Suzhou, city of canals and gardens, prided itself not only on its silk and scholars but also on its mastery of the profound game of Weiqi, known elsewhere simply as Go. Intricate strategies unfolded daily in quiet tearooms, secluded pavilions, and the hushed halls of private academies, the click of black and white stones on wooden boards a familiar rhythm beneath the city's elegant facade. Within this dedicated circle, the name Master Nie Yuan had, over the past year, ascended from respected elder to near-mythical figure. Once known for his solid, orthodox play and deep understanding of classical strategies, Master Nie, now in his late sixties, had begun exhibiting a level of foresight and tactical brilliance that bordered on the supernatural, dismantling renowned opponents with moves that were both deeply unorthodox and terrifyingly effective. His victories were things of beauty and dread, leaving rivals baffled, audiences stunned, and the Weiqi world buzzing with whispers of genius reborn – or something far stranger.

  For this sudden, almost violent blossoming of skill coincided with a disturbing decline in the master himself. While his mind seemed sharper than ever across the Weiqi board, his body withered. The healthy colour drained from his face, leaving a pale, almost translucent tightness stretched over sharp bones. A persistent, dry cough wracked his frame, and his hands, when not placing stones with uncanny precision, trembled with a deep, consuming fatigue. He rarely left his secluded residence, a modest but elegant courtyard house tucked away near the Tiger Hill Pagoda, spending almost all his waking hours in his private game room, hunched over one specific, ancient Weiqi board.

  His young attendant and sole remaining disciple, Ah Yong, watched this transformation with a growing knot of cold fear in his stomach. Yong had served Master Nie for five years, learning the intricacies of the game and tending to the master's simple needs. He revered Nie's intellect and former kindness. But the man his master was becoming frightened him. The game room, once a place of quiet concentration and shared learning, now felt perpetually cold, the air thick with an almost unbearable tension, heavy with the scent of old wood, beeswax polish, and something else… a faint, metallic tang like unshed tears or old blood. Ah Yong saw the unnatural light burning in his master's eyes during intense games, saw the way his vitality seemed to drain away afterwards, leaving him slumped and grey. He heard the master muttering in his sleep – not just Weiqi positions, but fragmented pleas, warnings, names of players long dead. And he felt the wrongness emanating from the ancient board itself.

  It was a magnificent object, far older than Master Nie. The board was crafted from a single slab of dark, heavy wood, possibly nanmu, its surface worn smooth by centuries of play, the grid lines inlaid with silver that seemed to gleam faintly even in dim light. But it was the stones that were most peculiar. They resided in two heavy, lidded bowls carved from dark jade. The white stones were not shell, but polished river pebbles of an unusual, almost luminous white; the black stones were not slate, but perfectly smooth discs of what looked like obsidian or perhaps polished meteorite iron, unnaturally cold to the touch. Master Nie had inherited the set from his own reclusive master decades ago, with warnings to treat it with profound respect, using it only for the most serious contemplation or critical matches. Now, he used it almost exclusively, shunning his other boards. Ah Yong swore he sometimes saw faint, ghostly fingerprints appear and fade on the cold surfaces of the black stones, or heard infinitesimal sighs escape the jade bowls when the room was utterly silent.

  The unease spread beyond the household. Master Nie’s recent opponents spoke privately of unsettling experiences. Master Qian, a renowned strategist from Hangzhou, confessed to feeling his thoughts cloud over during their match, his most carefully planned sequences dissolving into inexplicable blunders as if guided by an unseen hand. Young prodigy Scholar Meng described seeing phantom stones flicker momentarily on empty intersections near Nie’s placements, confusing his reading of the board. Several opponents reported feeling an intense psychic pressure during the game, a wave of cold despair or suffocating concentration emanating from Nie’s side of the board, leaving them shaken and drained for days afterwards. They admired Nie’s brilliance, yet feared it, sensing it wasn't entirely his own.

