I Really Didn’t Mean to Play Go!
Chapter 179: Then He’ll Show Me Through His Moves

For a new 1-dan professional, there was a clear distinction between someone who had just turned pro and someone who had already spent time in the professional circuit.

The grind of professional tournaments rapidly shaped a player's intuition, resilience, judgment, and mental fortitude—qualities unique to pros.

That was why most newly promoted players struggled to win matches at first.

Only a rare few managed to go on an immediate winning streak.

"Even though he joined the National Master Tournament partway through, after three consecutive wins, his ranking isn’t low anymore. The more he wins, the stronger his future opponents will be."

"With three wins, his next opponent could be…"

A teenager with acne-covered skin turned toward Table 5, staring at a bespectacled 18-year-old seated there.

"Tong Lecheng, 3-dan. He’s been in a slump recently, losing multiple matches and dropping in ranking."

Many others followed his gaze, seemingly sharing the same thought.

Of course, this was just speculation.

With several rounds already completed, there were many possible opponents for a 3-win player.

But Tong Lecheng was a unique case.

He wasn’t stuck at 3-dan because his strength was limited to that level.

Rather, since turning pro two years ago, his high tournament placements meant he frequently faced higher-ranked players.

And the more he played against high-dan professionals, the more likely he was to lose.

Those losses brought down his overall win rate, slowing his promotion pace—a consequence of not participating in direct ranking tournaments.

"Will it be him?"

"The next round of the National Master Tournament isn't for another ten days. In the meantime, I’ll have to play in the Yingjiao Cup preliminaries."

After finishing his meal at the Go academy’s cafeteria, Yu Shao headed toward the entrance, lost in thought.

In this world, Go tournaments were abundant.

After becoming a professional, the average player had to compete in two matches per week.

That meant around ten games per month.

Even factoring in holidays, a pro would still play over a hundred matches per year.

And that was not including tournaments with daily matches over consecutive days.

"Nearly a third of the year is spent playing official games. That’s… exhausting."

"Yu Shao, 1-dan?"

A voice called out behind him, interrupting his thoughts.

Yu Shao paused, turning around with a slightly puzzled expression.

A tall, slender man in his late twenties approached with a friendly smile.

Within moments, he stood directly in front of Yu Shao.

"And you are…?"

Yu Shao felt like the man looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t place where he had seen him before.

"I’m Ding Huan, a reporter for the Southern Go Academy. I was present at the Flame Inheritance Match a while back."

Seeing Yu Shao’s lack of recognition, Ding Huan looked momentarily awkward, but he quickly brushed it off and continued.

"Do you have a moment? I’ve been hoping to do an interview with you."

"An interview?"

Yu Shao blinked.

Ding Huan nodded, still smiling.

"I’ve wanted to interview you for a while now, and since we just ran into each other today, I figured we could have a quick chat. It won’t take much of your time—would that be alright?"

Since the request seemed casual, Yu Shao nodded and agreed.

"Sure."

Ding Huan was a little surprised by Yu Shao’s calm demeanor.

Most new 1-dans would be at least a little nervous or excited about their first professional interview.

But Yu Shao was unnervingly composed.

In fact, his reaction was so natural that Ding Huan almost got the illusion that Yu Shao was already experienced with media interviews.

However, he didn’t dwell on it.

He simply assumed that Yu Shao’s personality was naturally steady and reserved.

With a chuckle, he gestured ahead.

"Let’s head to the academy’s interview room."

"Wait, there’s an actual interview room?"

Yu Shao was surprised by the mention of an interview room but simply nodded and followed Ding Huan inside.

The room wasn’t large.

A round table sat at the center, holding two glass trays filled with mints, biscuits, and two bottles of water.

Two sofas were arranged on either side.

"Yu Shao, take a seat over there while I set up the camera."

Ding Huan smiled as he entered, unlocking a cabinet and pulling out a camera.

"I’ll ask you some questions, but just answer however you like. If there's anything you don’t want to answer, that’s fine too—no pressure."

"Alright."

Yu Shao nodded, then took a seat on the sofa.

Ding Huan worked swiftly, adjusting the camera angle and securing it onto a tripod.

His movements were practiced—as expected of a seasoned reporter.

After finishing the setup, he sat down across from Yu Shao.

"Just think of this as a casual conversation."

Still concerned that Yu Shao might feel nervous, he reassured him with a smile.

