144 Playing Chess

I must admit that Lu Zhi is entirely worthy of his reputation as a great scholar of the reigning dynasty. His erudition is so vast that even Luan Yi, a man hailing from the future, can scarcely see his back. He knows everything from astronomy to geography, can recite the classics and histories backward, and applies military strategy and tactical maneuvers with effortless ease. Luan Yi learned a great deal from him.

Lu Zhi clearly enjoyed conversing with Luan Yi as well. The reason was simple: although the young man before him did not pepper his speech with classical allusions as Lu Zhi did, his words were grounded and plainspoken, brimming with thought-provoking principles. From time to time, Luan Yi would utter astonishing insights, introducing perspectives Lu Zhi had never previously imagined. At first glance, these notions seemed somewhat heterodox, but upon closer contemplation, every single word proved to be a pearl of wisdom, embodying the core essence of the natural cycles of the cosmos. They bore a striking resemblance to the theories outlined in *The Wealth of Nations* authored by Luan Yi.

For instance, Luan Yi recounted a theory he had derived from playing the game of go, which he called game theory. A classic paradigm within this theory went as follows: bailiffs arrest two criminal suspects, A and B, but lack sufficient evidence to convict either of them. Consequently, the bailiffs imprison the suspects separately, meet with each of them individually, and present both with the identical choices: If one confesses and testifies against the other while the accomplice remains silent, the confessor is immediately released, whereas the silent one is sentenced to ten years in prison. If both remain silent, each is sentenced to one year in prison. If both mutually accuse one another, each is sentenced to eight years in prison.

Luan Yi termed this paradigm the Prisoner's Dilemma.

In this paradigm, Luan Yi first made the assumption that the two prisoners were the natural individuals mentioned in *The Wealth of Nations*, ordinary people driven by self-interested thinking—meaning they both sought to maximize their own personal interests without caring about the interests of the other participant. If the outcome yielded by a participant's chosen strategy was inferior to other strategies under any conceivable circumstances, that strategy was termed a "strict disadvantage," and a rational participant would never choose it. Furthermore, no external force interfered with individual decision-making, allowing the participants to select their strategies entirely according to their own volition.

Which strategy should a prisoner ultimately choose in order to minimize their individual prison sentence? Because the two prisoners were isolated in confinement, they did not know the other's choice; and even if they could converse, they still might not fully trust that the other would not break their word. From the perspective of individual rational choice, the prison term obtained by confessing and betraying the other was always lower than remaining silent. Let us imagine how two rational prisoners in this dilemma would make their choice:

If the other remains silent, betrayal will secure my release, so I will choose betrayal.
If the other betrays and accuses me, I must also accuse the other to secure a lighter sentence, so I will likewise choose betrayal.

The two faced the exact same circumstances, so their rational deliberations would lead to the identical conclusion—choosing betrayal. Betrayal was the dominant strategy between the two choices. Therefore, the only possible common ground reached in this game was that both participants betrayed each other, resulting in both serving eight-year prison terms.

Luan Yi’s explanation of game theory and the Prisoner's Dilemma left Lu Zhi dumbfounded, rendered speechless for a long while. After pondering the content for a good while, he felt increasingly that it made profound sense, and he urged Luan Yi to elaborate further.

Alas, Luan Yi’s past-life research into mathematics had not been deep, and his understanding of game theory was merely superficial. He could only state that his study of game theory was still in its initial stages and he had little more to teach Lu Zhi.

Lu Zhi appeared slightly disappointed before immediately growing relaxed. Just how old was Luan Yi? Merely seventeen years old. To possess such understanding at his age was absolute world-class rarity. Upon this realization, Lu Zhi’s eyes suddenly brightened. "To achieve such accomplishments at a young age? What will he be capable of when he reaches thirty?"

From then on, the interactions between Lu Zhi and Luan Yi grew increasingly intimate, though for the most part, Lu Zhi did the talking and Luan Yi did the listening.

Luan Yi vaguely felt that Lu Zhi intended to impart everything he had learned throughout his life without reservation, but alas, having already become a student of Cai Yong, he could no longer take Lu Zhi as his master.

Lu Zhi cared little for this formality. Even without the bond of master and disciple, he continued to instill his lifelong learning into Luan Yi day after day. Listening all day long left Luan Yi dizzy and disoriented, inevitably recalling his days studying at Yingchuan Academy.

