Serena Feng’s moves on the board seemed utterly chaotic—worse than a beginner, a total mess, leaving everyone baffled about her intentions. At first, people said Serena couldn’t play chess at all, but as the match wore on, no one dared voice that opinion anymore…
After twenty moves, Wendy Summers pressed her attack relentlessly, while Serena tossed her stones as if at random. Everyone expected Serena to be crushed, yet somehow, she hadn’t lost a single piece.
Her attitude was nothing like the stiff decorum of noble ladies. Serena lounged with a casual grace—elegant yet free-spirited, making her impossible to ignore. Her eyes always carried a smile, friendly on the surface, but across the board, Wendy Summers was pale with anxiety.
No one could see through this girl at all.
Old Master Yan stroked his goatee, deeply grateful for his impulsive decision to come watch—otherwise he’d have missed a truly spectacular show.
Serena Feng’s chess style was as unpredictable as her personality. She seemed not to care, dropping stones all over, yet there was a hidden order—a plan beneath the surface.
What a sharp and cunning woman—she acted clueless, but understood everything. In other words, she was playing dumb while secretly seeing through everyone, a true master of hiding her strength. No wonder Master Marcus Wynn couldn’t get the upper hand; Serena saw through his schemes and weaknesses at a glance.
Master Marcus Wynn never truly meant to marry Serena Feng. He cared about his reputation, and all his efforts were really just to uncover the secret of Serena’s stringless zither. Old Master Yan suddenly realized he was curious too.
Old Master Yan smiled warmly, considering whether he should get involved as well. Meeting such a fascinating young talent was a rare delight—missing out would mean losing a lot of life’s fun.
Serena looked at ease, but her mind was racing—calculating every move, every possible response from Wendy Summers. So focused, she missed the flash of excitement in Old Master Yan’s eyes.
Serena knew her chess skills weren’t top-notch, so her only chance lay in clever tactics. In chess, calm is everything—you must stay serene to see the full picture. Serena’s fast, casual moves were all meant to throw Wendy Summers off balance. Only when Wendy lost her composure could Serena seize an opening.
When Serena placed her first stone, people claimed she didn’t know how to play; by the twentieth move, they said she was just lucky. But once the board was half-filled, no one dared say such things anymore.
Could someone who couldn’t play chess really make it halfway through the match without losing a single piece? Could a novice keep her opponent in check even when the black stones had the advantage?
As for luck—chess has never been about luck.
Wendy Summers held her black stone with elegant precision, but her poise was gone. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her eyes had lost their clarity.
Wendy was rattled, her heart in turmoil, desperate to win. She’d pondered her next move for the time it took to drink a cup of tea, yet still hadn’t played.
Only now did Wendy realize Serena had tricked her. All those rumors about Serena being clueless at the refined arts were just gossip—Serena herself had never admitted it.
Never mind the qin event—there were hidden tricks there, but with Master Marcus Wynn present, Wendy believed the truth would come out. As for chess, Wendy was certain now: Serena Feng was a true expert.
Still, Wendy couldn’t figure out why she’d never seen Serena play chess with anyone, or who had taught her. She glanced up at Serena, her attention drifting from the board.
Serena’s expression didn’t change. She hadn’t been bothered by the crowd’s earlier criticisms, nor was she pleased to see Wendy sweating now—she was as placid as a clay doll.
Serena sipped her tea and watched the board, never rushing or urging Wendy Summers. After Wendy finally made a move, Serena would drop her stone without a moment’s thought, looking so relaxed it made people suspect she was just lucky, stumbling into good positions by chance.
Of course, no one dared say that out loud—chess isn’t about luck, and if it were, why bother studying strategy at all?
Wendy Summers had set up a tight, steady offense, convinced she’d soon wipe Serena out. But halfway through, she hadn’t won a single piece. Serena hadn’t taken any from Wendy either, but to Wendy, it felt like she was losing.
Wendy grew more cautious with each move, knowing she couldn’t afford another loss. If she lost this round, the Third Prince would never forgive her. He hadn’t bet on her winning all seven rounds against Serena, but he did expect five wins, with two draws or losses.
