That fellow was very strange—he set out on the road for no apparent reason, and when he arrived at the village, he discovered that, due to the heavy rains that year, all the melon farmers there had suffered reduced harvests and simply couldn’t pay their land rent. Even if they tried to collect, it would have been impossible, so he waived their dues for that year. On his way back along the mountain road, he encountered bandits. All the money on him was stolen, but, strangely, they didn’t harm him, nor did they search his trunk—they just ran off.

Later, not long after he returned to the incense hall, the bandit was caught, and it turned out to be a melon farmer from the village. As it happened, that year the melons had all been ruined by the rain, and the farmer, with nowhere else to turn, had become an outlaw. But when he saw that the person he was robbing was the accountant who had waived his dues, he couldn’t bring himself to kill him to silence him. Fearing he’d be recognized, he just took a bit of money from him and fled in a panic.

If that fellow hadn’t waived the farmer’s dues, he would likely have been killed this time. And if he hadn’t had the incense burner money on him, the silver in his trunk would surely have been stolen.

Afterwards, the fellow asked George King how this was all calculated. George King told him, “The money from selling the incense burner—isn’t that the money for buying the burner? And the money for buying the burner—isn’t that the money for buying the road?” Meaning, this time out, there would be bandits, and what would be taken was the money from selling the incense burner. And as for not having a fortune told, well, ‘not having a fortune told’ sounds like ‘not counting the melons’ (a pun in Chinese). The misfortune you brought upon yourself, you must bear, but the founder took pity on you as a first-time offender and gave you a way out. In the future, you must be careful in how you conduct yourself and not make such foolish mistakes again.”

The fellow was convinced and from then on never dared to go against George King’s advice. The story of what happened quickly spread throughout the city.

Little Sullivan (with an illustration of Mr. Sullivan)

Little Sullivan, Mr. Sullivan, was the only true intellectual among the “Outer Eight Trades,” and had even studied in Japan for a year. The The Sullivan Family family was a model household, unlike all those before; its greatest feature was that it had no distinguishing features. The Sullivan Family was the most balanced of all the families in terms of influence—whether in manpower, methods, or connections, The Sullivan Family was never the most outstanding, but always reliable.

Thus, The Sullivan Family had always been the most stable business among the Nine Gates Commanders. Though not necessarily the most profitable, they never encountered any major trouble. No one sought to cause them problems, and no one asked them for help. Moreover, Mr. Sullivan was a methodical and meticulous person; he would consider every possible outcome before anything happened, and always had a plan in advance. This may be why no one wanted to oppose him.

People like this are usually so unremarkable that no strange tales are ever told about them. If there’s anything worth mentioning, it’s just one amusing anecdote.

Mr. Sullivan was a master strategist and loved playing chess. At that time, there was a chess master in Guangzhou who was invited by a military officer to come to Changsha for a chess match. He played against eight people simultaneously, defeating several of Changsha’s best chess players so thoroughly that they were left in disarray.

At the time, Mr. Sullivan was considered a chess enthusiast. When people talked about this event, they’d say that among those in Changsha who were famous for their chess skills over the past decade, one was Mr. Sullivan, and the other was my second uncle. Mr. Sullivan excelled at setting up unusual situations and was a master at creating traps, while my second uncle was best at resolving difficult positions—in other words, one favored offense, the other was skilled at defense and counterattack.

However, my second uncle and Mr. Sullivan belonged to different eras. When Mr. Sullivan was at his peak, my second uncle had not yet reached his prime, so only Mr. Sullivan could step forward. But Mr. Sullivan didn’t like to appear in public.

In the end, it was decided to hold another one-against-eight chess match, with one of the games being directed by Mr. Sullivan from behind the scenes. The result was astonishing: the master defeated Mr. Sullivan, but lost the other seven games.

Several chess players watched the games from the side and marveled at what they saw. It turned out that the game played by Mr. Sullivan was thrilling but full of flaws. Each time it seemed he was about to lose, he would manage to turn things around, but after reversing the situation, his advantage was never clear, and he was still suppressed by his opponent. The struggle was so close that, in the end, he still lost.

Mr. Sullivan explained to the others, “This is called ‘Minister’s Chess’—a style invented by those with great chess skills who nevertheless have to play against people of much higher status. For example, when playing chess with the emperor, you must lose, but you have to lose with great difficulty, so the emperor feels he won by skill.”

This kind of chess requires great adaptability on the spot, so people have devised many strategies in advance for how to create a deadlocked, hard-fought game.

But these strategies are designed to lose from the start. Others asked him, “Why not just beat him outright and take him down a peg?”

Mr. Sullivan replied, “He fought his way here from Guangdong, winning countless matches, so he must have his own methods. Such people only pick the easy targets. If, among the eight, there’s one whose skill matches his, he’ll avoid that person, win seven and lose one, and still save face—it still shows he’s formidable. The format of this competition is a trap in itself.”

Of course, this person must have real skill—at the very least, an extraordinary memory, because this style of play requires a strong memory and deep familiarity with chess positions; adaptability is secondary. So Mr. Sullivan first used ‘Minister’s Chess,’ deliberately showing weaknesses to lure him in. The opponent would surely think this was the weakest player and attack first to gain an advantage, while the other games would be handled by others. This is the basic approach in one-against-many matches: it’s impossible to attack on all fronts, so some must attack while others defend. In a few games, attention is not evenly distributed.