Chapter 87

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The old man caught sight of Qi Wuhuo, and Qi Wuhuo cupped his hands in a slight salute. The old man released the child’s arm and smiled, saying: “So it was you, little friend! Haha, I never expected that after parting a few days ago, we would meet again here. It seems we are truly fated.”

“Come, come, if you have some free time, how about playing a round of chess with this old man?”

The child looked up and said: “Eh? You’re not playing with me anymore?”

“Then… what about my candied hawthorn?”

The old man patted the child’s head and burst into hearty laughter. Then, he reached his right hand into the sleeve of his left robe, took out three large coins, bent down, and handed them to the child with a smile. “Of course, I wouldn’t forget about you. Here, go buy yourself a big one!”

“Alright!”

The child ran off happily.

The old man invited Qi Wuhuo over.

The young Daoist sat down and helped the old man gather the scattered chess pieces on the board. These water-polished stones seemed to be quite old. He picked them up one by one and placed them into the two containers at the sides. The old man chuckled and said: “I’ve been idle at home with nothing to do, so I simply came out to find someone to play chess with. But since the New Year festivities are approaching, everyone is busy. Aside from the children, there’s hardly anyone who has the time to sit with me for an hour.”

“Spending time playing with children can be quite a joyful thing.”

“Haha, I must have made a fool of myself before you, little Daoist.”

The old man placed the last black stone into its container. Both the chess stones and the containers carried an air of antiquity—whether in shape or design, they differed from those of the present day. He seemed to treasure them, gently stroking the Go stones with his palm before smiling and saying: “The last time we met at the teahouse, I set up a partial game on the table. Later, I found that someone had solved it. That final move, it was you, wasn’t it, little Daoist?”

“That day, after returning home, I studied that move carefully and found it to be truly marvelous.”

“My heart itched with curiosity, and I had long hoped to meet you again. Come, come.”

“Let us have a proper game today and see how it plays out.”

The young Daoist picked up a chess piece and, taking the white side, made the first move. He said: “My skill in Go is ordinary. The move I played before was one I had seen someone study the remaining part of the game in the past, so I remembered it.”

“I may disappoint you, Elder.”

The old man stroked his beard and chuckled. “Then let us follow that same partial game and play it out.”

And so, beneath the ancient tree, the two began their match, following the well-known sequence of moves from that historic Go puzzle. The crisp clack of stones landing on the board echoed in the air, bringing a sense of quiet serenity. Before long, the board was set up according to the recorded game, and they began playing in earnest. However, the young Daoist relied on his memory of both the puzzle and its solution—something he had glimpsed once in his Yellow Millet Dream. He played smoothly. The old man, on the other hand, moved much more slowly.

With White playing first, the advantage was significant.

Before long, the old man held a piece in his fingers, hesitating for a long time without placing it. At last, he let out a deep sigh and said: “The board has already formed a [Trapped Dragon] position. My great dragon is completely surrounded. No matter how I continue, I am merely wasting time.”

I won’t play this round anymore. Not anymore.”

“Let’s start anew.”

“Of course, I won’t shortchange you.”

“Since I have set up this challenge, I won’t go back on my word.”

He placed the stones back into the container, then gestured for the young Daoist to retrieve his white pieces as well, restoring the board to its original puzzle state. The young Daoist quietly waited as the old man contemplated his next moves. Yet, an ancient puzzle remains an ancient puzzle—no matter how many times it is replayed. With Qi Wuhuo taking White and playing first, he held an overwhelming advantage, like the sky pressing down upon the board itself.

With the knowledge gained from his Yellow Millet Dream, Qi Wuhuo recalled the various analyses and solutions to the puzzle.

The old man struggled several times, yet he could not avoid falling into the [Trapped Dragon] position once more.

“Hiss…”

“This shouldn’t be, this shouldn’t be.”

Though surprised, he also felt a rare sense of joy at meeting a worthy opponent. He said: “Let’s play another round.”

Immediately, he began pondering the board once more, resetting the game back to its original state while smiling and inviting Qi Wuhuo to place his pieces. The young Daoist picked up a white stone and noticed that the old man was entirely focused on the game. He was constantly considering different variations, searching for ways to break free from the trap. Qi Wuhuo commented: “Elder, you truly enjoy playing Go.”

The old man gave a gentle smile. “Indeed. I learned when I was young, and I’ve been playing ever since.”

“Though my talent is ordinary, I still love the game.”

“Speaking of which, little Daoist, your cultivation seems much more stable now.”