Out of eight events, winning five would be just enough for Wendy to save face for Eastlyn.
To guarantee the Third Prince’s victory, Wendy was told to win the first five rounds quickly, then ease up later. But now, she’d already lost the qin event, and if she lost at chess too, she’d have to win every remaining contest except for a possible draw in riding and archery.
The thought weighed on Wendy, making her hesitate even longer with each move. And so, the duel between Serena and Wendy stretched from sunrise to midday.
Many spectators couldn’t last and left, while others, hearing about the match, pulled strings to get in—Master Marcus Wynn among them.
A renowned scholar, Master Marcus Wynn excelled in all the arts, especially the qin. Seeing the board’s situation, he wasn’t surprised; anyone who could play a stringless zither must have an unconventional approach to chess too.
The Royal Academy was bustling—princes like Jason, Chase, and others came to watch. They’d assumed Serena would lose, but when they heard the match was still going on after morning court, their interest was piqued.
Unlike the Crown Prince and Ninth Royal Uncle, these princes didn’t have high status, nor were they as special as the Southlyn and Lyndaria royals. So they discussed among themselves and came together—after all, nearly every prince played chess well, and watching masters duel was a chance to learn.
Many left during the match, but the crowd kept growing. By afternoon, twice as many people sat near the board as in the morning. Besides Old Master Yan, the other lower-ranking scholars moved back to make room for the princes.
All these changes happened around Serena and Wendy, but neither noticed. Their focus was entirely on the board—nothing outside could disturb them.
Even Serena, with her relaxed appearance, had nothing in her mind except the black and white stones on the board.
Her laid-back attitude was all for show—chess tests both skill and nerves. At critical moments, the more confident and relaxed you appear, the more your opponent doubts themselves, losing the will to fight. Once that happens, the match is as good as over.
It was just like Zhuge Liang’s Empty Fort Strategy—without true calm, he could never have pulled it off. Serena genuinely knew how to play, and her moves were both strange and fast. Only a fool would think Wendy wasn’t overthinking every step.
As the sun set, dappled light fell across Serena’s shoulders. She stretched her aching body, snatching a snack from the table to eat during a break.
After a whole day, Serena was fine—she’d managed to drink tea and nibble on pastries, even if she barely tasted them. At least she didn’t faint from hunger. Wendy, though, was pitiful. In three or four hours, she hadn’t even had a sip of water.
There was no helping it—Serena played so fast, Wendy had no chance to drink or eat. Especially in the afternoon, Serena seemed to torment Wendy on purpose, always responding within three seconds of Wendy’s move, giving her no time to rest. It was like Serena was deliberately trying to exhaust her.
Everyone knows chess is a mental grind—you have to think several moves ahead. With Serena’s rapid play, Wendy’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point, never daring to relax for a second.
For Wendy, chess had become pure torture. She’d spend ages deciding a move, only for Serena to reply instantly, forcing her to think again before she could even catch her breath. Over and over, Wendy grew paler, on the verge of collapse.
As night fell, Academy servants lit braziers in the center of the hall, flooding the room with light. Everyone could clearly see the two women still playing: one full of energy, the other utterly spent.
Even though the match wasn’t decided yet, everyone could see which woman had the upper hand.
Serena glanced at the board—just three moves left. She mentally mapped out Wendy’s possible plays and responses, double-checked her calculations, and finally let herself relax. She might not be sure of victory, but she was certain she wouldn’t lose.
Sigh… It wasn’t that Serena didn’t want to beat Wendy, but she simply didn’t have the ability.
She played well, no doubt, but Wendy had trained since childhood too. The only reason Serena could hold her to a draw was Wendy’s early arrogance and Serena’s bizarre style. Of course, Wendy’s loss of composure in the end was also why she couldn’t win.
For the final two moves, Wendy stared at her black stone, unable to play for a long time. She knew she was out of options. With a snap, she tossed the stone back into the bowl.
"Serena Feng, it’s a draw." Wendy finally forced out the words, letting out a long, hard breath as if she’d used up all her strength, collapsing into her chair.
At last, it was a draw. If the match went on, she’d have collapsed for sure. But even calling it a draw, Wendy knew—she’d lost…