Songshan Temple.
Under a five-hundred-year-old apricot tree, there is a stone table, a chessboard, a censer of incense, two cups of tea, and two people sitting cross-legged on the ground.
"I lost again."
A man dressed in simple blue robes, with an exceptionally refined demeanor, looked at the chessboard with some regret as he withdrew his hand. He looked at the youthful monk with a clean and handsome face sitting across from him and sighed, "Master Jinghui's chess skills are exquisite, Yunzhi is far from matching them."
If outsiders were present, they would surely be astonished to see such a scene, where the mighty Prime Minister of a country addresses a monk of an age that could be his son as an equal, and with particular respect.
