The world of film and television begins with Hikaru no Go

The bamboo ribs of the folding fan between the teeth had been bitten countless times, but Zhao Bingfeng had no energy to care about it at all, his gaze fixed on the chessboard.

On the 117th move, White placed a piece in a position that no one expected.

—To be precise, it's not that I didn't think of it, but anyone with even a basic understanding of Go wouldn't play it that way.

The air conditioning in the control room was on full blast, but Zhao Bingfeng's shirt was already soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to his back and all wrinkled.

The black stone on the fingertip of the right hand hung in mid-air, not falling for a long time.

The clock ticked away, one tick after another, its sound jarring.

The boy opposite me held a teacup, his eyes lowered, his expression so indifferent it was chilling.

Xu Hou, the recorder, sat in the corner, his pen motionless.

He has already been promoted to 5-dan this year, so in principle, he shouldn't be needed as a recorder. This position is usually reserved for people who haven't reached dan yet, so that they can experience the atmosphere of playing professional Go players.

As a senior colleague, he was the only one who would shamelessly snatch this kind of work from a junior colleague.

After all, sitting opposite Zhao Bingfeng was Xu Hou's "lifelong enemy".

But... why did they have to do something like this?

White's 117th move.

The moment the move was made, Xu Hou blinked instinctively, thinking he had misread it.

This move completely defies normal chess principles; it's utterly illogical.

If this were back in the Go academy, anyone who dared to make such a move would definitely get a severe scolding from the head teacher; it would be pure nonsense.

White's large group on the left side is not yet fully alive, there is still a ko fight in the lower right corner, and the center is so thin that it would break at the slightest touch.

At this point, do not reinforce the pieces, do not finish the game, and do not occupy large areas of the board.

Go and order a three-three?

Xu Hou quickly considered several variations in his mind: if Black moves to the top, what will happen to White's large group on the left?

If Black splits its stones into segments, wouldn't the few White stones in the center be completely dead?

Anyone who has studied chess for even a few days wouldn't play like that, right?

He looked up and glanced at Zhao Bingfeng.

Zhao Bingfeng was deep in thought. Could there be some subtlety in this game that he hadn't yet discovered?

Xu Hou suddenly felt a little dazed.

Six years ago, when he was still learning Go at the Go academy, Zhao Bingfeng had already reached the ninth dan level.

I remember when Zhao Bingfeng lost 1-3 to Yu Xiaoyang in the best-of-five match of the Celebrity Tournament, I felt sorry for him.

After all, the game they won was played really well, and in the last game, they had a real chance to win. At that time, the group of friends even got together to study the game records.

Later, a new student named Zhang Rui joined the chess academy.

That is, the boy sitting opposite Zhao Bingfeng right now.

He achieved his professional ranking at the age of ten, and now at fifteen, he has remained undefeated for the past five years.

In the spectator room, several professional chess players watching the game remained silent for a long time.

As a reporter, Chen Xiao felt that this move was clearly just sophistry, an attempt to deceive and get away with it. He was sure that Zhao Bingfeng, a ninth-dan player, would give him a good beating and a crushing defeat.

Of course, he only dared to think these things in his heart. In front of a group of professional Go players, how could someone like him, who couldn't even get a professional ranking, have any right to express his opinions?

Kuwabara, a veteran 9-dan player, suddenly clicked his tongue.

"This game of chess..."

He paused, lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and then, as if finally remembering that there were other people around, put it out.

Chen Xiao, who was standing nearby, leaned over and said, "Old Sang, look at this hand..."

"I don't understand." Before Chen Xiao could finish speaking, Sang Yuan interrupted him, "I've lived most of my life and I've never seen anyone play chess like this."

Chen Xiao was stunned.

Kuwahara is a veteran national player who has won the national championship six times. Even he said he couldn't understand it. Could it be that he was just thinking too superficially?

"You mean... Zhang Rui's move?"

"I'm not talking about his move." Kuwabara shook his head and pointed to the chessboard in front of him. "I mean, I didn't understand this game from beginning to end."

Chen Xiao remained silent.

The other player sitting next to me, Fang Xu, a 9-dan player, had been setting up the game for over thirty moves before he couldn't continue.

It's not that I can't calculate it, it's that I simply don't know how to calculate it.

