Outside Bianliang City, Wuchen Mountain, lush and verdant, looked even more beautiful against the backdrop of the sunset.
On Wuchen Mountain stood the Wuchen Monastery, which housed a large stone known as the Wuchen Stone, about fifteen meters in diameter, standing at a slant in the monastery's back yard like an ancient turtle that had never moved.
The stone was named Wuchen, which didn't mean that dust wouldn't settle on it; at least the robe of Gong Lao, who wore white, was full of gray and blue—the gray was from the dust, and the blue was from the moss.
Sitting opposite Gong Lao was a black-robed monk, who had no hair or beard, not even eyebrows—not because he shaved them, but because they had all fallen out.
They had fallen out from old age.
Between the two of them was a small table, on which stood a chessboard flanked by one black and one white chess box; the white-robed Gong Lao held the black pieces, and the monk in black held the white pieces.