The Joy of the Half-Hour Hunt

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“If I lose, then I’ll allow you to make one excessive request of your own.” Bai Ling slightly tilted his chin toward him with a cold tone. “How about it? Isn’t that a perfectly fair deal?”

“Perfectly fair.” Yu Chen smiled thoughtfully.

Unfortunately, the sincere little bird-veteran had made a mistake. And that was—

Never try to talk fairness with the Devil.

Bai Ling focused on setting up the pieces. He heard the merman ask, “Do you need me to walk you through the rules?”

“No need. I’ve played before.”

Yu Chen felt a flicker of surprise. His impression of the little bird had always been that of a lean, yet powerful, straigtforward skill-based person who relied on outmaneuvering larger opponents.

He hadn’t expected the other to be into something as refined as chess.

Yu Chen grew a bit more serious. He tapped his knuckles on the table. “Very well. What format shall we play? Standard, Rapid, or Blitz?”

“Classical is too slow; Blitz  isn’t satisfying enough. I prefer Rapid, half an hour to settle it. You?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

“Rapid it is, then.”

Bai Ling finalized it quickly, making the decision with his usual decisiveness.

The merman propped his chin on his palm. The tension in his brow gradually smoothed out, and he slightly swayed his legs, almost like a flick of a fishtail, as he asked gently:

“Who taught you how to play?”

Bai Ling glanced up. The old man looked quite happy, his mood significantly better than when he had first opened the door. He casually answered:

“Learnt it at school. The public primary schools had extracurricular interest activities every Friday afternoon. The school paid for it, and they had teachers to instruct us.”

Yu Chen reminisced for a moment. He indeed remembered authorizing a specific education fund for children who couldn’t afford private after-school classes, to help them cultivate hobbies from a young age.

Although the Ministry of Finance repeatedly opposed it, claiming the money was better spent on land reclamation and real estate sales.

Yu Chen still felt very gratified now.

Because the living example standing before him told him that his “selfishness” had not gone to waste.

Yu Chen asked again, “Did you only learn chess? Or anything else?”

Bai Ling really wanted to complain. The old man acted like one of those parents who only came home once a year and seized every chance to interrogate their kid.

He coolly replied, “Playing ice hockey required buying protective gear. For music class, I was tone-deaf. Basketball and football were the territories of the Crow Gang; I didn’t get along with them, so we had group fights all the time. What’s with that look? Don’t overthink it. It was me single-handedly beating up the whole group of them.”

Yu Chen let out a low laugh. “So you’ve been this restless and unruly since you were a child?”

Bai Ling snorted. “If I were well-behaved, I wouldn’t be sitting here playing chess with you. I would’ve long ago—”

He abruptly cut himself off.

Yu Chen’s eyebrows shot up. “Long ago what?”

Bai Ling took a deep breath and lowered his eyes. “Forget it. It’s nothing good anyway; I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

If he had been law-abiding and followed the crowd, he would have agreed to that scumbag Gram. He would probably be sitting in some dusty corner office of the Military Department right now, binding reports day after day, numbly staring out the window at the mechas taking off.

It didn’t sound that hard to accept.

But for the rest of his life, people would point at him and say: “Look, that was the Ace Raptor back in the day. Now he’s nothing but a canary. What does that prove? It proves omegas aren’t good enough.”

So, Bai Ling would rather die standing than live kneeling in humiliation.

Once all the pieces were set, with a single empty square left on each side, Bai Ling bent down to check under the table. Finding nothing, he could only say, “We can’t play. Two Queens are missing.”

Yu Chen rubbed his knuckles, thinking back. “They’ve probably been lost for a long time. There are spare Pawns in the box; use those as substitutes.”

Bai Ling picked up the extra pawn. “There’s only one.”

“You take it. I can play without a Queen.”

“Without the Queen?” Bai Ling asked back in shock. “Then aren’t you guaranteed to lose?”

He wasn’t being arrogant; he was stating an objective fact.

Chess is a game simulating a conflict between two nations, where pieces represent the qualities of various ranks of soldiers. Unlike common perception, the most powerful piece in the rules of chess is not the King, nor the Bishop or Knight, but—

The Queen.

Tracing the reasons back, it was partly due to the numerous female rulers in ancient Earth’s Western history.

Queens like Cleopatra, Elizabeth I, and Catherine the Great, all of whom led extraordinary lives.

On the other hand, in the even more ancient Shatranj period, the piece represented the “General” or “Grand Vizier,” holding immense executive power.

Thus, the Queen is both an object of protection and a participant in the war. She doesn’t need to stay huddled inside the city walls; instead, she slaughters her way across any position on the battlefield, becoming a combatant that strikes terror into the enemy.

In Italian, the piece is aptly called Robioso, meaning the “Furious.”

In comparison, the King’s movements are far more limited.

