Three years later.
Fengdu Hell.
Ksitigarbha and Emperor Fengdu were sitting in his hall playing a game of chess. The board suddenly shook, yet their expressions remained unchanged as they continued to focus on the game.
"How many years has it been?" Emperor Fengdu, holding a black piece between his fingers, asked nonchalantly while making a move. Suddenly, he realized something was amiss; he had made the wrong move.
Ksitigarbha toyed with a white piece in his hand and coughed, "A move once played cannot be taken back. As a great emperor, have some dignity."
Emperor Fengdu awkwardly pulled back his hand, a sharp look in his eyes; in these years, his eyesight hadn't failed him from being too angry, but truly enough, he had gained a couple more wrinkles, a frown line on his forehead that made children say he looked fierce, diminishing his handsomeness.
Who else to blame, if not that ancestor?
"Three years," Ksitigarbha answered the emperor's question while placing a piece.
