163: Chapter 163 A blind man playing chess relies on his heart, not his eyes.

When a sharp pain exploded in the center of Chen Fan's brow, he was kissing the top of Su Shuang's head.

That silver light was like a red-hot iron skewer, piercing straight from his forehead to the back of his neck.

The Star Dome Palace before his eyes suddenly crumbled into dust. When he opened them again, beneath his feet were billions of floating chessboard squares, each seeping with faint, ghostly wails—strikingly similar to the devoured souls within the Guixu Star Core.

"You've come... Seventh Fire."

A young girl's voice seeped out from the void, carrying a slightly raspy breathiness, like the creaking of an old Teahouse door hinge.

Chen Fan staggered a couple of steps. Su Shuang in his arms was unnaturally light. He looked down and nearly ground his back teeth to pieces—the woman who should have been unconscious was now only a wisp of a translucent remnant soul. Pale blue threads were entangled around the Black General position in the center of the chessboard, flickering as the squares vibrated.

"Her eye is the board's eye." Jing Zitong's voice rang out again. This time, Chen Fan identified the direction—ten steps behind him to the left, in the shadows. "If you lose, her soul will dissipate."

On the white jade platform across the chessboard, an old man in white robes suddenly raised his hand.

Only then did Chen Fan realize that the other party had no pupils; chaotic gray mist swirled within his eye sockets. Seven crystalline chess pieces were slowly flying out from behind his head, each carrying a whistling sound as they pierced the air, finally landing with a "ding" at the very center of the board—the white piece occupied the Tianyuan position.

"Seven Cities Chess Battle, Round One: The loser's consciousness shall be stripped."

The electronic voice of the system announcement pierced his eardrums like an ice pick.

Chen Fan instinctively reached for the hammer of the thunder god at his waist, but his palm only grasped empty air.

He then realized with a shock that the blue flame spark within him was like a drained pool; his mental energy was rapidly seeping away through his fingertips, and even the rehearsals of the Tactical Map were becoming blurred.

"This place doesn't recognize hammers... it only recognizes 'thought'." Jing Zitong's whisper drifted over, mingled with the wails of souls. "Play with your mind, play with your life."

Chen Fan's Adam's apple bobbed.

He stared at the Black General position on the board. Every time Su Shuang's remnant soul flickered, his heart tightened.

Taking a deep breath, he forcibly activated his Critical Strike Spiritual Body—this was his specialty, doubling all possible rewards. Now, he was going to double his tactical deductions.

"Black, Corner Star." He gritted his teeth and announced his move.

The white piece moved.

Yi Xuan didn't even raise his hand; the second piece flew directly out of his head, landing precisely diagonally above the Black Corner Star.

Chen Fan's pupils constricted—this move blocked the expansion route of the Corner Star. The third white piece followed immediately, cutting off a third of the Black General's liberties.

"How can this be..." Beads of sweat broke out on Chen Fan's forehead.

He had clearly used the Critical Strike Spiritual Body to simulate twenty deduction paths, yet Yi Xuan's moves seemed to have foreseen all possibilities in advance. Within three moves, the Black General was surrounded, left with only one liberty.

"Round One: White wins."

Just as the system voice faded, Chen Fan's temples throbbed violently.

He felt as if a fine needle were pricking his sea of consciousness, while Su Shuang's remnant soul dimmed for a moment, as if something had been siphoned away.

"Emotional interference... cleared."

A mechanical chanting suddenly rose from the edge of the chessboard.

Chen Fan turned his head and saw over a dozen kneeling figures—they wore shattered armor, and their eyes were as hollow as dead ashes, repeatedly kowtowing toward the chessboard.

They were Chess Slavess.

The second round began without any buffer.

Chen Fan bit his tongue until it bled, the metallic taste filling his throat—the pain helped him stay conscious.

This time he changed his tactics. The Whispers of the Survivors buzzed in his ears, previewing all possibilities for the next three seconds.

He set up the "Pulse-Severing Double Kill." The seemingly scattered black pieces were actually weaving a strangulation net beneath the chessboard.