Zhang Rui's moves seem to land on a specific point, but that "point" seems completely different from the chess principles he had learned before.

Like...

A ridiculous thought suddenly popped into Fang Xu's mind, making him laugh.

Does someone who has never learned chess yet possesses the truth of chess truly exist?

The folding fan he was biting was released, and Zhao Bingfeng finally made his move.

Move 118, Black, moves the first piece.

This was the strongest opponent he could think of, and also the most reasonable countermeasure.

Since you've chosen 33, I'll shut you up and see where your dragon on the left goes.

The moment he placed his piece, Zhao Bingfeng felt a long-lost excitement welling up inside him.

Five years ago, he often had this feeling.

Having successfully advanced to the ninth dan, and coinciding with the inaugural Go Saint Tournament, I fought my way through to the finals, where my opponent was a ten-year-old child. It seemed like a sure thing.

Moreover, he did not underestimate his opponent in the slightest.

He looked through all of Zhang Rui's past game records one by one and also studied and discussed them carefully with others.

Although their strength is indeed not to be underestimated, they often use some old-fashioned patterns, and their mid-game attacks are a bit stiff.

Even if others say that the other party is a reincarnation of "Bai Ziqiu", Zhao Bingfeng is not afraid at all.

Even Bai Ziqiu is an ancient relic from who knows how many years ago...

Later, he realized he was wrong.

Those places that you thought were flaws, if you look at them from a different angle, are all traps.

In the best-of-seven final, Zhao Bingfeng lost four games in a row.

At first, I could comfort myself by saying I was careless, but in the end, I was completely convinced.

During the debriefing, listening to the other party's explanation, I felt a sense of sudden enlightenment.

Looking back now, that Chess Saint match was probably the closest I ever came to my opponent.

He unconsciously put another piece of the folding fan into his mouth.

The boy opposite made his move.

Move 119, White, sharp attack.

Zhao Bingfeng's pupils contracted slightly. He had anticipated this move, mentally rehearsing three variations, each with a corresponding response. However, Zhang Rui's speed in placing his piece was simply too fast—

It was as if their responses were completely under the other party's control.

Zhao Bingfeng, feigning composure, picked up his teacup, took a sip, and found the tea had gone cold.

He suddenly remembered the first time he met Zhang Rui six years ago.

It was late August 1997, the final round of the 8th Fangyuan City "Ying's Cup" Children's Go Tournament.

Zhao Bingfeng was a special guest, sitting on the stage, preparing for the final awards ceremony.

He hadn't planned to watch the match. These kinds of children's matches, no matter how high the level, were at most amateur fifth or sixth dan, so they weren't very interesting.

But I overheard people talking nearby—

"That kid won again, his seventh consecutive victory."

"What was it called again?"

"Zhang Rui, I heard he's only nine years old this year."

Zhao Bingfeng looked over with a hint of curiosity. It was a rather thin boy wearing a short-sleeved shirt that was obviously too big, covering his elbows.

He showed no sign of joy even after winning the game; he kept his head down, gave a slight bow, and was then led towards the podium.

Zhao Bingfeng didn't take it seriously.

He'd seen plenty of national-level competitions, let alone provincial ones, including those for nine-year-old children's champions.

No more than one in ten can ultimately achieve professional ranking, and even fewer can achieve significant results after becoming a professional player.

Cao Zhigang, who won the runner-up title, left a deep impression on Zhao Bingfeng. He cried from the moment he lost the game until he received the award, and kept muttering—

"I've studied Go for eight years, put in so much hard work, and in the end I can't even beat a child... It was like this before, and it's like this now... What's the point of me even studying Go anymore...?"

When the other teacher brought him to Zhao Bingfeng's house that evening to ask for help with the review, he showed no sign of frustration whatsoever.

That's how Zhao Bingfeng unexpectedly saw the game record of Zhang Rui's game in the final that afternoon.

Black's strength is clearly much greater than White's, giving the impression of an old man playing with a child.

Moreover, the layout from the beginning exudes an air of ancient music.

Star, small eye—Zhao Bingfeng was very familiar with these opening sequences. When he first started learning Go, some people still used them, but now hardly anyone plays them anymore.

In particular, he had only seen Black's thirteenth move, the corner approach, once before, in "Ten Games of Danghu".