Three Defeats and a Vow
Peace? Lian Po stared quietly at the spot where Ji Dan had been sitting. In the empty space left behind, only the pieces of the Grand Game he had left remained, scattered and forlorn. Among them was Lian Po’s own most prized piece—the large one inscribed with the words Grand General.
“Hah… really now.”
Lian Po let out a dry chuckle as he recalled exactly what that gesture meant.
They had played a total of three matches. The result had been nothing short of astonishing.
Three games, three losses. To me—Lian Po?
The first defeat he could dismiss. He had played ordinary janggi a few times, but this grand version was entirely new. When he lost the second match, Lian Po had already memorized every rule and was forced to admit he had underestimated the game. He also acknowledged that Ji Dan, the one who had invented not only janggi but this grand variant, was no Zhao Kuo.
Creating a game of this depth overnight? Impossible. Ji Dan must have forged it through countless hours of study and experimentation. The Grand Game before him represented the ultimate application of theory—something unreachable by simply memorizing military texts or analyzing a handful of battles. It was the product of someone who had grasped the true essence of warfare and conducted profound research into every branch of the military.
Thus, in the third match, Lian Po had sunk into deep thought. He mobilized every scrap of strategic and tactical knowledge he possessed and faced Ji Dan with complete sincerity. And he had lost. Cleanly. Without the slightest room for dispute.
Of course, this did not prove that Ji Dan was a genuine master general. In a real battle, even if Ji Dan commanded a hundred thousand while Lian Po led ten thousand, Lian Po would prevail a hundred times out of a hundred. But the contest had demonstrated that, at least in the ability to read the flow of moves, Ji Dan was in no way inferior.
“Against the greatest Lian Po under heaven, no less.”
An ordinary man would have grown arrogant, boasting about the victory. Yet Ji Dan had done no such thing. Instead, he calmly spoke of what he had done during the Yan-Zhao war. All he had truly accomplished, he said, was seeking out Lord Xinling for counsel and asking Lord Guomu to attach a condition to the treaty that would improve his own treatment. Therefore, he understood that the skill and foresight displayed in the Grand Game were nothing more than clever tricks with no place on a real battlefield.
When Lian Po had asked if he was different from Zhao Kuo, Ji Dan had answered: I possess the ability to read moves well enough to defeat even you, General, yet I also recognize the gap between theory and reality—and I know to seek advice from others.
I know my own shortcomings.
Easy words for anyone to utter. Far harder to accept them in one’s heart and willingly seek out others for guidance. Yet Ji Dan had done precisely that.
“What an interesting fellow.”
Indeed, he was someone worthy of Lord Pingyuan’s attention. After all, gladly accepting the counsel of others was the fundamental virtue of the Four Gentlemen of the Warring States. On top of that, Ji Dan understood the importance of the vertical alliance and, despite his youth, had worked to prevent the rift between Zhao and Yan from deepening further. There were undoubtedly personal reasons involved—he likely wished to keep the Yan he would one day inherit from being crushed by Lian Po himself—but the fact that he could speak of the greater cause at such a tender age proved he was a sprout destined to grow tall.
Lian Po retrieved the Grand General piece Ji Dan had taken and murmured to himself.
“If you carry that conviction through to the end, then I, Lian Po, will gladly lend you my strength.”
Several days had passed since my conversation with Lian Po, yet everything around me remained quiet. It seemed my evaluation had passed muster. Had it not, Lian Po would have already come to seize me, declaring that he would keep his word.
I set my moderate concerns about him aside and decided to truly enjoy the royal treatment I was being given. Even without the merchant guild’s funds, the state of Zhao provided me with a stipend for maintaining my dignity, and—though still restricted to the interior of Handan—I was granted personal freedom. Restrictions on me had already begun to loosen before the war, but now everything was permitted so long as I did not leave the city itself.
I had heard that Lord Geumsin, who felt indebted to me, and Feng Qi, who was acquainted with me, had pushed hard for Zhao to accept the conditions offered by Yan. Since the justification for Yan’s war had been my presence, they had persuaded the King of Zhao that it would be wiser to spend a modest sum to eliminate Yan’s casus belli entirely. If Yan were to provoke another war after this, they would surely face condemnation from the entire world. Unlike Qin, which could afford to make enemies of every state and still crush them alone, Yan lacked the weight to do so. From Zhao’s perspective, the cost of maintaining my dignity was far cheaper than the expense of war. Treating me well was, in effect, an extremely cost-effective method of preventing conflict.
