The wind and rain were bleak, lightning flashed and thunder roared, and the cloud-choked sky was a pitch-black expanse that filled the heart with unease.
Meng Zhao and Duan Hong sat across from each other at the chess table beside the hanging stove, one holding black stones, the other white. Clack, clack, clack—their pieces fell like rain striking the earth.
The fire beside them burned brightly, its surging heat baking the damp chill from the room and leaving it warm and comfortable.
In another corner of the room, Yan Congke reclined against a high-backed chair. He held a sword in one hand and a roll of silk in the other. After dabbing it with specially prepared maintenance oil, he gently wiped the blade, every movement precise and serious.
It was already noon of the following day. Last night's moonless, starless sky had indeed turned into today's torrential downpour.
After lunch, the three of them had waited in this room. Though no news had arrived, that was, in truth, the best possible news.
With a creak, the door was pushed open from outside, bringing a gust of wind and drifting rain into the room. The whole place went from cozy warmth to a much chillier gloom.
Ning Baihe wore a rain cape and a bamboo hat. He turned around to shut the door tightly, then removed the hat from his head and the cape from his body.
Taking the towel Yan Congke handed him, he lightly dried himself off and said with a smile, "It seems the three of you truly had everything under control. To have such refined leisure as to play chess indoors while wind and rain raged outside."
Meng Zhao pinched a white stone between two fingers and gently placed it in one corner of the board. Smiling,