Choosing an auspicious day, Master Qiao personally escorted Consultant He to an audience with the Old Shopkeeper. The moment they boarded the car, he made a show of placing a blindfold over He Chu San’s eyes. The business van twisted and turned through countless detours, circling for nearly an hour, before finally descending into an underground parking lot in a bustling district.
Listening carefully, He Chu San caught the familiar ding-ding of passing trams and the lively cries of hawkers from a nearby wet market. He could not help but feel speechless—this was none other than the Western District where he had rented a place when he first started working. Back then, Brother Liu Yi had hidden here for a few days before being taken away by Inspector Xie. From where they had boarded, it should have taken no more than ten minutes.
Master Qiao instructed the advisor and the bodyguards to remain in the car. Supporting He Chu San, he personally led him through a side entrance into an underground club. Already unsteady with his cane, Master Qiao now had to free one hand to guide “Blind He,” and the two stumbled awkwardly along the way.
Hearing yet another fire engine’s siren outside, He Chu San finally spoke, unable to hold back, “Elder Brother Qiao, we are beneath the Imperial Court Club, are we not?”
Among the nearby establishments, this was the only well-known luxury club situated so close to a fire station.
“……” Master Qiao, who had gone to great lengths to stage this elaborate deception.
He removed the blindfold with a sigh. “Brother He, that was rather inconsiderate of you.”
With a faint smile, He Chu San reached back to support him instead. “I had intended to feign ignorance, but I feared for your noble health should you stumble. Elder Brother, do you not trust me?”
“My dear little brother, how could I not trust you? It is ‘that one’ who is overly cautious.”
“Rest assured, Elder Brother—I will earn his trust as well. I must trouble you to lead the way.”
The two proceeded onward. Beneath their feet, the wooden floor creaked dully. The rhythmic thud, thud of Master Qiao’s cane echoed down the dim corridor. On either side, the walls were set with antique-style Chinese lattice windows, and flickering candle-like lamps cast wavering shadows. The entire passage exuded a solemn, almost eerie stillness.
At last, Master Qiao halted before a door. Three men in suits stood guard—sunglasses, black masks, leather gloves—concealing themselves from head to toe. They thoroughly searched both men, then gave a curt nod and allowed them passage.
Master Qiao pushed the door open, and He Chu San followed him inside.
The interior was likewise steeped in austere antiquity. At the center stood a grand Chinese landscape screen, rendered solely in black and white. Yet within those two colors lay rich gradations—the white waters above, the black mountains below, and vast swathes of gray mist swirling between, blurring the boundary of yin and yang. Within the white waters swam a black fish; upon the black mountains soared a white roc, poised above and below in quiet balance.
“What do you think of this painting?”
A deep, middle-aged voice sounded from behind the screen.
Master Qiao froze. Though he had come here many times, he had never once been asked to appraise the painting. In haste, he nudged He Chu San with his elbow.
After a moment’s thought, He Chu San spoke clearly:
“This is a depiction of Taiji Yin-Yang. The black and white represent the two forces of yin and yang, ever waxing and waning without fixed boundary. In Zhuangzi: Free and Easy Wandering, it is written: ‘In the Northern Abyss there is a fish named Kun, which transforms into a bird named Peng.’ The transformation of Kun into Peng reflects the process of refining essence into qi within Taiji. The black Kun swims in white waters; the white Peng soars above black mountains—within yin resides yang, within yang resides yin. Through refinement, the energies converge, ‘the Five Qi return to the Origin,’ ultimately attaining the state of ‘Wuji.’”
“I glimpsed it only briefly, so this is but a shallow interpretation.”
Behind the screen, silence lingered for several seconds.
He Chu San tilted his head toward Master Qiao—whose face was written all over with What did you just say? Was that even human speech?
Had he overplayed his hand?
Even He Chu San felt a flicker of unease. This was knowledge he had learned years ago in the Walled City, from Uncle Ah Hua while practicing Taiji. The Old Shopkeeper, straddling both the righteous and the underworld, hidden in the murky threshold of yin and yang—did he fancy himself a Kun transforming into a Peng, seeking the supreme state?
Had he struck too close to the truth?
Suddenly, three measured claps echoed from behind the screen.
“Well said. Very well said. Consultant He lives up to his reputation. Enter.”
Master Qiao hurriedly guided He Chu San around the screen.
Beyond it, only a single dim yellow floor lamp lit the chamber. From a censer drifted the faint fragrance of sandalwood. Seated behind a kung fu tea table was a tall middle-aged man, his face veiled in shadow. On the table lay no tea—only a Go board.
