Among the crowd stood Zhou Zigao.

Luo Xue remained silent, not out of any concern for decorum—she cared little for such things—but rather because she was more entertained by watching the unfolding drama.

Zhou Zitian gazed into his cup of wine, paying no heed to the three others. He spoke indifferently, “I’m not interested.”

Fang Zizai was unwilling to let him off so easily and feigned disdain. “Since Young Master Zhou fears defeat, we won’t press the matter.”

Zhou Zitian’s brows furrowed slightly as he drained his wine, still not looking at the trio. His tone was calm. “Lack of interest and fear of losing are not the same. Since you insist, I have but one small request.”

The leader among the three, Ye Yinghua, immediately responded, “What is it?”

Zhou Zitian held the wine pot, a cold smile on his lips. “If I win, you are to leave this place at once. I don't wish to see you.”

All three nodded in agreement. Ye Yinghua declared loudly, “No problem! Whoever loses, leaves! Whom do you wish to challenge first?”

Zhou Zitian replied woodenly, “All at once.”

His voice conveyed the impression that he was dealing with something trivial and time-consuming. The three scoffed in unison, “Such arrogance.”

…

The judge was naturally Mr. Mo Dao, the instructor at the Supreme Mystery Academy. The music and dance in the hall ceased, and three tables formed a circle. Zhou Zitian stood at the center, holding a brush with remarkable grace—his composure alone drew enthusiastic praise.

Mo Dao announced in a booming voice, “Ye Yinghua excels at poetry; let the contest be with couplets. Lu Qingtian favors the art of Go; let victory be decided on the board. Zhou Zitian must face both at once. Fang Zizai is skilled in music; while they compete, you will play the zither alone. If you can use music to sway hearts, that too is your talent.”

He looked sternly at the four. “Any questions?”

At that moment, Luo Xue called out, “I also enjoy couplets. Let someone record them.”

No sooner had she spoken than many in the crowd grew eager to participate. But Luo Xue, with a sly smile, said, “Zheng Fanren! Still hiding there, watching the show? Come out!”

The crowd murmured, uncertain who Zheng Fanren was. Mo Dao’s face darkened instantly; he loathed seeing this damned fellow, but had no grounds to refuse Luo Xue’s request and could only acquiesce.

Zheng Fanren replied with resignation, “I’ll record things right here, so as not to disturb the gentlemen.”

This suited Mo Dao perfectly, who then cried out, “Begin!”

…

Fang Zizai nodded, and the music began. Its ethereal notes quickly hushed the crowd; some even closed their eyes to listen intently.

The Tranquil Heart Melody, as it was played, slowed the thoughts of those who heard it—a subtle hindrance for Zhou Zitian, who was facing two challengers at once.

Lu Qingtian looked at him. “Shall we decide who goes first?”

Zhou Zitian answered calmly, “No need. I play black, you play white. You may begin.”

His offer was not out of courtesy, but confidence.

Lu Qingtian took no offense and placed the first white stone, its crisp sound fitting perfectly amidst the zither’s melody, striking to the heart.

Zhou Zitian nodded lightly and placed a black stone. Instantly, a discordant sound rang out, making Fang Zizai’s hand tremble—he barely managed to keep from breaking the melody.

Ye Yinghua hurried to pose a couplet, “A married woman, bears a child, a son becomes a nephew.”

Zhou Zitian placed another stone with flair, adding to Fang Zizai’s trouble, and soon replied with ease, “Riding a fine steed, drawing a long bow, single spear challenges.”

This couplet was masterful in its matching of characters, perfectly balanced—worthy of acclaim. The crowd, careful not to disturb the contest, nodded in approval.

Luo Xue drank in silence, occasionally glancing at Zheng Fanren, who was writing.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

The stones were placed rapidly, and Fang Zizai’s music grew increasingly agitated.

Ye Yinghua seized the moment to offer another challenge, “One night, five watches; half the night, two and a half watches.”

A smile played at the corner of Zhou Ziwen’s mouth as he shot out a black stone.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The zither struggled three times, then abruptly fell silent—the string snapped, striking Fang Zizai’s face.

All happened in an instant. Before anyone could react, Fang Zizai collapsed. When the sound of impact ended, the hall erupted in cries of surprise.

Mo Dao laughed loudly, “Fang Zizai is defeated!”

Before the words faded, another round of astonished exclamations arose. Zhou Zitian’s stone landed perfectly on the board.

Lu Qingtian’s eyes narrowed—he was already undecided in his next move.

At that moment, Zhou Zitian turned to Ye Yinghua, his demeanor unchanged. “Three autumns, nine months; Mid-Autumn, eighth month within.”

One night has five watches; half the night is two and a half. Three autumns are nine months; Mid-Autumn is the fifteenth of the eighth month.

With Fang Zizai’s music broken, the crowd no longer held back. Applause burst forth, marveling at the exquisite response.

Zhou Zitian’s maid, beaming, stepped forward to hand him a cup of water.

Ye Yinghua quickly replied, “Lacking food, one drinks from springs; how can plain water satisfy hunger?”

Zhou Zitian drank slowly, answering unhurriedly, “Without skill, one brushes ink; how could black earth fill the belly?”

In the upper verse, lacking food is drinking; plain water is spring. In the lower, lacking skill is brushing; black earth is ink.

He took another sip and handed the cup to his maid, shaking his head with a smile that was both confident and elegantly aloof, causing the maids in the hall to swoon.

Ye Yinghua now realized the mountain before him was so high; he was the challenger, enjoying the advantage, yet his opponent never paused to ponder—responses came effortlessly.

Anxious, he noticed the sunlight rising outside, and smiled, “Why not watch the sunset together?”

This couplet sought reconciliation, a way to avoid total defeat, yet matching it was not easy—a clever move, retreating to advance.

Mo Dao nodded inwardly, thinking, “Ye Yinghua’s couplet can attack or defend as needed.”

The crowd felt the same, waiting for Zhou Ziwen’s reply. Just then, Lu Qingtian’s eyes lit up; he confidently placed a stone, its crisp sound surprising all.

The talented youths behind him cried, “Brilliant move!”

Seeing Lu Qingtian’s confident smile, Ye Yinghua relaxed, his heart’s turmoil easing. He thought, “Lucky his Go skills aren’t as sharp as Qingtian’s…”

Still lost in thought, Zhou Ziwen suddenly shouted, “Such wild ideas!”

Black lines shot across the board, his voice and the sound of the stones resonating together!

A continuous hum, seven beats in all!

The crowd grew uneasy, quickly covering their ears; a few slower maids stumbled to the ground.

Zheng Fanren opened his mouth to protect his ears, cursing inwardly, “Must you show off like this?”

Luo Xue reacted swiftly, calling out, “Mystic Melody of Soul-Striking!”

Naming the melody broke the resonance in the hall. She glared angrily at Zhou Zitian, who for the first time felt shock and tension on his face.

He had seen Luo Xue play the zither before—a pure official, though seemingly noble, still a courtesan. Had today’s banquet not failed to invite him, he would not have come.

Few had seen Luo Xue before; Zhou Zitian was among them. He recalled solving riddles just to meet her, only to be ignored—an unforgivable slight, so he had to attend.

Yet her voice stirred him, awakening a desire to conquer. To conquer a woman is both the insecurity and arrogance inherent in men.

Such feelings are innate, all the more so for one like Zhou Zitian, who has never known defeat.

Just as he resolved himself, Luo Xue withdrew her gaze, turned to the corner, and called with a bright laugh, “Fanren, come to my side!”