Along the roadside, a row of beautiful garden villas stood.
Shen Mo walked into one of them, opened the wrought iron gate and under a grape tree in the courtyard, a middle-aged man was sitting at a short square table, playing Chinese chess alone.
The chess set was an original item in the villa, made of wood. The lacquer had already faded and the edges were worn smooth and rounded.
Shen Mo sat down at the other end of the table, observing the situation on the chessboard.
It seemed like a game of life and death.
He glanced at his father across the table.
In his memories, his father had never played Chinese chess. His usual pastimes were quite fixed: reading, writing, mountain climbing and golf.
Of course, some of those pastimes are now impossible to enjoy.