"I’ll just ask some simple questions."

"Got it."

Yu Shao replied calmly.

"You can start."

"From what I know, you didn’t train at a dojo. You became a professional by earning a perfect score in the amateur promotion tournament."

Ding Huan smiled.

"I’m curious—how long have you been playing Go?"

…

Yu Shao’s mind blanked for a second.

This is a ‘simple’ question?!

He hadn’t expected such a difficult opener.

After some thought, he hesitated briefly before giving a number.

"Two or three years."

He couldn’t give a number too high—if he claimed he had been playing for seven or eight years, his parents, Yu Dongming and Cai Xiaomei, would have definitely noticed.

So he could only say he had studied for a short time.

"Three years?"

Ding Huan’s eyes widened in shock.

He barely registered the ‘two or three years’ part—his mind fixated on ‘three’.

"Yeah."

Yu Shao nodded stiffly, suddenly regretting agreeing to this interview.

Seeing Yu Shao confirm it, Ding Huan took a sharp breath, momentarily stunned.

Still trying to process it, he asked another question.

"Then who was your Go teacher? Even if you came from an amateur background, you must have had a mentor, right?"

"I’m self-taught."

Yu Shao shook his head.

"I didn’t have a teacher."

Silence.

Ding Huan stared at him, completely speechless.

His expression practically screamed: ‘Are you messing with me?!’

Three years of self-study… and he became a professional?

If Yu Shao had trained at a dojo, he could just barely accept it.

But self-taught?!

That was outrageous!

"Actually, I think not having a teacher helped me."

Yu Shao explained.

"Since I wasn’t bound by traditional Go theory, I could play purely by intuition."

"Take the 3-3 invasion, for example. People argue about it online, but I’ve always felt it was a strong move."

"In the three matches I’ve played so far, I’ve chosen the 3-3 twice."

Ding Huan’s expression shifted slightly.

"How did those two games turn out?"

He couldn’t forget the shock he had felt when Yu Shao had played the 3-3 invasion in the Flame Inheritance Match.

Whether or not the move was truly correct, the thought process behind it was revolutionary.

That game challenged centuries-old assumptions—turning "you can’t play 3-3" into "should we reconsider 3-3?"

If Yu Shao had trained at a dojo, he never would have played it.

Only a self-taught player could break conventions like this.

"I’m currently on a three-game winning streak."

Yu Shao answered simply.

Ding Huan inhaled deeply, suppressing his shock.

Then, after a moment, he asked another question.

"So, do you think training at a dojo is unnecessary?"

Hearing this, Yu Shao frowned slightly.

This was a sharp question.

After a brief pause, he shook his head.

"No, dojos are definitely valuable. The effort that aspiring professionals put in at dojos is never wasted."

"However…"

Yu Shao hesitated for a moment before continuing.

"I believe Go should be free."

"Just because something has always been done a certain way doesn’t mean it’s right."

"If joining a dojo means blindly following old traditions—then perhaps it's better not to join at all."

"But the 3-3 invasion still isn’t proven correct, right?"

Ding Huan countered.

"Most professionals still believe it's flawed."

Yu Shao fell into silence.

"If it's truly flawed—"

A moment later, he lifted his head, his eyes calm yet piercing.

"—then let him prove it to me through his moves."

Ding Huan’s mind shook.

He looked at Yu Shao, and for the first time, he saw something far beyond just a promising young player.

This was someone who sought to overturn the old order.

A player determined to shake the very foundations of Go.

It wasn’t that professionals denied the idea of a 3-3 invasion followed by an extended crawl.

In fact, many respected the creative thought behind it.

They admired how Yu Shao had abandoned the standard "hane-connect for life" approach, choosing instead to crawl along the second line, aiming to sever White’s shape.

But—

That didn’t mean they accepted the 3-3 invasion itself.

Many high-level players—**including 9-dans and title holders—**firmly believed the 3-3 move itself was fundamentally flawed.

And yet—

"He doesn’t fear high-dan players.

He doesn’t fear 9-dans.

He doesn’t fear title holders!"

"He has declared his challenge to the world of professional Go!"

Ding Huan didn’t know how the Go community would react once this interview was published.

But he knew one thing for sure.

Yu Shao’s name… would shake the world.

"This isn’t just a battle of skill."

"It’s a battle of ideology."

"And in this fight, only the victor will have the right to speak."