Some people say that chess is divided into Taoists, and chess is also divided into Buddhism.

The battle of the chessboard is also a battle of different ideas.

People play chess, chess is like people, hold like a sword, and put like a knife.

The victory and defeat on the chessboard seem to have become a never-ending cycle because of the so-called distinction between Taoism and Buddhism.

The cause of the plate, the effect of this plate.

As long as the players on both sides are still losing.

The cycle of cause and effect is endless.

……

"You're not greedy."

"I don't hate either."

"A good chess player indeed!"

Although Yang Zheng lost the game just now, the old man was full of praise for his chess style.

After all, it has been a long time since the old man has seen such a resilient young man.

Rarely, the old man stopped laughing.

He silently waited for Yang Zheng to set up the chess pieces.

Then, he stretched out two fingers and slowly clasped them on the board.

"You are—" Yang Zheng didn't finish speaking.

The whole chessboard was slowly spinning between the old man's fingers.

"Chess, this is a circle." Old man, he lowered his head and said:

"It's just that some players see the center of the circle, while others see the outside of the circle."

……

Yang Zheng looked at the thirty-two chess pieces that were shaking desperately, watching them struggle to slide to the middle of the chessboard, and then slip back to their original positions weakly from the middle of the chessboard, he seemed to understand the old man's words a little.

In this short moment, he seems to have tasted the joys and sorrows of the world with these chess pieces that left the original trajectory of his life.

When the chessboard stopped, he finally broke free from this strange emotion.

He looked at the sunspot that the old man didn't know when he was holding, and felt his mouth dry again.

He looked at the black man in the old man's hand seriously, and suddenly realized that it was a black cannon.

The black cannon held by the old man also seemed to tell Yang Zheng that no matter what kind of offensive means he used, he could use this small "cannon" to crack it.

The little black cannon was in his shriveled fingers.

It was like a ruler that hit Yang Zheng the shoulder.

……

"There are many ways to move the cannon."

"Column hand cannons, five-seven cannons, phoenix cannons, golden hook cannons..."

"But the best of them is always the headshot, do you know why?"

The old man looked at Yang Zheng and took the initiative to defend with the flying phase game, and the black cannon in his hand smashed into the middle of the chessboard.

That cannon seemed to follow his fall, with a disappointed gaze, staring at the opponent in the previous set.

"It's... Is it because of the high win rate of the first shot? ”

"It's not."

"It's... Is it because the head cannon has momentum? ”

"It's not."

"That's... What is the reason for that? ”

"That's because the head cannon is like the unbreakable arrogance of China for 5,000 years! There will always be a rebirth in the destruction again and again! ”

"Ho... What is Pride? ”

"Probably because he saw injustice, he had the courage to draw a sword to help!"

"Probably because I heard about injustice, and I have the righteousness to find the truth!"

"Probably even more knowing that he is invincible to his opponent, but he has the backbone of never compromising!"

……

Shura put on a shabby robe and went to hell.

He seemed to have forgotten that hell was all mud pits.

He also seemed to have forgotten what he had climbed out of hell for.

In his mind, it was full of the little monk who did not hesitate to give his life to protect the seedlings.

That little monk has feet as dirty as he is, and he has no shoes.

Those feet were covered with dirt and dripping with blood.

The dirt and blood on those feet are perhaps the most sorrowful pain in the world.

The little monk drove away Shura and became a hero in the temple. In the reverent eyes of the returning great monk and the old monk, he changed into cotton shoes and put on a new robe.

The Zen staff in his hand was made of wood, and the wooden Zen staff was cut from the seedling that his master had been desperately guarding by the young monk.

The new statue of the Buddha, also with the efforts of the monks of the temple, was re-erected on the main hall, and the new statue of the Buddha is still shiny.

Under the statue of the Buddha, the monk still eats fasting and recites the Buddha every day, and still speaks about the Buddha.

O pious people, they hope that only in this way will they be able to become statues of the Buddha in front of them after death.

……

The little monk grew into a big monk, and then from a big monk to an old monk.

He seems to be changing all the time, whether it is his appearance or age, even his heart for looking at things is changing.

But he didn't seem to change.

Because the shabby robe on his body is still what he wore when he was a young monk.

His cotton shoes had long since worn out the soles, and the Zen staff in his hand had lost its green shoots.

Feeling that time was short, he said goodbye to his reluctant classmates, wore this shabby robe, and prepared to explore the world.

Maybe it's because he's old, or maybe it's because he only knows that the only thing that stands in his way in this world is death.

Even if his feet were blistered with blood again, even if his feet were covered with mud again, he was still walking with a cane.

The footprints with dirt and blood every step, and the shabby robe, made him a disgusting old beggar in the eyes of others.

But so what?

The soreness in his feet, and the sunlight he could see when he opened his eyes, made him feel like the road was ahead.

He didn't know where he ended.

All he knew was that his way was under his feet.

……

The old monk passed by a temple that was resplendent in gold.

In the temple, there is also a statue of the golden-bodied Buddha he once saw.

The Buddha looked at the old monk and asked, where did he come from and where is he going?

The old monk thought for a while and replied, he came from the earthly world and wanted to return to the earthly world.

The Buddha then asked, "Don't you want to go to the Western Elysium?"

The old monk looked at his feet, and the Zen staff in his hand shook his head, and he said, the Western Elysium is not in the feet, but in the heart.

The Buddha nodded, as if satisfied with the old monk's answer.

He stretched out his hand to touch the old monk's forehead.

The old monk, however, avoided the fingers of the Buddha.

He asked the Buddha a question.

The Buddha said that all beings are equal, so why did the Buddha jump out of the five elements?

The Buddha seemed to be stumped, and his outstretched fingers stiffened in midair.

After a long time, the Buddha finally spoke, because he was a Buddha, not a sentient being.

The old monk laughed out loud when he heard these nine words.

The Zen staff in his hand seemed to have regrown green shoots because of his smile.

The Buddha looked at the laughing old monk, whose palm, which should have been filled with compassion, turned into a fist.

When the fist reappeared on the old monk's head, he actually thought of the Shura he met that year.

This time, he and that time, don't dodge or dodge.

He muttered a sentence of Amitabha.

……

Yang Zheng laughed.

He seemed to have found something from the old man's chess games.

He also seems to have regained the heart that was never timid when he was a chess beginner from the old man's explanation.

"Head shot!" This time, Yang Zheng held the red cannon and took the lead in attacking.

The sound of the chess pieces falling shook the birds on the tree, and the old man on the opposite side finally understood why his poor lifelong friend Lao Huang was so greedy on the chessboard.

Because, all his life, he always thinks about other people's Lao Huang.

Only on the chessboard is to live for yourself!