“Mm, I have gained some slight insights.”

“Haha, you are too modest. The stability of your Primordial Qi is not something that comes from just ‘slight insights’.”

As they played, their conversation continued.

The old man stroked his beard and said with a smile: “However, in cultivation, one must avoid focusing solely on a single aspect without venturing out into the world. When I was at my ancestral home in the Eastern Sea, the elders once told me—[Once the Dao is established, one must broaden their knowledge of astronomy, geography, and human affairs, drawing upon a variety of experiences]. And through this, one comes to see that all things exist within the Dao, each with its own unique essence.”

“[In moments of reflection and realization, one should humble oneself. At times, one may also sit in quietude and play the qin, nurturing one’s true nature].”

“[Thus, the fierce and turbulent Qi within may be refined, transforming into a state of gentle harmony].”

Qi Wuhuo picked up a chess piece, lost in thought. “Sit in quietude and play the qin, nurturing one’s true nature.”

Recalling the sensations he had experienced while playing the qin, he murmured: “So that is the meaning.”

“I have learned much from your guidance.”

The old man stroked his beard and laughed heartily. “Then, could you hold back a little while playing?”

The young Daoist placed a piece on the board, thought for a moment, and said: “If I held back, wouldn’t that make you unhappy?”

Hearing this, the old man laughed even louder.

And then he suffered a crushing defeat.

His laughter turned into a coughing fit.

Shaking his head helplessly, he picked up the pieces and reset the board. Qi Wuhuo then asked,

“Elder, was Go the method you chose back then to dispel the restless Qi in your heart?”

The old man smiled. “I dabbled in qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting.”

“It’s just that, back then, the one who played the qin was a meticulous old gentleman, while the chess attendant at the Chess Pavilion was a very beautiful young lady.”

“In my youth, I was brash and reckless. Though I was most skilled in painting, able to capture the grand sweep of history with my brush, I couldn’t accept that the young lady wouldn’t even spare me a glance. So I stubbornly insisted on pestering her.”

He tapped a chess piece against the board, the crisp sound echoing softly, filling the air with a quiet serenity.

“In summer, when she studied chess, she wore a light blue hunting robe. I would sit in the tree and watch her. In spring, I would drag her out for an outing. No matter how terrible I was at chess, I insisted on playing with her.”

“I still remember—one night, we played until it was late. She wore a red silk cloak, quietly gazing at the remnants of an old chess game. Outside the window, snow was falling. Heaven and earth were silent. The only sound was that of the chess pieces landing on the board, the flickering candle casting shifting shadows, as bits of wax dripped down.”

His voice was gentle as he placed another piece.

The young Daoist thought for a moment and asked: “Was she your wife?”

Despite his age, the old man seemed somewhat embarrassed. “Yes…”

Qi Wuhuo understood and asked: “Are you trying to solve this unfinished game so that you can go back and play with her?”

The old man lowered his gaze and smiled warmly. “No.”

“She has already passed away.”

The young Daoist’s hand faltered, caught off guard, momentarily unsure of what to say.

The old man spoke gently, “There is no need to feel sorrow. Matters of life and death are something we cultivators will inevitably face. Even among those who cultivate, there are differences in realms, let alone for someone who was not a cultivator. There are elixirs that can extend life, but the soul and spirit each have their limits.”

“These things will inevitably come to pass…”

“So, consider this just the ramblings of an old man.”

“If you worry that you may one day face something similar, little Daoist, why not plant a tree now?”

“A tree?”

“Um.”

The old man lifted his gaze and said: “When you’re young, you plant a tree. As time passes and old friends gradually fade away, this tree will continue to grow taller and stronger. Like the years you’ve lived through, it will stand as a marker, a record. Following your memories, you might still see those you’ve lost within them. Perhaps you don’t think much of it now, or maybe you will never have the same sentiments as I do in the future.”

“But just take it as an idle musing from an old man and some of my insights.”

“We come into this world, and in the end, we must leave something behind.”

“To walk through the mortal world without a single leaf clinging to you is one path; but leaving behind traces is also a choice.”

“This tree is the path I have walked.”

“When I see it, I see myself.”

“And so, my heart remains steadfast.”

The young Daoist mulled over these words, recognizing them as the old man’s realization from his long journey through life. The wind stirred, and as he lifted his head, he saw behind the elder a towering, ancient tree—lush and strong. From any high vantage point in the city, this tree could be seen standing proudly. As the wind passed through, its leaves rustled, and the old man’s graying hair, hanging at his temples, was lightly tousled. Yet, his presence remained calm, vast as the ages.

