Dimensional Storekeeper - Chapter 230: Billiard Tournament Final Game! 1
Chapter 230: Billiard Tournament Final Game! 1
Their fear wasn’t unfounded. Because after the drop, Elder Bai Qingshui calmly approached the table.
Then bent low.
And aimed for a stripe.
A confused noise bubbled from the crowd.
“Wait, huh? Why stripe?” Hua Feixue’s voice piped up brightly from somewhere near the side.
“Wasn’t solid the obvious pick? Two went in, right? And one stripe only? I would’ve picked solid! Right?”
“Or – wait – am I wrong? Don’t tell me I’m wrong – no, tell me if I’m wrong – what’s happening?”
Lin Yijun, arms crossed, answered without even looking away.
“The old man picked stripes because the layout gives him more options.”
He raised a hand. “The solids are clustered near the top right. Even if he makes the next shot, the cue ball will have no clean way out.”
“Stripes are spread open. Three are near the rails. One’s already close to a side pocket.”
“Choosing stripes lets him map his shots and control the cue ball better.”
Hua Feixue blinked, mouth slowly forming an “O.”
Her hands slowly clapped against her cheeks in exaggerated awe.
“Oooohhh.”
“So that’s why Elder Bai went for stripes!”
“He’s not just shooting balls – he’s reading the table like it’s a secret scroll!”
She leaned forward, gasping. “Wait. Wait.”
“Does this mean I’ve been playing wrong this whole time?!”
Yue Xueyan, seated beside her, shifted her gaze slightly.
A single blink.
A long, still silence as she internally processed her junior sister’s thunderous revelation.
What game has she been playing this entire time?
Has she been relying on fate? Is this divine roulette, or is she genuinely picking based on which one “sparkled nicer”?
She slowly inhaled.
Why does this game suddenly feel harder if she’s been winning rounds?
Elder Bai Qingshui didn’t waste time. f.(r)eewe/bnov\ll.com
Shot after shot fell into place with silent efficiency. His control over the cue ball never faltered. I
It spun, drifted, stopped exactly where it needed to, as if the table itself had given up trying to resist him.
Within minutes, the last stripe dropped into the corner pocket. Then the eight ball, sinking with a quiet thunk, as if it had been waiting for him all along.
Game one – flawless.
No one cheered right away.
There was only stunned silence. A collective moment of realization that the old man wasn’t just good.
He was one step away from taking the entire tournament.
One more game. That was all it would take.
Hao clapped his hands lightly, snapping the crowd out of their trance.
“Alright,” Hao said. “That’s the first game to Elder Bai Qingshui.”
“Let’s gooo!”
“Senior Bai’s gonna win this whole thing, huh?”
“He didn’t even give Bai Chen a turn!”
“Is this… just gonna be a shutout?”
“Man, he might actually pull off back-to-back perfects. That’s terrifying.”
“But seriously, Bai Chen should’ve taken the coin toss chance. What was he thinking?”
“Yeah, he might’ve gotten tails. At least he’d be the one breaking. Even if he lost, he would’ve played.”
Someone else scoffed.
“Come on. That’s hindsight talking. You think Elder Bai wouldn’t have crushed it no matter the side?”
“The break shot changes everything though!”
“Still, Bai Chen stood by his choice. That’s gotta mean something.”
“It might mean he’s gonna lose without even touching the cue ball!”
“Better than accepting pity,” another muttered.
The debates swirled, louder and more chaotic by the second, until Hao raised one hand and cleared his throat.
“Now for the second game.”
The voices died down, though the tension remained thick in the air.
“Now for the second game.”
Hao raised his voice slightly, just enough to carry across the billiard room.
“Since this is a best-of-three setup, and there are no alternating breaks by default, the break remains with the winner of the previous game.”
He flicked his fingers twice. “Which means… yes. Elder Bai will break again.”
Several groans echoed through the room.
“Still Elder Bai?!”
“This might be over in five minutes again…”
Hao offered a helpless shrug. “Blame the rules, not the system.”
“Or better yet, blame the fact that Elder Bai didn’t miss even once.”
The customers grumbled, some half-jokingly accusing the universe of favoritism.
Elder Bai Qingshui, meanwhile, simply stepped back to chalk his cue again.
