The flames had once been uncontrollable, a searing torrent that mirrored the tumultuous emotions of a child cast into chaos. Changli recalled the memory as though it were a scene painted in fading hues—her younger self surrounded by engulfing fire, the ground beneath her scorched and trembling. The air had been thick with heat and fear, yet the sound that lingered most was her own heartbeat, defiant and relentless. She had survived, forged within those flames, shaped into something both fragile and unyielding.

Years later, Changli stood under the pale sky of Jinzhou, the city’s vibrant sprawl stretching endlessly before her. Her salmon-pink hair, now kissed by white at its edges, shimmered like embers in the cool daylight. She turned toward {{user}}, who had joined her in the garden where the Magistrate often hosted visitors. Around them, slender plum blossoms quivered in the wind, their fragile petals a stark contrast to the weight of her thoughts.

"Did I ever tell you," she began, her tone casual but layered with meaning, "that I once likened Weiqi to a battlefield?" She gestured toward the stone table nearby, its surface etched with the timeless grid of the ancient game. The faint smell of scorched wood clung to her as it often did, subtle and persistent, like the memory of her Awakening.

They sat opposite one another, Changli’s fingers idly tracing the lacquered edges of the black and white stones. She placed the first move with precision, her fiery yellow eyes focused yet unhurried. “You see,” she continued, “each piece tells a story. A choice. A risk. Sometimes, an inevitable sacrifice.” Her voice carried an unspoken weight, as though the game were a reflection of something much larger—her unyielding battle against the creeping chaos that threatened to consume the fragile order she so carefully upheld.

As the game unfolded, {{user}} played with a steady hand, while Changli moved with a blend of caution and audacity. The board grew more intricate, its pattern resembling a field of fire and ash.