"Even in this situation, Brother Qiu could still turn the tables."
Donghua, Great Rui, Ministry of War.
Meng Qingbin watched the game unfold before him and could not help but laugh. In his eyes, his own position had already become evenly matched with Qiu Yan's.
When they had first sat down, Meng Qingbin had directly taken the advantageous side, while Qiu Yan's position had been precarious. One careless move, and he would have had no choice but to concede. Several times during the game, Meng Qingbin had even believed victory was certain and let his attention drift away from the board.
It was not that he had been careless. Rather, given his skill at chess and his understanding of the game, Qiu Yan should have had no way out of that predicament—after all, predictions in a chess game were ultimately founded on one's own judgment, wisdom, past experience, and deductions about the opponent's moves.
Yet Meng Qingbin had never imagined that several unexpected moves from Qiu Yan would not only revive his own position, but also seize the thread of Meng Qingbin's strategy. Then, step by step, he had laid camp and built fortifications, using open schemes to set trap after trap wherever Meng Qingbin had no choice but to respond, before turning the entire game around in one stroke!
By this point, how could Meng Qingbin not know that he no longer had any chance of winning? He had played Qiu Yan before and had never won. Now that their positions were evenly matched, the rhythm of what followed would naturally be no different from before. "I concede, I concede." Meng Qingbin shook his head and set down his piece. On one hand, he knew his chess skill was lacking; on the other, he wished to exchange opinions with