Chapter 1

Volume 1.

Chapter 1 of the Night: Sonata.

...

2022, Autumn.

A drizzle fell from the gray sky, gently soaking the city streets.

It was autumn, and from time to time, one could see pedestrians without umbrellas hurriedly passing by, shielding their heads with their hands.

In a narrow alley, a teenager of about seventeen or eighteen was sitting under a canopy next to a small convenience store, facing an old man.

The world outside the canopy was gray and dark, the ground soaked to a light black, while only the area under the canopy remained dry, as if it were the last patch of clean land in the world.

In front of them was an old wooden chessboard, and above their heads was the red sign of "Fulai Supermarket."

"Checkmate," the teenager Qingchen said, then stood up, leaving the balding old man sitting there in a daze.

Qingchen looked at the old man calmly and said, "No need to struggle anymore."

"I can still..." the old man said reluctantly, "We've only played thirteen moves..."

In his words, the old man felt somewhat embarrassed about losing so quickly in just thirteen moves.

Qingchen didn't explain anything; the chessboard was already full of threats, and it was the final moment of the game.

The teenager's face was clean, his eyes clear, and he sat there in simple school uniform, as if he had purified the world around him, making it more transparent.

The old man threw the chess piece he was holding onto the board, conceding defeat.

Qingchen walked into the counter of the nearby supermarket without a word, took 20 yuan from the change basket under the counter, and put it in his pocket.

The old man grumbled, looking at Qingchen, "I lose 20 yuan to you every day! I just won 20 yuan from Lao Li and Lao Zhang this morning, and now I've lost it all to you!"

Qingchen put the money in his pocket and then sat back down by the chessboard to review the game: "If they were still willing to play chess with me, I wouldn't have to win money through you. You need face, and I need money; it's a fair and reasonable arrangement."

"You're just taking advantage of me, aren't you?" the old man muttered, "The fortune-teller said I would live to 78, and I'm only 50 now. If I lose 20 yuan to you every day, how much money will I lose?"

"But I'm also teaching you how to play chess to win back your face," Qingchen replied calmly, "So you're not really losing."

The old man grumbled, "But the things you've been teaching me the past two days are useless."

Qingchen looked at him, "Don't say that about yourself."

The old man: "???"

The old man rearranged the chessboard in a bad mood and said impatiently, "Alright, alright, let's review the game."

At that moment, Qingchen suddenly lowered his head.

The time that had just passed seemed to replay in his mind.

The cannon that attacked, the fierce soldiers on the Chu River and Han Boundary, all echoed in his mind.

Not just these.

There was also the uncle who passed by them while playing chess, holding four freshly baked pancakes, the steam from which had formed a layer of white mist in the transparent plastic bag.

A little girl in a white dress walked by with an umbrella, and on the surface of her small leather shoes were two beautiful butterflies.

The rain fell from the sky, sparkling and clear in the alley.

At the end of the alley, a No. 103 bus flashed past the narrow alley entrance, and a woman in a beige windbreaker ran to the bus stop with an umbrella.

The sound of footsteps, the sound of rainwater flowing into the roadside manhole cover, these noisy sounds made the world seem especially quiet.

Qingchen did not forget any of this, though it was difficult to recall.

But difficult does not mean impossible.

This peculiar memory was a talent Qingchen was born with, as if he could casually extract a memory from the river of time and read the scenes from that memory strip.

Qingchen resisted the dizziness in his head and picked up a chess piece from the board.

The old man immediately fell silent, his eyes fixed on the chessboard. Reviewing the game after each match was part of their agreement.

Qingchen was responsible for teaching chess, and the old man would learn after losing money.

This scene was somewhat strange; Qingchen did not show the humility and shyness a young person should have when facing an elder, but rather acted like a teacher.

The old man did not find this odd.

"Red side moves the cannon to 2-5, black side moves the cannon to 8-5, red side moves the horse to 2-3, black side moves the horse to 8-7, red side moves the chariot to 1-1, black side moves the chariot to 9-8..." Qingchen moved the pieces step by step.

The old man did not blink, the opening moves were normal, but he couldn't understand how he suddenly fell into a disadvantage after the sixth move, even though he had taken the other side's horse.

"The essence of the thirteen-move sacrifice is the sixth move, where the chariot sacrifices the horse. This is the key to breaking through the defense," Qingchen said calmly, "I watched the game you played with the old man in Wangcheng Park the day before yesterday. He likes to open with a smooth run, and using the thirteen-move sacrifice on him will work."

The old man fell into deep thought and then asked softly, "Can I really beat him?"

"If you learn the thirteen-move sacrifice I taught you within a week, you can win back your face," Qingchen said, "After all... he's not that good."

The old man's face showed a hint of joy.

But he suddenly asked, "If I can beat him after a week of learning, how long will it take me to beat you?"

Under the canopy, Qingchen thought seriously, "The fortune-teller said you would live to 78... that's not enough time."

The old man's face froze, "If you talk less, I might live to 79... Hey, shouldn't you be in evening study now? Why are you out of school so early today?"

He knew Qingchen was a second-year high school student, and today was Tuesday, so the No. 13 Middle School, two streets away, should be in evening study.

Qingchen thought for a moment and answered, "I'm waiting for someone."

"Waiting for someone?" The old man was taken aback.

Qingchen stood up and looked at the drizzle outside the canopy, his gaze wandering in the rain.

The old man said, "Qingchen, you're so good at chess, why don't you participate in chess competitions? You said you need money, and winning a championship would give you money."

The teenager Qingchen shook his head, "I just have many chess moves memorized, it doesn't mean I'm that good at chess. Memory doesn't equal analytical ability. I can play with you guys, but I would be exposed if I faced a real expert. My path is not here, chess is just temporary."

"Memorized everything..." the old man sighed, "I used to think that having a photographic memory was just a made-up story."

The rain slowly stopped.

At that moment, the old man suddenly noticed that Qingchen had paused. Following the teenager's gaze, he saw a couple walking with a little boy at the end of the alley.

The middle-aged woman was wearing a stylish windbreaker and carrying a cake box tied with a beautiful purple ribbon.

Even the gray world could not hide the joy on their faces. Qingchen turned and left, leaving the old man sitting under the canopy at the entrance of Fulai Supermarket, sighing softly.

The middle-aged woman saw Qingchen's back and called out his name, but Qingchen did not turn around and disappeared at the other end of the alley.

The walls on both sides of the alley were old, with white paint peeling off, revealing patches of red brick.

The person Qingchen was waiting for had arrived, but he no longer wanted to wait.