Ti ticked on, and the match had entered the final endga phase.
Click. Click. Click...
At last, both players completed their endga. The result of the match was now clear—written out across the board.
The ga was decided.
“Black loses by half a point after komi is applied.”
Yu Shao stared at the computer screen. He had already tallied up the final count and softly murmured, “This ga… shiau wins.”
In Go, the number of points won or lost in the endga doesn’t always reflect the gap in skill.
When a player holds a substantial advantage, they often play conservatively to lock in the win, avoiding sharp complications that might invite mistakes.
So, sotis, a victory by half a point actually represents a larger gap than a midga kill.
But this ga was different. From beginning to end, the two sides had been evenly matched. In midga, White gained the upper hand.
But as the ga moved into the late midga, Black’s shocking skills began to shine, and he staged a relentless coback. The gap between the two continued to shrink.
Even as White tried to control the board and avoid complications, Black narrowed the margin again and again. But ultimately, after the final endga move, Black still ca up short—by just half a point.
“What a great ga.”
Yu Shao sat silently, staring at the board. He had never expected to witness such a thrilling, flawless match online—one so intense that even he couldn’t help but applaud. Every mont of the ga had been a battle. No dull phases. It had gone the full distance.
And he… was the only spectator.
Watching this ga left him with a powerful desire: he wanted to play both of them.
He took a deep breath and moved his mouse, preparing to challenge shiau.
But just as his cursor hovered over the userna, ready to right-click, he saw the na go gray—offline.
“Logged off…”
Slightly disappointed, he turned his attention to “gangxuebuhuixia” (JustStartedCantPlay), who was still online. He right-clicked and sent a challenge.
He waited.
But no response ca.
“Forget it.”
Yu Shao shook his head and logged out of the 19 Go platform.
“If they’re really that strong, I’ll get my chance to face them one day.”
Elsewhere, in Jiangling.
Su Yiming sat silently, staring at the ga record on his screen.
“I lost…”
He’d never liked playing online gas. But after watching Yu Shao and Zhuang Weisheng’s title match, he suddenly had the urge to play—and on a whim, he matched with an opponent online.
He had always played on China’s dostic Go platform “Handtalk Spring and Autumn,” under the ID “JustStartedCantPlay.” Later, he signed up for an account on the 19 platform. Since he couldn’t input Chinese characters there, he used pinyin.
Because he didn’t enjoy online play, he had only played about forty gas total.
He never expected that this online match… would end in his first loss.
He didn’t like playing online. As a true Go player, he preferred sitting across from his opponent, engaging in a real, over-the-board battle. But even if it was online, no matter the format, he always gave it his all.
And yet, he had still lost—to that player nad shiau.
Over a hundred years ago, Go gas could stretch over days, even up to a month. But online Go was 60-second blitz—he wasn’t used to playing so fast.
Still, even if it was blitz, a loss was a loss. He never used such excuses to deny a defeat.
“That wasn’t Yu Shao.”
“I know Yu Shao’s play inside and out.”
“If it had been him, he would’ve abandoned the group in midga without hesitation. He’s never fixated on points or territory—he always sees the whole board.”
“The person I lost to… was soone else.”
Su Yiming paused for a mont. Suddenly struck by a thought, he moved his mouse, wanting to send a challenge to shiau for another match—but he found the account had already logged off.
anwhile, in Seoul.
“Master An Hongshi, were you just playing online?”
A young man around twenty-five or twenty-six entered the Go room, sat down across from An Hongshi, and began gathering stones while asking curiously.
“Yes. After watching the match between Zhuang Weisheng and Yu Shao, I suddenly felt like playing a ga.”
An Hongshi nodded absentmindedly as he replied.
“That ga was insane!”
Hearing this, the young man got fired up. “Unreal. That match gave chills! Even Zhuang Weisheng lost to Yu Shao—and that’s Zhuang Weisheng!”
“Just like you, he’s one of the idols for so many players. I knew Yu Shao was strong, but part of never believed he could actually beat Zhuang Weisheng. And yet, he did!”
The more the young man spoke, the more excited he beca. “And that Tesuji variation—unbelievable! As soon as the match ended, I called you to do a review together.”
“Sumr’s coming soon, and the big international tournants will start rolling out. I might even end up facing Yu Shao. Honestly? A Chinese player like that… major pressure!”
“I even saw so Chinese dia claiming Yu Shao might lead Go into its third era. As much as I hate to admit it, respect where it’s due—he’s earned it.”
But An Hongshi still seed distracted, only responding with a soft “Mm.”
The young man noticed and asked, “Master An, is sothing wrong?”
An Hongshi snapped out of it, smiled faintly, and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“You don’t seem like yourself. Aren’t you one of Yu Shao’s most devoted followers?”
The young man cast a puzzled glance at him—then his eyes drifted toward the laptop next to the Go board. Suddenly, his hand froze mid-motion.
“Master An… you…”
The disbelief on his face was unmistakable.
“You didn’t… lose that online ga, did you?”
An Hongshi paused—then shook his head. “No. I won.”
“Whew—!”
The young man clutched his chest dramatically. “You scared the hell out of ! I an, co on—how could you possibly lose online?”
“Why not?”
An Hongshi shrugged. “Even in pro tournants, packed with the world’s strongest players, I’ve lost gas.”