  Ah Yong, convinced his master was being consumed by the ancient game set, knew he had to seek help. Remembering his master’s occasional correspondence with scholars interested in the philosophical aspects of Weiqi and Taoism, he recalled mentions of Xuanzhen, a wandering Taoist known for his deep wisdom and ability to perceive and harmonize subtle, often dangerous, energies. Learning through discreet inquiries that Xuanzhen was currently visiting a Chan monastery not far from Suzhou, Ah Yong begged leave from his increasingly oblivious master and made the journey, his heart heavy with foreboding.

  Xuanzhen listened patiently in the monastery’s quiet scriptorium as Ah Yong poured out his story – the master's uncanny skill and simultaneous decline, the unsettling atmosphere of the game room, the strange properties of the ancient board and stones, the rivals' disturbing experiences, and the legends surrounding the set's obscure origins (some whispered it was found in a tomb, others that it was crafted by a sorcerer who trapped the souls of defeated opponents within it). Xuanzhen recognized the pattern: an object of intense focus and history acting as a conduit, offering power or knowledge at the cost of the user's life force, likely involving trapped consciousness or potent psychic residue.

  "The game of Weiqi mirrors the cosmos, young Yong," Xuanzhen observed, his gaze thoughtful. "Attack and defense, territory and influence, sacrifice and gain… played with intense concentration over centuries, a board can become more than wood and stone. It can become a battlefield of spirits, a repository of lingering will. Your master may be drawing upon the echoes of past players, but such echoes can be hungry."

  Intrigued by this intersection of intellectual pursuit and spiritual disturbance, Xuanzhen agreed to accompany Ah Yong back to Suzhou. He presented himself to Master Nie as a humble admirer, a travelling scholar keen to witness the master's legendary skill firsthand and perhaps discuss the deeper, Taoist principles reflected in the game. Master Nie, flattered by the scholarly approach and increasingly isolated, welcomed the visitor into his cold, quiet game room.

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  The room was dominated by the ancient Weiqi board, placed on a low table between two silk cushions. The air felt heavy, charged, unnaturally still. Xuanzhen felt the potent, complex qi emanating from the board and the jade bowls containing the stones. It was ancient, layered, containing echoes of intense concentration, strategic brilliance, fierce rivalry, crushing defeat, and profound despair. It felt like a psychic battlefield, populated by the lingering consciousness, the unresolved obsessions, of countless past players. He sensed these 'Lost Souls of the Board' were not actively malevolent, but trapped, drawn to the game's energy, their combined strategic knowledge accessible, perhaps, to a mind attuned like Master Nie's, but their presence inherently draining, parasitic. He also felt the subtle influence they exerted, subtly nudging plays, clouding opponents' minds, feeding on the emotional energy of the contest.

  Master Nie invited Xuanzhen to play. As they sat opposite each other, Master Nie lifted the lid of the black jade bowl. A faint sigh, cold and dry, seemed to escape it. Nie selected a black stone; it felt unnaturally cold as he placed it on the board with trembling precision. Xuanzhen, playing white, used stones from the other bowl, which felt cool but neutral.

  As the game unfolded, Xuanzhen played defensively, focusing less on winning and more on observing the flow of energy, the interaction between Nie, the board, and the unseen presences. He felt the subtle probes against his mind, attempts to cloud his judgment, whispers of tempting but flawed strategic lines. He felt the coldness intensify around Nie's placements, saw the almost imperceptible flicker of phantom shapes near the obsidian-like stones. He saw the flush return to Nie's pale cheeks as the master executed a brilliant, complex sequence, followed immediately by a deepening of the shadows under his eyes, a slight slump in his posture. The board was granting insight, but consuming vitality with every move.

  "Your skill is profound, Master Nie," Xuanzhen commented quietly during a pause, deliberately looking at the board rather than his opponent. "It feels as if generations of masters guide your hand."

  Nie started, his eyes widening slightly with a mixture of pride and fear. "The board... it remembers," he whispered, his gaze fixed on the stones. "They whisper strategies... show patterns... the Lost Players... they lend their sight..."