But Yi Xuan's reaction was even faster.

Five white pieces flew out of his head simultaneously, their landing points terrifyingly precise. They actually cut off all variables before Chen Fan's killing move could even take shape.

The chanting of the Chess Slavess grew louder. Chen Fan felt cold hands clawing at his consciousness, and cracks began to appear in Su Shuang's remnant soul.

"Round Two: White wins."

Chen Fan's knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed onto the chessboard.

He reached out to support Su Shuang's remnant soul, but his fingertips passed right through the blue light.

The stinging in his sea of consciousness turned into a burning sensation. He could clearly feel his consciousness being stripped away bit by bit—like someone scooping out his brain with a spoon.

By the third round, his eyes were bloodshot.

"life lamp embers, burn for me!" Chen Fan roared, channeling the last bit of his life flame.

This was his trump card, burning his divine sense in exchange for a burst of power.

The black pieces fell like a rainstorm. He intended to forcibly overturn the game, even if the price was ten years of his lifespan.

But Yi Xuan only raised his pupil-less eyes.

Light Erosion square.

Chen Fan watched helplessly as his black pieces were devoured. Twenty percent of his divine sense was sucked into a black hole, the pain causing him to curl into a ball.

Su Shuang's remnant soul was on the verge of dissipating, with only the thinnest thread barely connecting her to the Black General position.

"Round Three: White wins."

The Chess Slavess stood up.

In their hands, they held brushes glowing with an eerie light, their tips dripping with dark green liquid—the Underworld River Brushes, items used to erase consciousness.

Panting heavily, Chen Fan watched the mechanical figures approach when he suddenly heard Jing Zitong scream: "His hand... it shook when he made his move!"

His hand shook?

Chen Fan looked up abruptly.

He recalled the moment Yi Xuan made his move in the third round. When that white piece flew out from his head, there was a 0.1-second delay—as if he were... judging?

The critical hit system suddenly exploded in his sea of consciousness.

[Cognitive Critical Hit Triggered — Opponent's logical gap, information feedback x3]

A triple flow of deductions poured into his mind.

Chen Fan "saw" it—Yi Xuan's layout was entirely composed of absolutely rational optimal solutions. He never anticipated "emotional moves that were not optimal solutions."

Like a precision instrument, it could not tolerate the slightest emotional error.

"So that's what you're afraid of." Chen Fan wiped the sweat from his face and suddenly smiled.

When the notification for the start of the fourth round sounded, Chen Fan did not make his move immediately as he had in the previous rounds.

He stared at the "Ruins" position in the lower-right corner of the board—a dead land with no defense and no profit, marked as "unviable" even on the Tactical Map.

"Black, Ruins."

Yi Xuan's pupil-less eyes finally flickered with emotion.

His brow furrowed slightly as a white piece landed precisely next to the Ruins position, blocking all possible expansion.

But the corners of Chen Fan's mouth curled up. He could clearly feel the Critical Hit Foresight telling him: In 0.8 seconds, the white piece's connection would break.

"Black, Heartfire."

This move landed on the weak point of the white pieces' connection.

The entire chessboard shook violently. Su Shuang's remnant soul suddenly flickered, and that thread of blue light, which had been almost invisible, actually thickened slightly.

On the white jade platform, Yi Xuan raised his hand for the first time, slowly touching his forehead.

Thicker gray mist swirled in his pupil-less eyes, and for the first time, a crack appeared in his voice: "...Why make this move?"

Chen Fan did not answer.

He stared at the "Heartfire" position on the board, his knuckles turning white from the grip.

He knew this was only the beginning.

Next, he would play three "Emotional Dead Points"—positions that seemed meaningless to absolute rationality but could tear open the loopholes in Yi Xuan's logic.

The Chess Slavess' Underworld River Brushes hung suspended in mid-air, and Jing Zitong's breathing suddenly became rapid.

In the void, Chen Fan's shadow stretched long across the chessboard, like a blade about to be unsheathed.

And Su Shuang's remnant soul was brightening bit by bit, synchronized with his heartbeat.