The library was supposed to be silent.
Lu Tao Yan liked it that way.
Silence had always been easier to understand than people. Books did not ask unnecessary questions. They did not stare too long, whisper behind her back, or expect her to explain why she preferred dust-covered shelves over crowded streets. Books waited patiently. Books kept secrets.
And Yan had always been drawn to secrets.
That night, the old university library felt different.
The rain outside tapped against the tall windows like impatient fingers. The lamps above the history section flickered once, then steadied. Yan stood on the third ladder of the eastern archive, one hand holding a stack of damaged records, the other brushing dust from the spine of a book that looked far older than anything around it.
Its cover was black.
Not faded black, but deep, endless black — the kind that seemed to swallow the light around it.
There were no clear words on the front, only traces of gold lettering almost erased by time.
THE GAME OF…
The rest had vanished.
Yan frowned.
She had restored many old books before. Some were torn by age, some eaten by insects, some ruined by careless hands. But this one felt different. The moment her fingers touched the cover, a cold sensation climbed up her arm.
Not painful.
Familiar.
Her heartbeat slowed.
For a moment, the shelves around her blurred. The smell of paper and rain faded, replaced by something metallic. Blood. Smoke. Burnt sandalwood.
Yan pulled her hand back.
The book fell open by itself.
The first page was empty.
Then, as if an invisible brush had dipped itself into ink, words began to appear.
In an age no calendar dared to remember…
Yan should have closed the book.
She should have called the archive manager, reported the strange object, and gone home before midnight like a sensible person.
Instead, she leaned closer.
The ink darkened.
And the library disappeared.
In an age no calendar dared to remember, countless deities gathered in a place hidden from the eyes of all realms.
They had come for one reason.
The destruction of one man.
His name was Bai.
Once, he had been praised as one of the most gifted cultivators beneath heaven. He studied every path with frightening devotion — righteous cultivation, forbidden arts, demonic techniques, soul refinement, and the mysteries of the netherworld.
To most, this made him dangerous.
To heaven, it made him uncontrollable.
Bai had never cared for the labels of good and evil. To him, a path was only a path. What mattered was the heart of the one who walked it.
But the world did not forgive those who stepped beyond its rules.
After an accidental descent into the netherworld, Bai's body began to change. His once-clear spiritual energy became stained with deathly qi. His appearance grew strange and terrifying. His Dao heart, once steady, trembled at the edge of darkness.
His enemies called him filthy.
His followers called him master.
Even when heaven declared him a threat, his disciples did not abandon him. They knelt before him and pledged eternal loyalty.
"Wherever Master goes, we will follow."
Those words became their crime.
By the time heaven noticed the true danger, Bai was no longer someone they could easily suppress. His cultivation had become unfathomable, and fear spread among the divine officials like poison.
So the gods gathered.
Some came because they feared Bai.
Some came because they envied him.
Some came because they wanted justice.
And some came because Bai's destruction would benefit them.
The Authority of Heaven saw through them all.
From his throne above the realms, he watched the so-called righteous deities wrap greed in the language of virtue. He watched those labeled wicked protect the helpless in silence. He watched white pieces darken in the shadows, and black pieces become the only shelter for the weak.
The world he had created had become a chessboard.
And every piece had chosen its place.
The white pieces, meant to represent purity and righteousness, hid corruption beneath holy robes.
The black pieces, condemned as evil, became the hands that reached for the abandoned.
Heaven had given the deities a chance to correct their greed.
They chose rebellion instead.
They defied the prophecy.
They chose power.
And so, they moved against Bai.
His disciples were captured first.
Their cultivation was shattered. Their meridians were destroyed. Their souls were cut from the path of reincarnation.
Then came Bai's realm.
What had once been a land of mountains, rivers, and disciples' laughter became a river of blood. Bodies covered the earth. The innocent were slaughtered beside the guilty. No funeral bells rang. No prayers were offered. No divine mercy descended.
Bai arrived too late.
He stood among the dead with empty eyes.
The gods laughed.
They laughed at his grief. They laughed at his helplessness. They laughed as if destroying everything he loved had proven their righteousness.