There always comes a time when words are exhausted. Soon, Lu Zhi realized that he no longer had much left to teach Luan Yi, and their daily lessons gradually dwindled.

Consequently, boring moments multiplied, and the days dragged on slower than the last. Yet the verbal instructions transmitted by Wang Yun indicated that Emperor Ling still had no intention of trying Luan Yi.

Having no other alternative, Luan Yi had to find ways to kill time. He had the jailer prepare a go board so he could play matches against Lu Zhi.

Yet that old codger Lu Zhi was truly formidable at go, and he showed not an ounce of leniency toward his junior. After playing dozens of consecutive games, every single one ended in a miserable defeat for Luan Yi.

Winning was one thing, but Lu Zhi always wore a smug, gloating expression afterward.

Luan Yi grew furious, pondering how to avenge this year-long humiliation. After pondering for an entire night, he hatched a plot. He sketched a draft overnight, handed it to the jailer, and ordered him to have someone manufacture the items according to the diagram as quickly as possible.

Before half a day had passed, a set of Chinese chess pieces, still exuding the scent of fresh lacquer, was placed between Luan Yi and Lu Zhi.

As a completely novel invention in the Han Dynasty, Lu Zhi naturally did not know how to play. After inquiring about the specific rules, he immediately recognized the profound military strategies embedded within the game and burst into high praise for Luan Yi. "Ziqi is truly exceptionally clever to have thought of such a marvelous creation! Come, let us play a game first."

Luan Yi nodded with a sly grin. In the first game, just as Lu Zhi had learned that the horse moves in an 'L' shape and the elephant moves diagonally but was still clumsy at playing, he was reduced to a commander with no troops by Luan Yi. Luan Yi was overjoyed.

In the second game, Lu Zhi’s position was slightly better, only to be torn to shreds by Luan Yi’s cannon-behind-horse tactic.

As for the third game... it was best not to mention the third game at all.

"Check!" Lu Zhi stroked his beard and laughed aloud. "This old man has won again!"

Luan Yi slumped his shoulders in dejection, his hair bun thoroughly disheveled from him scratching his head in frustration. "This game is impossible to play!" He angrily flopped back onto his bed and pulled the blanket over his head, refusing to get up.

Lu Zhi said nothing more, returning of his own accord to the table to sip tea while leisurely reading a scroll of books.

For a very long time thereafter, Luan Yi deeply regretted not playing a few more games of chess with Lu Zhi that day. As for the reason... Lu Zhi had departed.

Following Lu Zhi's imprisonment, the imperial court appointed Dong Zhuo, the Inspector of Bingzhou and Administrator of Hedong, as the Eastern Major General to replace Lu Zhi in suppressing the Yellow Turban Rebellion in Jizhou. Yet Dong Zhuo, whose career had hitherto been on an unhindered upward trajectory, encountered a stroke of bad luck and suffered defeat after defeat in consecutive battles.

Ironically, one of those major routs was intimately tied to Wei Ning. After assuming the post of Valiant Cavalry Colonel, this fellow had escorted a shipment of provisions and rations when marching north. Because he understood nothing of military affairs and had no idea how to arrange a marching route, coupled with his pampered upbringing that left him unaccustomed to the hardships of long-distance travel, he dawdled along the way and repeatedly missed walled cities where they could rest and forage. This forced the imperial soldiers to brave the wind and dew day after day, drawing endless complaints.

One day, as usual, the grand army failed to reach the next county town before nightfall and was forced to pitch camp in the wilderness. Coincidentally, a small river flowed by, so Wei Ning ordered his officers and men to set up camp along the riverbank, claiming that being close to the river made fetching water convenient and allowed the soldiers to wash themselves. The accompanying deputy officer stepped forward to dissuade him, warning that pitching tents along a riverbank was a major military taboo—if attacked in the dead of night, there would be nowhere to retreat.

Yet no matter how he was urged, Wei Ning stubbornly refused to listen.

Consequently, that very night, a band of mountain bandits launched a surprise raid under the cover of darkness. The imperial troops were caught unprepared, and their tents were lined up in a single row along the riverbank with no tactical organization whatsoever. They were utterly routed by the bandits, suffering countless casualties, while the provisions and rations were completely plundered. Fortunately, Wei Ning possessed decent swimming skills; by diving into the water, he managed to escape with his life.

