The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

She put down her teacup, her voice regaining its composure, carrying the decisiveness honed in her military service, as she returned to the negotiating table, displaying a calculated demeanor.

"I understand Your Highness's meaning. But my father will not believe you based on just a few words. The Liao generals who advocate war—even if Xiao Guangzuo is captured, the Southern Court Deputy Commander, the Northern Court Privy Councilor, and the leaders of the various grassland tribes will not allow the experimental zone to be safely established."

"They want to see solid evidence," she emphasized.

Zhao Zongshi raised an eyebrow: "What exactly is it?"

Yelü Jingrong sat up abruptly, her fox-fur robe sweeping away the snow from the table, revealing the old, icy-patterned wooden surface. She gestured rapidly, her words quick and decisive, displaying the resolute nature of a Liao princess:

"The Liao soldiers value contracts most highly, so we will arrange three competitions. I will personally select three events: chess, couplet writing, and archery. You and I will each send our representatives to compete, best two out of three. If you win, I will personally present the Zhenyue Sword to the Song Dynasty and, in front of both armies at the walls of Youzhou, sign the agreement for the experimental zone on behalf of Liao; if I win—"

She paused, her gaze like an icicle piercing Zhao Zongshi:

"You have withdrawn your troops from Zhuozhou and have not advanced north for three years. The matter of the sixteen prefectures will be put on hold for later discussion!"

After listening, Zhao Zongshi remained silent for a moment, then suddenly chuckled. The laugh was not ostentatious, but like a crack in an ice river, with spring water surging beneath—it was the exhilaration of meeting a long-time adversary, and also the confidence of having a plan in mind.

"Princess, do you know," he said calmly, turning his teacup, "that the three things you've chosen are precisely my strengths?"

Yelü Jingrong was slightly taken aback: "You haven't asked me who I sent—"

"For the chess duel, I'll send Zeng Gong." Zhao Zongshi tapped the table lightly with his fingertip. "I've played against him many times, winning more often than losing. He's a chess genius of unparalleled talent. His style is meticulous and deliberate, progressing step by step, and he excels at drawing his opponent into his own rhythm. If the Liao Kingdom sends someone with a bold and unrestrained style from the grasslands, they will surely be at a disadvantage."

"For couplets, I'll send Su Shi." His smile widened. "This year's second-place scholar, whose literary talent is unparalleled, couplets are nothing more than a game for him. Even if the foremost scholar of Han learning from Liao comes, he will undoubtedly lose."

"As for archery and horsemanship—" He stood up and stood at the entrance of the hall, his back to Feixue, glancing at her with clear, sharp eyes, "The Liao Kingdom unanimously believes that the Song Dynasty is weak. Today, I will not play chess with the princess. I, the frail crown prince, will personally take to the field to compete in archery and horsemanship."

Yelü Jingrong's pupils contracted slightly, a hint of surprise flashing across her face before quickly disappearing. She said nothing more, picked up the teapot, filled it with the remaining tea, and drank it all in one gulp.

"Alright. I'll be waiting for you at the drill ground north of Youzhou City in three days."

She rose and left the pavilion, but stopped abruptly at the entrance. Turning her back to Zhao Zongshi, her voice softened by the wind and snow, losing some of its sharpness and gaining more sincerity:

"Your Highness... the 'Great Integration of China' you mentioned is the phrase I've never heard before that the Liao people are least afraid of."

“When other Han people talk, they all use terms like surrender, submission, and tribute, every word of which implies ‘being inferior.’ But your words—” She tilted her head slightly, revealing a cool chin beneath her fox fur hat, “you can’t hear any superiority or inferiority, you can only hear that there’s a table, people on both sides, and everyone can sit.”

Zhao Zongshi watched her figure disappear into the wind and snow, her horse's hooves breaking the silence of the icy river, gradually fading into the distance, finally swallowed by the sound of the wind.

He sat alone for a long time, until the tea was cold and the stove was extinguished, before slowly getting up. As he left the pavilion, he raised his hand to catch a snowflake, six-pointed and crystalline, which melted in his palm in an instant, leaving only a trace of coolness.

He whispered to Han Nian'an, who was standing outside the pavilion, his voice as soft as if he were talking to himself:

"Very good, she understands what I'm thinking. Very good!"

Three days later, at the drill ground north of Youzhou City.

The snow had just stopped, and the sky was clear and bright. Banners fluttered on both sides of the drill ground. The Song army was lined up to the east, and the remnants of the Liao army were lined up to the west. Their armor gleamed in the sunlight, and the two armies faced each other from a distance of 150 paces.