To see this tree was to see the cultivation of his life.

Qi Wuhuo pondered deeply.

At his waist, a small tree branch happened to be tucked diagonally.

Suddenly, the old man said: “I’ve lost again.”

He placed his piece down.

The [Trapped Dragon Formation] was complete.

With just a few more moves, his great dragon would be slain.

Qi Wuhuo said gently: “That is only because I once read a fragment of this game record. Let me write down that incomplete record for you.”

He recited the variations he had memorized, and the old man listened intently. From time to time, he clapped his hands in admiration and said,

“So this is the way to resolve it!”

“Hah, truly exquisite!” The old man chuckled. “Let me think it over. Next time, when we play this game again, I surely won’t lose. Today, I lost more than ten times in a row and even received a new chess manual, but I didn’t bring enough money with me. If you don’t mind, take this instead…” He reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out an item, handing it to the young Daoist.

“I can see that your foundation is solid, but you haven’t yet learned the techniques of mist and clouds.”

“This is something I created, merging the principles of chess with cloud techniques. Practicing it will grant you a divine ability and help your Primordial Qi rise.”

The young Daoist was surprised. “This is too valuable.”

The old man shook his head with a gentle smile. “If you could decipher this incomplete record, I should be the one thanking you.”

“She would have liked this as well…”

The young Daoist accepted the old man’s manuscript.

After a moment’s thought, he clasped his hands in salute.

“This Daoist is Qi Wuhuo.”

The old man stroked his beard and smiled. “I am Ao Liu.”

“When I fully grasp it, let’s play another game.”

After agreeing, the young Daoist took his leave. The mortal world bustled as people came and went, flowing like water. The child who had received three large copper coins earlier had already bought a candied hawthorn stick and was running home. When his family asked where he got the money, he answered: “I played chess with an old man under that big tree.”

The elder in the family chuckled. “That old tree, huh?”

“Come to think of it, there’s always someone there.”

“When I was young, I once played a game of chess there with an old gentleman. I lost, but I also walked away with three large coins…”

“Ah? Hey, hey, Grandpa, you saw him too?”

“Yes. And what else did you see today?”

“I saw a Daoist elder brother playing chess with the old man!”

The grandfather teased his grandson, smiling. “Maybe someday, you’ll tell your own grandchildren the same story.”

“Fifty years ago, a young Daoist played chess beneath the old tree.”

“The chess pieces struck the fallen leaves upon the board.”

The child’s face was filled with imagination, drawing laughter from those around him. The flickering candlelight cast warmth through the windows, illuminating the night. One by one, the city’s lanterns were lit, glowing softly in the dusk. Beneath the ancient tree, the old man continued studying the chessboard. Lifting his head, he gazed at the Zhongzhou Prefecture city. At night, it remained as bustling as in days past, always reminding him of that young girl from long ago—dressed in white, her gaze calm and distant, rarely smiling.

And yet, after all these years, he had never again seen a flower as beautiful as the reflection in that young girl’s eyes.

The old man placed his chess piece down, his smile gentle yet tinged with loneliness.

“Ah, how wonderful…”

“I’m close to unraveling this chess game.”

“I met an interesting child—his talent and comprehension are both extraordinary.”

“A young little Daoist. Back then, when we first met, weren’t we also at that same age?”

“When I encountered you all those years ago, I wonder who he will meet in his own journey? And a hundred years from now, when his hair turns white, playing chess and observing the mortal world, what kind of youth will he see? What kind of people will he meet? That’s why, the mortal world is truly fascinating. No matter what, I can’t bear to leave it.”

He tidied up the chessboard and walked, step by step, toward the stone bridge. The flowing river reflected the lanterns’ glow. Someone was setting flower lanterns afloat, and the lotus lights drifted gently along the water. The old man watched the scene warmly, and in the end, he only shook his head, lowered his gaze, and smiled softly. Step by step, he walked into the crowd, murmuring under his breath:

“A bend in the clear river, a thousand willows dance,

Five hundred years have passed, yet the old bridge remains.

Once, on this bridge, I bid farewell to my beloved—

Yet no word has come, only longing that lasts…”

He stepped into the mortal world, like a drop of water merging into the great river, vanishing without a trace.

PS:

According to ancient Go rules, one who plays White moves first.

The poem is adapted from Liu Yuxi’s [Willow Branches]. The original timeline in the poem was twenty years, but I have altered it.
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