Calm. Focused. As if the last game hadn’t even happened.
Hao looked at Ji Yunzhi.
At first glance, nothing had changed. He stood in the same spot, expression calm and still. Not a single twitch of frustration, no visible crack of impatience.
But if you knew how to look… really look…
You’d see the truth blooming underneath.
His eyes had never once strayed from Elder Bai Qingshui.
Not even for a second.
From the very first strike to the final clean drop, Ji Yunzhi had been watching him like a starving beast tracking prey. Not out of envy. Not out of helpless awe.
But with a terrifying, bone-deep focus. His gaze didn’t follow the balls. It followed the grip. The angle.
The way Elder Bai shifted his stance between shots. The way the cue leveled just before contact.
The subtle drop in wrist tension. Even the rhythm of the elder’s breathing.
He was devouring every piece of it.
Feeding it into his mind.
Breaking it apart, rearranging it, and fitting it into himself.
Not one cue movement was wasted – not by Elder Bai Qingshui, and not in Ji Yunzhi’s memory.
The kind of observation that didn’t just come from intellect, but from obsession. From hunger.
A twitch escaped his fingers. Just one. Then another. Almost imperceptible.
He was eager.
No – restless.
It wasn’t the itch of frustration. It was the thrum of anticipation. Ji Yunzhi wasn’t giving up. He was sharpening.
His body might have been still, but his soul was pacing.
And those few in the room who had sharp enough senses to truly notice it – the occasional cultivator who glanced his way, the rare perceptive one who could feel the subtle temperature of a presence shifting – they felt their spine stiffen.
Because if that boy ever got the table…
He might not just play well.
He might eclipse it all.
He might burn through his next turn with such frightening speed and brilliance that Elder Bai Qingshui wouldn’t get to finish the third match.
No one said it aloud.
But goosebumps ran quietly along more than a few necks.
This wasn’t just pride. This was something else entirely.
The silence around Ji Yunzhi wasn’t stillness.
It was coiled lightning.
But was that all it would ever be?
That was the question haunting the room now.
No matter how sharp Ji Yunzhi’s eyes were, no matter how thoroughly he devoured every movement from Elder Bai Qingshui, it would all be wasted if he never got the chance to touch the table.
And Elder Bai?
He didn’t look like a man about to share.
The second game had begun. No fanfare. Just the soft click of cue meeting ball.
A single solid fell.
But the result wasn’t beautiful.
The layout it left behind was a mess – an unfortunate scatter that made everyone collectively lean forward.
It wasn’t a misplay. It was just reality. Even the most precise breaks sometimes gave back nothing clean.
There were options. Yes.
But none were ideal.
One possible shot would send the cue ball caroming into a corner, risking a scratch. Another could pocket a ball but push the cue into a cluster, locking up the next shot.
Most players would hesitate. Some would gamble.
Elder Bai Qingshui didn’t.
He leaned in, quiet and methodical, scanning the table not for the easiest shot – but for the smartest one.
And then he found it.
A long bank into the far left corner, the solid eight inches from the rail, half-covered by a striped ball.
If he angled it just right, the collision would send the cue low and to the left – not to score the next shot, but to gently nestle behind a tight cluster near the top pocket.
He struck.
Click. Thunk.
The solid dropped.
And just as predicted, the cue ball didn’t chase it. It danced once across the felt, then rolled lazily… lazily… until it tucked behind the striped barrier like a mouse slipping into a crack in the wall.
A soft gasp ran through the room.
“That was intentional?” someone whispered.
“Not just intentional. Cruel.”
Because now, Ji Yunzhi had the table.
But no real shot.
Not without fouling.
Not without guessing.
It wasn’t just a defensive move. It was a test. A message.
You want your turn?
Prove you deserve it.
Elder Bai Qingshui quietly stepped away from the table.
He didn’t look at Ji Yunzhi. He simply turned, cue resting loosely in hand, and stood to the side, as though there was nothing more to do but wait.
But the energy shifted.
Because Ji Yunzhi walked forward.
And this time, something was different.
A thin grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Wide.
Too wide.
And then –
The drop.
A bead of saliva escaped from the corner of his lips.
He didn’t even wipe it off.
“Oh no.” someone muttered in the crowd.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