Pity poor Wei Ning. He had not laid eyes on a single rebel, yet he ended up with his entire army annihilated. Fleeing to Hebei, Dong Zhuo was instantly driven to distraction the moment he heard the provisions were gone. What did warfare rely upon? It hinged entirely on provisions and rations. Now, they were all gone!

Dong Zhuo was already furious about suffering defeats, and the loss of provisions made him so angry his eyes bulged and his beard bristled. If not for the fact that Wei Ning relied on being a member of the Hedong Wei clan, and that Dong Zhuo concurrently held the post of Hedong Administrator and thus shared some connections with the Wei family, he would have long since dragged Wei Ning out and hacked him into eight pieces.

Still, capital punishment could be avoided, but the punishment for his crime could not be escaped. Dong Zhuo slapped Wei Ning right back to the capital with a single motion, attaching a memorial that laid the blame for the military setbacks entirely upon Wei Ning.

The Son of Heaven flew into a rage, bitterly berating Zhang Rang for finding him such a useless piece of work. Had Zhang Rang not claimed Wei Ning was equally adept at civil and military affairs just like Luan Yi? Was this what was called being adept at both civil and military affairs? This was losing soldiers and money alike—a thoroughly wasteful good-for-nothing. Emperor Ling cursed Zhang Rang until the eunuch was trembling so violently from fright that he dared not utter a single word in reply, watching helplessly as Emperor Ling stripped Wei Ning of his rank as Valiant Cavalry Colonel. If not for the fact that Luan Yi’s case still required Wei Ning to confront him in court, he would have long since been dragged out and beheaded.

Although Dong Zhuo shifted all the blame onto Wei Ning, he himself did not come out smelling like a rose. In April, Emperor Ling ordered Huangfu Song, the Left Major General, to proceed to Jizhou and replace Dong Zhuo in suppressing the Yellow Turban rebels. Huangfu Song lived up to expectations, beheading Zhang Liang along with over thirty thousand men, drowning more than fifty thousand others when they fled to the river dikes, burning over thirty thousand wagons and baggage carts, and capturing a vast number of prisoners. As for Zhang Jiao, his coffin was smashed and his corpse mutilated, and his head was transported back to the capital. That same month, Huangfu Song and Guo Dian, the Administrator of Jululu, attacked Xiaoquyang, successfully executing Zhang Bao and capturing over one hundred thousand people. The Yellow Turban Rebellion was thoroughly quelled, and they returned in triumphant victory.

Upon returning to Luoyang, Huangfu Song submitted a memorial to Liu Hong, attributing the credit for pacifying the Yellow Turban Rebellion in Jizhou to Lu Zhi, while simultaneously praising Luan Yi’s merits to Emperor Ling and earnestly petitioning for Luan Yi to be released without punishment.

As a result, Emperor Ling permitted Lu Zhi to be reinstated to his original post as Imperial Secretary. Yet regarding the matter of Luan Yi, the emperor made no stance whatsoever—neither mentioning his release nor ordering a trial.

Clearly, the emperor had not yet made up his mind on this matter, remaining wary of the Holy Mother Cult while simultaneously reluctant to lose a talent like Luan Yi.

Lu Zhi walked out of prison. As he stepped out, he glanced back at Luan Yi and softly said, "When you come out, we will play chess again—Chinese chess."

For some reason, even though Lu Zhi’s expression remained blank and solemn, upon hearing these words, Luan Yi suddenly felt a stinging sensation in his eyes and a strong urge to cry. He offered a slight cupped-hand salute as a farewell gesture, then turned his head away, pretending to stand on tiptoe to gaze at the scenery outside the window. He did not turn back to look at that tall, retreating figure until the sound of Lu Zhi’s footsteps faded far away and vanished completely.

"To be able to make such a friend in a place like this is truly wonderful!"

While Lu Zhi was still here, Luan Yi had not felt much of it. At times, Luan Yi had even faintly felt that the old man was quite annoying—at least his refusal to let anyone win at chess was deeply irritating. Yet now that Lu Zhi had gone and he was left all alone in the great cell, Luan Yi finally felt that the days spent in the company of the old fellow had been far more interesting. At least there had been someone to keep him company by speaking, drinking, chatting, and playing chess. Unlike now: 'Four walls enclose the space, in the middle sits a lad. What brings the lad to this place? Just counting the walls around him.'

Bored out of his mind with nothing to do, Luan Yi looked for trouble to pass the time, organizing the knowledge Lu Zhi had taught him over the previous period into notes in preparation for slowly digesting them.