Most of the time, the King needs to stay in the backline, holding onto power and waiting for the Queen’s triumphant return.

Therefore, missing a “Queen” was like having an arm cut off.

No matter how much of a master strategist Yu Chen was, or how well he adapted to changes, without a powerful partner charging at the front, he was destined to…

Lose the entire game in this power struggle.

“It’s alright. I’m used to starting by sacrificing pieces. Since I cannot see, I’ll trouble you to call out the moves to record the notation.”

Yu Chen spoke nonchalantly, but Bai Ling felt a strange unease hearing it.

…Is this old guy crazy? Does he really think he’s some “Chosen One” who can pull off a miracle win with a sliver of health?

Yu Chen summoned an AI to act as their stopwatch.

In this round, he took the Black pieces, while Bai Ling took White.

“White moves first,” Yu Chen said with a gentlemanly “after you” gesture.

Without hesitation, Bai Ling chose the ” Sicilian Defense“—the most frequently used opening in competitive play.

This type of opening is famous for its fierce struggle and complex layout, putting a heavy strain on the player’s mental processing power.

What made it even more intense was the “Rapid” format. With an average of no more than thirty seconds per move, both players needed to be completely wired, their bodies and minds fully committed, and comp0letely immersed in the battle.

…To perceive the opponent’s train of thought, to guess their intentions, to glean details from every micro-expression or tremor of the lip, and then to seize the opportunity, crush the solid fortress, and occupy territory while your scalp tingles with excitement.

Until one side collapses, gets dragged from the throne, and becomes a captive.

Bai Ling calls this: [The Joy of the Half-Hour Hunt].

Right from the start, Yu Chen was slightly surprised by Bai Ling’s frenzied aggression.

“Attack.”

Bai Ling showed no mercy as he took Yu Chen’s Knight, slamming it down to the side.

Yu Chen smiled. “So, you’re an experienced, veteran Berserker.”

Bai Ling twirled the King piece between his fingers, offering a meaningful threat: “You should just resign and forfeit early. Considering there’s still time, I might even make things ‘comfortable’ for you.”

Yu Chen visualized the board in his mind, calmly analyzing the next ten moves in a single second. He curled his lips:

“Thank you for your consideration. If I get the chance, I will certainly enjoy your ‘comfort’ to the fullest.”

“E4 to C5.”

The board consisted of 64 squares, each with its own name, labeled A to H from left to right and 1 to 8 from bottom to top.

At first, Yu Chen called out the coordinates, and Bai Ling moved the pieces for him.

Later, as the Black and White pieces surged into the center of the battlefield, forming a chaotic mess, Bai Ling found it a hassle to move the pieces for him. He tossed his own piece aside, leaned back into the sofa, and closed his eyes, visualizing those 64 intersecting squares of shadow in his mind—

They began to play blindfold chess.

Blindfold chess requires no physical board; players rely on sheer mnemonic power to construct a persistent three-dimensional image in their minds. With every shift in formation, the brain has to refresh the entire board.

Bai Ling used to dislike this style of play.

It was far too mentally taxing. For those with insufficient spiritual power, two or three minutes of play would result in a throbbing brainstem; a slight tightening of the scalp, and the entire visualization would vanish like smoke, leaving every controlled step forgotten.

It was a game of technical showmanship reserved only for the elite.

However, Mr. D was exceptionally skilled at blind chess. He played at a terrifying speed with such immense calculating power that he rarely gave his opponent a moment to breathe or think, leading people to suspect he was an AI under his profile.

Whenever Bai Ling matched with him, he usually suffered defeat in under three minutes.

At that point, the other party would send a message: “It’s alright, three minutes is quite impressive.” It carried a thick sense of pity that made one’s blood boil instantly.

Unable to take it, Bai Ling had repeatedly stormed his private chat to cause a ruckus, spamming him daily with [Opening Invitation Links] more relentlessly than an aerial bombardment.

Mr. D, however, had a decent temper. He would log on slowly, pick a link that caught his eye, open a room, and wait for Bai Ling.

“Start?”

“Start.”

Taciturn and concise, they went back and forth like this, exchanging messages on and off for nearly ten years.

When Bai Ling was thirty-five, he suddenly developed a mental disorder.

His focus fractured, nightmares plagued his sleep, and he would lose himself in thought even while piloting a mecha. Once, he lost control mid-air and nearly fell to his death.

The doctor diagnosed it as a sequela of his failed differentiation and hormonal imbalance.

Conservative treatment was recommended; take some vitamins to boost energy.

Bai Ling took the medicine as prescribed, but his condition only worsened. At its peak, he was even incoherent, sending nonsensical messages to others.

[Lodestar]: &*#% me #@

[Desserped]: Broken?

[Lodestar]: …Sorry, my hand slipped.

[Desserped]: This is the seventeenth time your hand has slipped this month.

