The Outcast Night Watchman

A fine drizzle fell from the sky.

In Jinnan, at the entrance of a narrow alley.

“Old man, you’ve lost your horse.”

Ye Yan, playing red, sent his cannon flying over the river pawns, landing in a corner of the endgame and sweeping away the black side’s last remaining horse, leaving the solitary general alone.

Across the chessboard, the old man widened his eyes and tossed his pieces down in frustration. “Enough, I’m done.”

Ye Yan set his piece down with a smile and teased, “Old man, this is the third game you’ve lost to me today.”

“Talking about winning and losing is so vulgar. I’m showing you grace, indulging the young,” the elder huffed, then changed the topic. “Back in my day, I was unbeaten in every alley around here. Now a kid like you has me at your mercy. The younger generation really is something—no use denying age.”

“I wouldn’t say at your mercy—at best, we’re evenly matched,” Ye Yan replied with a polite grin. “Besides, Uncle Li, with your constitution, you’ll live another twenty or thirty years, no problem. Don’t talk about death—it’s bad luck.”

“Don’t jinx me.”

Ye Yan took out a cigarette and offered it.

Uncle Li took it without hesitation, scolding with a smile, “You’ve got a silver tongue, kid.”

He held the cigarette to his nose and inhaled, his wrinkled face blooming like a chrysanthemum.

“Ah… Hua Zi.”

He lit the cigarette with the flame Ye Yan offered, then lounged back in his chair, taking a few contented puffs before saying, “Xiao Ye, have you thought about what I mentioned last