  He had acknowledged the connection. Xuanzhen knew he had to act. Continuing the game would only further drain the master. "And what price do these Lost Players demand for their sight, Master?" Xuanzhen asked gently but directly. "Wisdom borrowed often carries a heavy interest. Their unresolved struggles, their lingering despair... do you not feel it clinging to the stones, clouding this room, draining your own light?"

  Master Nie flinched, looking down at his trembling hands, then back at the board with dawning horror. The illusion of control shattered, revealing the terrible bargain he had unconsciously struck. "I... I thought it was inspiration... mastery..." he stammered. "But the cold... the dreams... I am trapped..."

  "You are entangled, Master Nie, but not yet consumed," Xuanzhen reassured him. "The connection can be severed. The Lost Players can be offered peace. The board can be cleansed."

  The ritual required addressing both the trapped spirits and the artifact itself. Xuanzhen explained the process to Nie and Ah Yong. It needed to be done immediately, while Nie's awareness was heightened.

  First, acknowledging the spirits. Xuanzhen had Ah Yong bring offerings: clear water, uncooked rice, and spirit money. Xuanzhen arranged these respectfully beside the board. He lit purifying sandalwood incense. Then, addressing the board and the unseen presences clinging to it, he spoke calmly, acknowledging the skills and struggles of the countless players whose energies lingered there. He spoke of the game's beauty but also its potential for obsession and despair. He acknowledged their entrapment and offered them release, chanting verses for guiding lost souls, urging them to let go of the board, the game, the lingering resentments, and find peace in the Great Dao. He visualized the tangled psychic energies loosening, dissolving. A palpable sigh seemed to move through the room, and the intense pressure lessened.

  Next, cleansing the board and stones. Xuanzhen asked Master Nie to participate, pouring his own intention for release and balance into the act. Xuanzhen mixed pure water with powdered cinnabar (for potent purification) and salt. Using a clean brush, Master Nie, guided by Xuanzhen, carefully painted small, almost invisible sealing and purifying characters onto the underside of the board and inside the jade bowls. Xuanzhen then took the stones, handful by handful, and gently washed them in the blessed water, visualizing the lingering psychic residue dissolving, the unnatural coldness fading, returning them to their natural state. The black stones, in particular, seemed to lose their disturbing depth, becoming simply polished stone.

  Finally, Xuanzhen performed a brief harmonization ritual for Master Nie himself, using calming chants and gentle qi manipulation to help stabilize his depleted energy, soothe his agitated mind, and reinforce his spiritual boundaries against further intrusion.

  As the ritual concluded, the game room felt dramatically different. The oppressive cold vanished, replaced by a neutral stillness. The air felt lighter, cleaner. The board and stones rested on the table, ancient and beautiful, but quiescent, their dangerous energy neutralized. Master Nie, though profoundly exhausted, looked more peaceful than Ah Yong had seen him in months, the haunted light gone from his eyes.

  Xuanzhen advised Master Nie to rest deeply, to focus on gentle Qigong and meditation rather than intense Weiqi for a time, allowing his vitality to recover. He suggested the ancient board set be treated with continued respect, perhaps used only occasionally for quiet contemplation, not high-stakes games. Its history remained, but its power to ensnare was broken.

  Leaving Master Nie in Ah Yong's devoted care, Xuanzhen departed the quiet residence. The Weiqi Board of Lost Souls served as a potent reminder that intense intellectual pursuits, like profound artistry or deep-seated emotion, could leave powerful imprints on the world. Objects associated with such focus could become vessels for lingering consciousness, offering dangerous gifts, blurring the line between inspiration and possession. True mastery, Xuanzhen reflected, lay not in drawing power from trapped echoes of the past, but in cultivating one's own clear mind and balanced spirit, playing the game of life with wisdom, integrity, and a healthy respect for the ghosts that might linger just beneath the surface of the board.