The young man grinned. “But in your case, one loss is big news! Tons of players dream of beating you just once. There’s even that saying: ‘If you beat An Hongshi, you’re top-tier.’”
“That’s an exaggeration,” An Hongshi laughed, shaking his head. “I’m far from perfect.”
“Aw, co on. You? Far from perfect?”
The young man gave a theatrical gasp. “People used to say if you played a two-space extension, the opponent had no chance! Back then, whenever you extended, others would just pincer instantly—force a fight no matter what.”
“I was still a kid then, and I rember being stunned. I thought, ‘Wait—is this what being a master looks like? Who just pincers into a two-space extension? Terrifying!’”
“Turns out it wasn’t the others who were terrifying—it was you.”
An Hongshi couldn’t help but chuckle. “You really know how to flatter.”
“I’m just speaking the truth,” the young man laughed, putting the stones back into the bowl. “Everyone knows your nickna—Thousand Hands. Your style is unreadable. One mont solid and grounded, the next free as wind. You chase territory and influence at the sa ti—no fixed path, adapting to everything.”
“Every ti I play you, I feel like all the masters of Go are standing behind you—maybe even my own reflection’s in there too.”
Even knowing it was flattery, An Hongshi didn’t mind. Who doesn’t enjoy a little praise?
He smiled and said, “Alright, let’s start the review.”
The young man dropped his casual deanor, grew serious, and quickly placed a stone to begin reviewing Yu Shao vs. Zhuang Weisheng.
As he played, An Hongshi couldn’t help but recall the online ga just now.
“That ga—I only won by half a point.”
“And it wasn’t because I intentionally controlled the board. Even after playing my absolute best, I barely scraped out half a point.”
“Before counting the final result, I didn’t even know if I’d won.”
“A half-point win is luck. One-point is skill. One-and-a-half... is divine.”
“So… was it luck?”
Thinking of every move the opponent had made, his expression turned increasingly grave.
“Their style felt unfamiliar—yet I couldn’t find any known player to match it. Their sense of territory, thickness, pace, initiative... completely unorthodox.”
“There’s so overlap with Yu Shao—but it’s definitely not him.”
“In local battles, he sotis uses incredibly old techniques—like the leaning cap joseki. But other tis, he plays moves I’ve never seen in my life.”
“It’s like he’s experinting—searching for sothing new within the old.”
“More importantly… there’s no doubt. His mid-to-late-ga strength… surpasses mine.”
“So did I really win?”
The shockwaves from the National Title Match were beyond imagination. That night, nearly every Go forum was flooded with posts about the ga. Discussion was everywhere.
Especially the Tesuji variation that Yu Shao introduced—it was so revolutionary, it was practically threatening to rewrite the foundations of Go.
The terrifying part was, if players couldn’t figure out how to counter it, they might soon be afraid to approach star points at all!
If players stopped approaching stars entirely, then the Go of the past and the Go of now… would be two entirely different gas.
In San Francisco, USA. At a Go training class—
It was dayti there. A group of Go instructors gathered around a board, repeatedly reviewing Yu Shao’s ga against Zhuang Weisheng.
They analyzed every move again and again—unable to stay calm.
One tall, broad-shouldered man lit one cigarette after another, his brain racing nonstop.
“My God. This is too much. This really is the Go of a new era.”
A man with glasses cried out, stunned: “The Tesuji is real! And it’s unstoppable—like divine punishnt, like God’s whip!”
“Impossible. If the star point becos untouchable, then Yu Shao himself wouldn’t use it either!”
Soone shook their head. “There must be a counter!”
“Maybe. But we’re not the ones to find it. We’ll need to ask the professionals.”
The burly man took a deep drag, snuffed out his cigarette, and said solemnly:
“We’re Go teachers—but now, we have to relearn Go.”
A dead silence filled the classroom.
The instructors looked at each other, faces blank with disbelief.
They were teachers—and yet, they had to start over?
How absurd was that?
Everything they thought they knew… might be wrong.
“Haven’t you realized yet?”
The burly man said gravely. “From the 3-3 invasion, to the flawed small-knight-no-worries corner, to the three great unresolved patterns, and now this Tesuji...”
“Compared to a year ago, the entire way we play Go has changed.”
“Thickness, lightness, speed, illusion, territory... all the foundations of Go have shifted!”
His tone rose. “If you look back at ga records from a year ago now, they feel… bizarre. Like everything they did was just wrong.”
Everyone froze.
Then slowly, their expressions changed.
Now that it had been said aloud, they finally noticed it.
Their understanding had already changed without them realizing.
Now, when they saw a 3-3 invasion, they didn’t even flinch. Now, when two players broke out a complicated Avalanche variation, they weren’t stunned anymore.
Now, if soone used weird formations or ancient tactics, they’d frown. Even seeing soone play the large diagonal, they’d think there were better choices.
Suddenly, soone rembered the outrageous statent Yu Shao had made during the China-Korea-Japan League:
“Before , no ga could be called a good ga.”
And now... they found themselves agreeing.
“Whether we like it or not, a new era of Go has truly begun.”
After a long silence, the burly man finally said quietly:
“Any player who doesn’t enter this new era—will be left behind.”
“This player from China… he blasted open the temple of Go.”
“And only then did I realize—the temple… was completely empty.”
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