On the high platform in the center of the training ground, three square tables were arranged in a row: one with a chessboard, one with writing implements, and one with bows and horses.

Yelü Jingrong was dressed in full military attire, a scarlet battle robe covered by a silver-gray chainmail, a curved sword hanging at her waist, her long hair tied high, moving swiftly like a shooting star in the cold wind. Beside her stood two men: Han Zhongming, the foremost scholar of Han studies in the Liao Dynasty, with white hair and beard, holding a whisk, and also Yelü Jingrong's chess professor; and Yelü Zongyuan, the burly deputy commander of the Northern Army's Pishi Division, with hawk-like eyes.

Zhao Zongshi rode up from the east side, dismounted, and was followed closely by three men:

Zeng Gong wore a plain blue cloth robe, his face as calm as an ancient pool, and he came empty-handed—he had the game in his heart, and needed no pieces.

Su Shi, wearing a worn indigo robe, held half a piece of osmanthus cake in his hand, chewing as he walked. When he saw Han Zhongming, he grinned and cupped his hands in greeting, his smile radiant, showing none of the tension he had shown before.

Zhao Zongshi was dressed in a black, narrow-sleeved Hu-style robe, with a composite bow made by Qin Tiehua hanging at his waist. The bow was made of three layers of wood, tough yet unbreakable, and showed great convenience for riding and shooting.

The three matches have officially begun.

First match: Chess game

Yelü Jingrong slowly ascended the stage, her clear voice piercing the cold wind of the training ground: "In Liao, Go is rarely played; chess is more popular. I was utterly defeated in my chess match against Your Highness the other day, and I dare not embarrass myself today. My player is Han Zhongming, the Military Commander of the Northern Privy Council and the Judge of Youzhou! This man has been undefeated in chess for thirty years, and once held a seven-day chess tournament in Zhongjing, where no hero in Liao could break his formation!"

As soon as he finished speaking, two large blue stone chessboards were carried out from both sides of the training ground with a thud—not the nineteen-line Go board, but the Chinese chess board with the Chu River and Han Border, where two armies faced off. The entire blue stone was polished smooth as a mirror, with the ink lines as deep as trenches. The red and black chess pieces were all cast from pig iron, about the size of a palm, and weighing more than a pound. When a piece was placed on the stone, it made a crisp sound like the clash of metal, which was deafening.

Han Zhongming stepped forward in response.

This Han Chinese man in his forties from the north was as thin as an iron bar, with a gaunt face and high cheekbones. He wore a faded Hanfu, the sleeves rolled up high, revealing his thin but bony forearms. He stood empty-handed, with only a worn deerskin belt wrapped around his wrist. His knuckles unconsciously rubbed together, a ritual he had performed for thirty years of playing chess, a calm and awe-inspiring gesture.

Zhao Zongshi spoke with certainty, turning to the side and raising his hand: "Zeng Gong."

Zeng Gong slowly stepped forward, his plain blue robe fluttering even without wind, his face as calm as a deep, cold pool. The moment he sat cross-legged beside the blue stone chessboard, his aura suddenly solidified—as if he had become one with the chessboard, the wind and snow, the noise, and the gazes of the crowd outside were all shut out from him, and all he saw was the Chu River and Han Border, nothing else.

Han Zhongming sat down opposite Zeng Gong, two black chess pieces spinning rapidly between his fingers like black butterflies flitting through gaps, exuding a sharp and aggressive aura. He looked directly at Zeng Gong, his voice as firm as metal: "What will you begin with?"

Zeng Gong lowered his eyes to look at the chessboard, his tone calm and even: "The path of chess is unpredictable; let's see how you place your pieces."

Han Zhongming chuckled, and with a flick of his wrist, a crisp "clang" rang out—the black cannon struck the very center of the board!

The Chu River and Han Border were instantly embroiled in flames of war!

In the first fifteen moves, both sides moved their pieces with fluid grace and clear strategy. Han Zhongming opened with a central cannon and horizontal chariot, pressing forward relentlessly, advancing his chariot and horse simultaneously, clearly aiming for a swift and decisive victory to break through the opponent's defenses with overwhelming force. Zeng Gong responded calmly, defending with a screen horse formation, his two horses leaning against each other and his two chariots surrounding him, making his palace as solid as a rock, without a single leak.

After twenty moves, Han Zhongming suddenly changed his move!

