That night, Zhang the Celestial Master patiently unfolded the profound secrets of Purple Lightning and Azure Thunder. Ou Zhengqing memorized every mantra. At last Zhang handed him a wooden sword. "Your turn."
"Me?" Ou hesitated. "I have no real power—"
"Focus your intent through your meridians," Zhang instructed. "You will feel it."
With eyes closed, Ou centered himself and thrust. A soft sizzle rang along the blade.
Zhang clapped. "Remarkable! Truly gifted. Practice daily for a year and you will achieve a measure of mastery."
"A year?" Ou's eyes widened. "But what if the Chaos Entity escapes before then?"
Zhang chuckled. "Only a total solar eclipse can break the seal—and that lies more than a year away. Besides, we must gather several talismans for the Array. I will send word by flying talisman when all is prepared."
Reassured, Ou bowed and withdrew to his chambers. Exhausted, he soon drifted into dreamless slumber.
He found himself wandering amid emerald hills and crystal streams, beneath drifting clouds and a gentle breeze—a hidden paradise that whispered of forgotten sages. Ahead, under towering pines, a melodic voice called:
"Rusty wood, a stone chamber left unwatched; Wisdom's stratagem, immortal secrets dispatch…"
Ou crept forward and saw an old man with flowing white beard seated upon a natural stone board. Pine nuts scattered before him marked the points of a Go board carved into the rock.
"You there! Can you play?" the hermit beckoned. "A match of divination—shall we begin?"
Startled, Ou knelt. "I am Ou Zhengqing, come for Emei's summit. How may I return from this place?"
The old man stroked his beard. "If you entered, you may depart. Tell me: what intrigues the Emei Sect?"
Ou answered honestly about the conference and the looming threat of the Chaos Entity. The hermit sighed. "Three hundred sixty years of seal cycles approach. I too have long stayed hidden. Will you truly rely on the Pure Yang Array?"
Despite the stranger's knowledge, Ou responded in kind. The hermit's eyes sparkled. "You are candid. Sit—I'll give you three stones as handicap."
They began: Ou with white stones of chipped quartz, the hermit with black pine nuts. Ou fought valiantly but soon found his group under siege. Drawing deeply on memory, he secured two "eyes" and stabilized his position.
The hermit's brow rose. "Alive! Skilled indeed."
Ou grimaced. "Yet I shall lose—unceremoniously so."
"Let the game proceed," the hermit invited.
Both studied the board with equal resolve. Moves and countermoves wove a delicate balance, leading into the endgame. Counting at the finish revealed a perfect draw—each side scoring 180½ points even with the handicap.
Ou bowed. "Thank you, venerable sage."
The hermit chuckled. "No mercy shown—you played superbly."
"Come, let us have tea," the old man offered.
"Tea?" Ou looked around. "There is no dwelling here."
The hermit pointed behind him. "Is there not?"
Ou turned—and there, as if conjured by the ancient chant, stood a humble thatch hut beneath the pines.
With that, Ou Zhengqing felt the dream's allure deepen—and the path he must tread grow ever clearer.