[Lodestar]: Thank you for remembering so clearly.

[Desserped]: Mn. I review our chat logs.

[Lodestar]: ?

[Desserped]: I sometimes feel mentally exhausted. Do you want to learn blindfold chess from me? Heating the brain up might provide some relief.

[Desserped]: Correction. “Training” it hot.

[Lodestar]: It’s just a brain, heat it however you want. Let’s go.

Blindfold chess required no physical items and had no limits on time or place. It could start anywhere and end anytime.

Under Mr. D’s tutelage, Bai Ling gradually made it a habit. He would use fragments of time to play chess inside the command tents of desolate planets amidst the roar of artillery.

Whenever the Revolutionary Army’s battle reached a stalemate, supplies ran low, and his body and mind were stretched to the breaking point of exhaustion, he would go online to challenge opponents everywhere. He slaughtered his way through, conquering territories and leaving nothing behind to alleviate the crushing pressure of reality.

After winning a circuit, his final stop was always Mr. D.

Mr. D’s style was aggressive and clinging, airtight and relentless, like the grand, sweeping style of Classical Romanticism.

Like an invisible hand squeezing the back of one’s neck; amidst a gentle suffocation, he would coil his venomous snake’s tail, slowly leading his opponent into a paralyzed, euphoric mental ascent until, even at the moment of “death,” they remained unaware of the approaching danger.

Those targeted by Mr. D were like cornered beasts; every nerve was stretched to the limit, pressed into a corner and teetering the edge of a breakdown on a wire, unwilling to face death yet seeing no hope. In the high-pressure tension of such calculating power, adrenaline peaked, and the entire body funneled blood to the brain. In that state of hyper-concentration, one would momentarily lose the sensation of their limbs, hearing only the phantom roar of blood surging through cerebral vessels, in a maddening, searing flush.

“Checkmate.”

The mechanical prompt sounded, and the game ended.

Falling abruptly from the peak of a high wave into the depths of a valley, one’s body would inevitably go weak. The middle-aged Bai Ling would huddle in his cold blankets, drenched in sweat and struggle to cover his shamed face while his hot, bare shoulders trembled.

After the extreme use of the cranial nerves, the final release brought a delusive, bungee-jump-like relaxation and… pleasure.

—On the battlefield, this was one of the few entertainments available to a lonely veteran.

“Checkmate,” a deep, magnetic voice surfaced against the background noise.

Pierced through.

Bai Ling felt as if he was struck by an electric current and snapped his eyes open. The lazy, curly gold hair blurred his vision.

…The frequencies mixed. This isn’t that gentleman.

It’s that flamboyant old man.

The air was thick with the scent of mellow, fermented sourness. Yu Chen took a deep, instinctive breath, greedily drawing the sea buckthorn pheromones into his nasal cavity.

A dark, burning light flickered in his eyes as he carefully asked, “Your breathing seemed off just now. Are you unwell?”

“…I’m fine.” Bai Ling grabbed his jacket in an obvious attempt at a cover-up, standing up with a staggered, short breath. He swallowed hard to steady his breathing and said, as if fleeing: “You won.”

He walked toward the door with trembling legs. His damp pants clung to the root of his thighs, making him lean against the doorframe in shame.

The AI, monitoring the explosion of pheromones in the air, located the source of the moisture. It lifted the blanket on the sofa the oil-leaking mechanical bird had sad: “Please move aside. I need to dry the blanket.”

Thud. A violent slam of a door echoed from the distance. The bird had flown away.

Yu Chen stood up as well, taking two unnatural steps toward the depths of the study before suddenly freezing.

His golden hair brushed restlessly against his shoulders. He tugged at his abstinent collar; where his neck flushed red, and metallic, polarized reverse scales faintly emerged.

The AI dutifully asked, “Master, are you going to the small bathroom? Do you need me to draw the bathwater in advance?”

“No. I’m taking a cold shower.”

Having said that, Yu Chen impatiently licked his teeth, pulled out his belt, gripped his right hand with its bulging veins, and commanded:

“Give me that blanket. I’ll be in the bathroom for a while; you don’t need to come in and serve me.”

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Author’s Note:

A fierce battle, a game of chess!

Old Fish strokes his chin: Even the middle-aged darling look delicious!

ps: Playing chess, a mental activity, easily pushes emotions to the breaking point. In international competitions, players often break down in tears, even slapping themselves after losing, so this shouldn’t be considered an exaggeration.

Cited in this chapter:

Yan Ming. (2018). A Chronicle of Chinese and Western Culture and Customs. Shanghai Jiaotong University Press Co., Ltd.

“The Encyclopedia of Chess”—The Sicilian Defense, the Scheveningen Variation System

“The Rules of Chess Terminology”

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Translator’s note: isn’t this just like kakegurui lol

btw Desserped is Depressed backwards!