Bai said nothing.
One by one, he buried them.
His disciples.
His people.
The elders who had trusted him.
The children who had once chased each other through the training fields.
He carved each memorial tablet himself. He placed each body into the earth with his own hands. By the time the funeral ended, his robes were soaked in mud, blood, and rain.
No one attended.
Only Bai remained.
He stood before the countless tablets, his face calm and his eyes dead, as if his soul had already followed the ones buried beneath the ground.
Then footsteps sounded behind him.
A woman entered the funeral grounds carrying white flowers.
She wore the robes of the netherworld.
The Lady of Hell, Xiuying.
Without a word, she placed the flowers before the memorial tablets and knelt.
Bai watched her.
One day passed.
Then two.
Then three.
She did not move.
Her forehead remained lowered before the dead, and her hands trembled against the blood-soaked earth. She did not ask for forgiveness aloud, but every breath she took sounded like a confession.
At last, Bai spoke.
"Why beg for forgiveness now, Lady of Hell?"
Xiuying opened her eyes.
They were red, not from anger, but from grief.
"If I had not ignored their plea for help before entering seclusion, I might have saved them." Her voice was hoarse. "My ignorance harmed the innocent. My blind trust in those so-called heaven-blessed deities ruined their lives."
Her fingers dug into the soil.
"Other than begging for forgiveness, what else can I do?"
Bai stared at her.
Then he laughed.
The sound was low at first, then louder, colder, emptier. It echoed through the funeral grounds until even the wind seemed afraid to move.
"If your stupidity destroyed their lives," he said, "then what am I?"
Xiuying slowly looked at him.
Bai's smile vanished.
"My existence was the beginning of their destruction."
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then Bai knelt beside her.
The man who had stood unmoving before an army of gods finally lowered his head before the dead. Tears fell from his eyes without restraint, soaking into his bloodstained robes.
The Lady of Hell did not comfort him.
She simply knelt with him.
Together, they mourned the people heaven had abandoned.
When Xiuying opened her eyes again, something inside them had changed.
Not grief.
Resolve.
"Bai," she said, "I want to avenge them."
The air stilled.
For decades, Bai had suppressed the darkness growing inside him. He had chained it, buried it, endured it. But at her words, the last chain broke.
He lifted his head.
The sorrow in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something terrifyingly calm.
"Heaven-blessed deities…" Bai whispered.
A smirk curved his lips.
"So that is their pride. Their shield. Their excuse."
Dark energy rose from his body, swallowing the funeral grounds in a suffocating pressure. The memorial tablets trembled. The sky above them split with thunder.
"Then let them see what happens when the thing they tried to steal from me answers with death."
Far above, the subordinates of heaven panicked.
They turned to their master, the Authority of Heaven, begging for command.
"My lord, please give the order."
"My lord, if this continues—"
"My lord, Bai will destroy them."
The Authority of Heaven watched the mortal and divine realms shift below him.
He did not move.
He did not speak for a long time.
Then he chuckled.
"When I warned you, you ignored me. When I gave the deities a chance to redeem their greed, they chose power. When the innocent cried for help, you closed your eyes."
His voice was calm, but every word pressed down like a mountain.
"Now the seed you planted has taken root. Why should I stop the harvest?"
The heavenly officials turned pale.
Some opened their mouths to explain. Others lowered their heads in fear. Every one of them had a reason. Every one of them had an excuse.
None dared to say it aloud.
The Authority of Heaven rose from his throne.
His aura spread across the realms, ancient and absolute.
"From this moment on," he declared, "I alone will oversee the fate of this world."
The decree fell.
The heavens trembled.
And somewhere beneath the broken sky, Bai and Xiuying made their first move.
Yan gasped.
The library returned all at once.
The rain. The shelves. The flickering lamps. The old book beneath her hands.
Her fingers were trembling.
On the page, one final sentence appeared.
When white becomes corrupt and black becomes salvation, who decides which piece deserves to survive?
Yan stared at the words until the ink slowly faded.
Then the book turned its own page.
A new line appeared.
The Game of Chess has begun.