let him save face. Even if his wallet took a hit, it was worth it to settle the score and avoid making an enemy. In their world, you had to know when to yield. He slapped his thigh. “What’s the big deal? Just a meal for everyone. No sense standing around—right at dinnertime, too! Let’s go, brothers. My treat!”

Better to be generous and earn some goodwill by feeding ten or so people than make a pointless enemy. He didn’t bear any real grudge against Xiaocheng—even if he’d taken a beating, in hindsight, it was all part of the kid’s own plan. This was the perfect opportunity to smooth things over.

Sixteen people became nineteen as they headed to the open-air stalls at Hongxing Market. One table couldn’t hold them all, so they split into two. Plates of lamb chops, legs, kidneys, and skewers of every kind appeared, and six crates of beer were brought out. For the first few rounds, everyone was still civilized, but after three bottles each, arms draped over shoulders, the laughter got louder. They joked about Xiaocheng’s ploy to “set the tigers against the wolves,” sending everyone into fits of laughter. When stories of Wen Xinwu’s time in prison were told, even those who hadn’t known him gave a thumbs-up. Dagang and Yang Huo used the occasion to smooth things over, raising their glasses in a show of brotherhood. With each toast, camaraderie grew, and the group was soon ready to swear brotherhood on the spot.

Though still underage, Wen Xiaocheng joined in for several rounds. In his mind, Wen Xiaodao was already tipsy, but Xiaocheng himself stayed clear-headed. Watching the two tables—everyone eating, drinking, shouting—he realized that, for all their rough edges, he’d found friends. Some of his father’s former cellmates shared stories about the scholar behind bars, and every mention brought looks of admiration. As his son, Xiaocheng felt a genuine sense of pride. This, he thought, was what it meant to have virtue passed down through generations, to inherit a legacy of learning and integrity.

The gathering lasted until past eight in the evening, with Dagang settling the bill cheerfully—no trace of his former ill mood remained. Yang Huo, drunk, draped himself over Xiaocheng, insisting on three penalty shots, before being dragged away by a friend. Dagang clapped Xiaocheng on the shoulder, and with that, the day’s clouds were swept away.

“If you ever want a drink, come find your big brother,” Dagang joked. “But stay away from my chess stand!”

“Big brother Gang, that chess stand of yours is bordering on a scam. It’s no long-term solution.”

At that, Dagang sighed. “You’re not wrong, but all I know is a few chess moves. I can’t do anything else.”

Xiaocheng thought for a moment. “Have you ever considered changing the game?”

“Changing the game?”

“We could set up a Chess Enthusiasts’ Association. Then, in the name of the association, organize tournaments with high prize money—say, five thousand yuan for first prize—and charge a ten-yuan entry fee. Chess is one of those games; if someone wins a few matches, they’re convinced they’re good. Everyone knows how to play—even kids know how knights and elephants move. If we promote it well, there’ll be no shortage of participants. Once the first tournament is a hit, we could organize a king-of-the-hill series or even a league, stirring up real excitement. Later, we could offer crash courses and advanced classes in colleges and companies. However you look at it, it’s better than hustling ten yuan a game on the street.”

These words lit up Dagang’s eyes. Chess, like table tennis, had a huge grassroots following in the country. Women a bit less, but hardly any man didn’t know how to play. Even kids knew the basics. Retired workers spent hours under streetlights, not heading home until late at night. Where there’s interest, there’s a market. Plenty of people who played at roadside stands knew they were being hustled, but still dropped ten yuan for the fun of it. If a real chess association could be set up, organizing tournaments, there’d be no shortage of sign-ups.

“But setting up an association isn’t so simple,” Dagang hesitated.

“It’s not that hard. You just need to find a supervising authority—there’s a provincial chess association. Send them an application; they’d welcome a subordinate branch. With their approval, you register with the civil affairs office.” Xiaocheng had heard about the provincial association long ago and picked up the basic process from TV news. There’d be some paperwork—bylaws, an office, funds—but those were all manageable.

Seeing Dagang interested, Xiaocheng grinned inwardly. Before long, he’d probably have another five thousand yuan in pocket money.

———

May virtue endure through generations, and learning be the legacy of the family.

If you’ve read this far, here’s a reminder: don’t forget to vote!