A special day arrived, but for Daoist Chu it felt less like the finals of a Xiangqi tournament and more like his impending doom.
The Lazy River Pavilion was serene and elegant, its polished wooden floors reflecting the sunlight and its open balconies overlooking a calm, slowly flowing river. The gentle scent of lotus drifted through the air, and elders in fine robes murmured among themselves in anticipation of the final match.
Daoist Chu would have appreciated all of this, if not for the strange sense of dread that had settled in his stomach.
He truly had not expected this outcome. His Xiangqi skills were above average, yes, but not at the level that could topple worldly masters. Yet somehow two of the people in his bracket had forfeited early.
One left the world entirely to accompany their sect juniors. Another claimed spiritual instability and withdrew from the round. A third simply disappeared without explanation.
