The world is a game of Go.
Some place their stones beneath the eaves of humble cottages, others make their moves in the Golden Hall, while countless more become silent specks of ash on the board.
During the Qianqi era, Emperor Jingwu conquered vast territories with his iron cavalry, occupying every star point and holding the center alone. Yet he never knew that “when yang reaches its peak, it must disperse” was a prophecy his master had planted for him on a stone slab in the mountains. He never understood, even on his deathbed, that the true killing move had never been on the borderlands ablaze with war, but behind him: the emptied granaries, the parched fields, and the silent hearts of the people.
Thirty years later, the emperor’s game ended with his death.
The great general tried to imitate a “brutal assault,” entering the palace in armor to force the young emperor to yield. Instead, he became bait for the dagger hidden in the sleeve of Qin Zhongxian, the powerful chancellor. Moss had long since spread from mountain paths and stone steps to the foot of the dragon throne. In the damp crevices sunlight could not reach, power grew, intertwined, and turned against itself. The bloody banquet in the Golden Hall was merely the opening move in another game of “nourishing yang with yin.”
The price of this game was provinces strewn with the starving dead, borderlands where people ate their own children, and countless names curled into “ko threats” in the corners of history books: generals, strategists, refugees, great clans... Each person gave their flesh and blood to fill the board of their age, until it was soaked in blood and finally crumbled to ash.
Oops, it's so beautiful and the plot is so profound. 😏 (Too lazy to open a trumpet.)