The right chariot plunges to the bottom, pressing forward, while the left horse leaps out across the river, abandoning its previous steady approach. The central cannon bombards the pawns, and the horse tramples the linked pieces, bringing all three pieces to the side, exuding a murderous aura! Low cheers immediately rang out from the Liao army's ranks—this was Han Zhongming's famous "Three-Piece Linked Formation Breaking Strategy," a move that made him a legend in the chess arena. In the seven-day tournament, he used this move to defeat seven top players in a row, never suffering a defeat!

Zeng Gong frowned slightly, his red chess piece hovering two inches above the blue stone chessboard, hesitant to make a move.

He was calculating, he was reading.

Go is about territorial disputes, chess is about killing; Go is about controlling territory, chess is about life and death. Han Zhongming's three-piece combo seems like a powerful attack, every move is a standard opening move, so smooth it's almost deliberate—too smooth, and it's a trap.

In a flash, Zeng Gong flicked his wrist, and the red horse retreated two steps, exchanging the cannon for the horse and sacrificing a piece!

This move, seemingly mediocre and yielding, is like cutting off one's own wings, completely devoid of any killing intent.

Han Zhongming raised an eyebrow, secretly wondering: How could the Crown Prince of the Southern Dynasty make such a foolish move? He quickly deduced three steps and found no hidden ambush. Without further hesitation, he urged his chariots, horses, and cannons to launch a full-scale attack on the Nine Palaces, intending to capture the commander in one fell swoop!

Just after thirty moves, Han Zhongming's expression changed drastically—

He was shocked to realize that his "three-in-one" strategy had been completely blocked!

The horse that Zeng Gong abandoned, seemingly useless, was precisely stuck at his only escape route! His left horse had no way to return to support, his right cannon was restrained, his central chariot was isolated and advanced deep into enemy territory, and his headquarters behind him was wide open. He was caught in a dilemma and fell into a dead end!

Zeng Gong's "retreat" was not cowardice, but a lure; it lured him into a fierce attack, lured him into a deep dive, and the more fiercely he attacked, the deeper he fell!

At move 40, Zeng Gong's move was like a thunderclap—his horse moved from the eighth to the seventh rank, taking on two rooks with one foot!

Shocking!

Han Zhongming's iron chess piece froze in mid-air, his pupils suddenly contracted, and his blood and qi seemed to freeze instantly.

With his two chariots locked up, his two horses trapped, and his cannon restrained, all his elite troops were entangled in a fierce battle. Meanwhile, Zeng Gong's inconspicuous pawn in the middle had already silently advanced four steps, directly approaching his palace under the eaves, cutting off his last chance of survival.

After a long silence, Han Zhongming exhaled a long breath, lightly placing the chess piece in his palm onto the stone board. His voice was hoarse, yet it held the exhilaration of meeting a worthy opponent: "What a brilliant move, sacrificing a piece to lure the enemy! I've lost!"

He raised his eyes and stared intently at Zeng Gong, his gaze devoid of any resentment, only filled with profound admiration: "You won this game not because of your skill, but because you thoroughly understood me! Your first twenty moves were a solid defense, probing my moves; your sacrifice of a knight in the middle was to lure me into an overreach; the last twenty moves, seemingly a passive defense, were actually a series of moves that blocked my retreat and locked down my killing moves. Your forty-move strategy was all for the final two moves to deliver the decisive blow!"

Zeng Gong finally raised his eyes, his expression still calm, his tone as light as a breeze, yet every word as precise as a knife: "The Northern School of chess is good at attacking, with powerful and heavy momentum. If Sima could attack while defending, leaving room for maneuver in every move, the outcome would be uncertain. But you have spent your life setting up challenges and fighting for victory, winning with momentum, but also being trapped by momentum—this mental barrier is hard to break."

After speaking, he stood up, cupped his hands in a gesture of respect, and remained humble and composed, as if he had merely diagnosed his opponent with a chronic illness. His calm demeanor sent chills down one's spine.

Han Zhongming was taken aback, then threw his head back and burst into laughter, a rough and unrestrained laugh that made the iron pieces on the bluestone chessboard tremble slightly. He rose with a laugh, bowed deeply to Zeng Gong, his waist bent so low that the deerskin belt around his wrist slipped into the dust, but he was completely unaware: "For twenty years in the chess arena, no one has understood me to this extent! Today's defeat is not unjust at all! A defeat that is satisfying!"

He turned and strode towards Yelü Jingrong, kneeling on one knee, his voice booming: "Princess, I have failed in my duty, I admit defeat and have nothing more to say!"

Yelü Jingrong remained calm and nodded slightly, but her gaze toward Zeng Gong had become more serious.