Then let me finally enjoy a truly happy life as a hostage.
I decided to take care of the things I had been putting off. First, I sought out Zheng. I had not been able to spend much time with her lately, and I wanted to change that. Since the residence was not large, finding her was easy. She was curled up in her room, reading one of the books Han Jing had prepared for her.
“Were you studying?”
“Ah, Dan. Yes… I was looking at this.”
Zheng showed me the first bamboo slip of the volume, where the title was written. It read Shen Zi, the work of Shen Buhai—the great Legalist scholar and former chancellor of Han.
“Impressive. I could never manage that on my own.”
Back when we had competed in learning characters with a teacher’s position on the line, I had somehow studied hard enough to win. But since we were only a day apart in age, I had never truly acted as her teacher.
“That feels nostalgic too. I think that was the first time I ever studied so desperately.”
“Were you that unwilling to lose?”
It was rather embarrassing to admit I had fought tooth and nail to beat a girl far younger than myself. Still, if one must engage in such a foolish contest, winning is surely better than losing.
“Well, call it the ugly pride of an elder. After all, I am supposed to be your protector.”
“Protector… yes. That’s right. Dan is my protector.”
Zheng’s voice sounded strangely listless and faint. Even though I had called myself her protector, I had left her alone far too often lately.
I was trying to think of how to cheer her up when she turned her eyes back to the bamboo slips and spoke first.
“Still, don’t try to do everything by yourself. If you need me, Dan, I’ll help with anything.”
Her face remained as expressionless as ever, but from where I stood I could clearly see that the tips of her ears had turned a vivid scarlet. Embarrassed yet stubbornly pretending to focus on her reading—that was Zheng.
Suddenly it occurred to me that her studying Shen Zi might not stem purely from academic curiosity. Perhaps she wanted to become someone capable of helping me. After all, the people I had turned to for aid were extraordinary figures like Lord Xinling and Zou Yan. Maybe she believed she needed to become just as remarkable in order to stand beside me.
The thought filled me with both pride and a faint unease. Was she carrying a sense of debt toward me?
I gently stroked her hair and spoke in a deliberately light tone so she would not take it too seriously.
“What’s this? Are you already worrying about me? Our Zheng is so admirable.”
“H-hmm. As you know, Dan, I was the one who caught Han Hyang last time.”
Zheng shrugged her shoulders, her face brimming with pride.
“But I don’t want you focusing only on helping me.”
“Huh?”
“We aren’t in a relationship built on that kind of repayment, are we? I’d rather you discover what you want to do, Zheng.”
She looked as though she didn’t quite understand. When I was young, I had felt the same way whenever my parents or teachers said such things—it had all sounded like empty clouds. Only now, standing in the position of caretaker, was I beginning to grasp the meaning. Even someone as clever and mature as Zheng for her age would likely feel the same.
Sure enough, she shook her small head, unconvinced.
“I don’t really understand. I just want to help so Dan doesn’t have to struggle alone.”
“Of course, if helping me is truly what you want to do, I won’t stop you. For me, that would be a joyous thing.”
I had never expected her to fully understand from the start. If she had, she would be living her second life like me. Wasn’t it my duty as her protector to walk beside her on the journey of discovering that truth?
Zheng set the bamboo slips she had been holding in order and turned to face me.
“I just thought of something I want to do right now.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Music.”
I play the geomungo while Zheng plays the drum. Mastering an instrument does not happen in a day or two, so Zheng would strike the easy-to-handle drum—much like how young children play the triangle or castanets—and we would perform together. Music can sometimes convey more emotion than words and brings richness to a life that otherwise lacks leisure. Even in the modern era, music holds an enormous place in children’s education. I had heard that in the West, schools required every student to learn at least one instrument. Its educational value had long been proven.
Nor was that all. Music played a vital role in psychotherapy as well. For Zheng, I could think of no better form of education.
It seems all those times I played for her so she could develop a taste for music have borne fruit.
Zheng and I moved to the room containing the geomungo and the earthenware drum and began to play together. Neither of us possessed exceptional skill, but that did not matter. What mattered was simply doing something together.
We were deeply absorbed in the music when someone outside the door cautiously announced a visitor.
“I’m sorry, but we’re busy at the moment. Please ask them to come another time.”
“However, the gentleman insisted that I at least convey his name.”
“His name? Who is it?”
I asked while soothing Zheng, who was pouting now that our performance had been interrupted. The servant replied.
“He said his name is Li Mu, from the north.”
“…What?”