“Shopkeeper,” Master Qiao said with utmost respect.
“You’ve worked hard,” the man replied, yet did not invite him to sit. Master Qiao seemed accustomed, remaining where he stood, leaning on his cane.
“Shopkeeper,” He Chu San echoed respectfully.
“Do you play Go?” the man asked.
“A little.”
“Sit. Let us have a game.”
He Chu San glanced at Master Qiao, who gestured urgently for him to comply. Stepping forward, he bowed first before taking his seat, lowering his gaze to the board.
The man grasped several white stones and asked him to “guess the first move.” He Chu San picked up two black stones in response. The man opened his palm—an even number. Returning the white stones to the bowl, he gestured for him to begin.
He Chu San inclined his head, then placed a black stone in the upper right corner.
As he withdrew his hand, he lifted his gaze—and in the dim light, finally saw the man’s face clearly.
His heart sank heavily.
Suppressing the turmoil within, he watched as the man placed the first white stone. He quickly set down his second black stone.
“Why are your hands trembling?” the man asked suddenly.
“I am but a junior, unskilled in the game. Facing the Shopkeeper, I am nervous.”
“Is that so? Your voice betrays no such tension.”
“Words may deceive. Actions cannot.”
“Where were you raised?”
“Walled City.”
“You are now a financial elite, frequenting high society. Do you still carry traces of that impoverished place in your conduct?”
“I do. To survive in darkness and glimpse the light, one must climb higher—no matter the cost. That is the mark the Walled City left upon me. It will follow me for a lifetime.”
The man chuckled softly. “A lifetime is long, young man. Do not rush to see it through.”
Their conversation flowed as calmly as that between elder and junior, yet upon the board, battle raged. Black and white clashed in silent warfare—encirclements, breaks, severances, and traps—like blades crossing unseen.
Master Qiao strained on tiptoe, peering at the board until his eyes ached, yet understood nothing. Unable to help himself, he turned aside and stifled a yawn.
Fortunately, the Shopkeeper had never subjected him to such ordeals before—else he might have fallen asleep mid-game.
Time passed unnoticed. Leaning on his cane, Master Qiao began dozing—until suddenly:
“You win.”
He jolted awake in shock.
What?! My precious little Wealth-Gathering Prodigy actually defeated the Shopkeeper? And dared to do so?!
He Chu San rose and bowed. “I do not deserve such praise. The Shopkeeper showed me leniency.”
The man smiled faintly. “And yet you claimed to ‘know only a little.’ You concealed your brilliance, luring me step by step into your formation.”
“It was the Shopkeeper who controlled the greater flow. There were many chances to cut off my ‘breath,’ yet you spared me—allowing me to see how far I might go.”
The man laughed again. “Sit. Do not stand. Can you brew tea?”
“I do not know the art of kung fu tea.”
“So there are things Consultant He cannot do. Old Qiao, sit as well.”
Master Qiao hurried forward, taking the chance to ease his stiff limbs. He Chu San swiftly cleared the board.
The three sat together at the tea table, the atmosphere suddenly light, almost familial. The man seemed like a calm and benevolent patriarch. As he leisurely brewed tea, he spoke of the financial company matter He Chu San had handled for Master Qiao’s “friend”—that is, himself. He asked about He Chu San’s usual work, about the hidden workings of the stock and securities markets.
After some time, he finally poured the tea and gestured.
He Chu San tasted it. “Excellent tea.”
“Fine tea suits a fine steed. Consultant He is a thousand-li horse, worthy of this cup.”
The man set down his teacup. “Now then—the tea is drunk. You spoke of a great business. Let us hear it.”
He Chu San lowered his gaze slightly—and did not speak.
The man glanced at Master Qiao. “Old Qiao, wait outside.”
“……” Master Qiao, who had only just managed to take a sip of tea.
Resigned, he set down his half-finished cup. “Yes, Shopkeeper.” As he left, he patted He Chu San on the shoulder. The sound of his cane faded, followed by the soft click of the door closing.
“Speak.”
He Chu San placed his teacup down and looked straight at the man across from him.
“I have a great business to discuss with the Shopkeeper. But forgive my bluntness…”
“…You are not the Shopkeeper.”
⸻
[Note 1: “Guessing the first move” (猜先)] — In Go, black moves first. The senior player holds a number of white stones; the opponent guesses whether the number is odd or even using one or two black stones. A correct guess grants the first move as black.
[Note 2: “Breath” (气)] — In Go, the liberties of a stone are the adjacent empty points. When fully surrounded with no liberties, the stones are captured.
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