Savage World, Golden Green City.
An eight-sided pavilion with pointed eaves bore a plaque that read "Moon Brow."
The sky leaked, the moon shone sparse and bright; the land lay remote, and the winds grew mixed of their own accord.
A middle-aged scholar in a long blue robe and a green jade crown gently clenched his fist. Two chess pieces, one black and one white, lay in his palm, grinding together with a creak.
With this Golden Green City Guest Official cultivator's Spark of Thought, strange phenomena erupted within the pavilion, a spectacle of boundless transformations. Yet not a wisp of Heaven and Earth Spiritual Energy leaked beyond it.
First, a string of golden words drifted into view: What is the first sentence? The second? The third?
Before long, those dozen or so words brought a rumble of thunder within the pavilion. The blue brick floor became land, its patterns becoming ripples on water, stirring waves ten thousand zhang high.
What a secret mind-seal transmission of the Buddhist Zen Sect lineage: Would you recognize our school's manner? Thunder cracked in the blue sky, and waves rose upon dry land.
Upon one blue brick resembling the mountains, rivers, and land of a whole continent, wind and waves abruptly stilled. Beneath a clear sky, two monks small as mustard seeds seemed to be climbing high. Master and disciple climbed together. The young monk wore a solemn expression and asked, "Master often teaches others to walk the bird path. But what is the bird path?" The old monk strode with great strides, fleet-footed as if flying, walking across the perilous mountain trail as though on level ground. Hearing this, he smiled and replied with four words, "Not meeting a single person." Along the way, the two monks came upon cliff inscriptions beside the