I Really Didn’t Mean to Play Go!
Chapter 296: So Then... Who Is the Yu Shao That Defeated Shen Yi?

In a quiet Go room in Korea,

A man around thirty-five sat on one side of the Go table, dressed in a sharp suit, frowning at the board before him.

After thinking hard for a while, the man finally gave a wry smile and shook his head.

“I lost.”

He picked up two stones from the Go bowl and placed them on the board, then looked up at the person sitting across from him—An Hongshi—and said with admiration, “No wonder they say you're a legend, Teacher An. What Jeong Sebin, 9-dan, said was spot on.”

Hearing that, An Hongshi looked surprised. “Jeong Sebin, 9-dan?”

“Yeah.”

The man smiled. “Teacher An, do you remember the first game you ever played against Jeong Sebin, 9-dan?”

“Of course I do.”

An Hongshi nodded. “I remember every game I’ve ever played—every single move. Back then, he was only a 6-dan, wasn’t he?”

The man looked at the board in front of him, visibly moved. “Right. In a blink, Jeong Sebin is already a 9-dan, and he’s achieved quite a few great results in international tournaments—officially among the world’s top players now.”

“What made you bring that up?”

An Hongshi picked up the teacup beside the board and took a small sip.

“You played a game with Jeong Sebin yesterday, didn’t you?”

The man also picked up his teacup, scraped the rim with the lid, and said, “So I asked him about the result of that match.”

He sipped his tea, looked up at An Hongshi, and slowly said, “Do you know... what he said to me?”

“How would I know that?”

An Hongshi chuckled and shook his head. “What did he say?”

“He said, when he first played you, he was only a 6-dan, but riding high—he’d just beaten a whole string of veteran masters like Ryu Won, 9-dan, and Lee Jeonghoon, national master...”

As he set the teacup back down, the man said, “You’ve always been a benchmark for Go players everywhere. Everyone sees beating you as a badge of honor. Back then, Jeong Sebin was no exception.”

“He was full of confidence after those victories—cocky, even. He thought even against you, Teacher An, he had a chance.”

“A reporter once asked him before that match what his win rate was against you. He said fifty-fifty.”

At this, the man couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course, as expected, he suffered a crushing defeat.”

“This year, you haven’t competed at all. But Jeong Sebin has had a great run and got promoted to 9-dan.”

“There’s a saying, right? ‘If you’ve never beaten An Hongshi, you don’t deserve to be called a top player.’ And Jeong Sebin has played you eight times—and never won once.”

The man paused, then added, “So when he heard you had finally left the rehab center, he came to challenge you.”

“He hadn’t played in any tournaments for a while. I thought I could show him my skills yesterday.”

“But instead, he showed me something—”

The man’s smile gradually faded. “What it means to be on a whole other level.”

An Hongshi chuckled and said, “Yesterday’s game—you only won by luck.”

The man looked quietly at An Hongshi and didn’t argue.

After a while, he suddenly asked, “Teacher An, you know Higashiyama Kaoru, right?”

“Higashiyama Kaoru?”

An Hongshi was briefly stunned, then nodded. “I know of him.”

The man’s expression turned serious. “Japan’s Go scene has seen a surge of new talents lately, especially Higashiyama. Some Japanese reports even call him the next you.”

“Some of the more dramatic ones even say, ‘After Higashiyama, there will be no more prodigies.’”

He hesitated, then admitted, “But honestly, his skill is no joke. He’s played some shocking games. I’m not even sure I could beat him.”

The man’s tone grew heavier. “Our Go scene is still ranked number one globally, but Japan has been rising fast in recent years.”

An Hongshi took another small sip of tea.

After a pause, he suddenly asked, “Young talents—are they only from Japan? Only Higashiyama?”

The man was taken aback. He fell silent, seemingly realizing something.

“Yu Shao. And Su Yiming.”

An Hongshi set down his teacup and said, “Not just Japan—China, too. Because of those two, I’m actually more focused on China than Japan.”

“True, they’re a bit absurd.”

The man shook his head and sighed. “Usually, people only remember first place. Like how everyone knows the world’s tallest mountain but not the second tallest.”

“But they’re so exceptional that even the runner-up gets remembered. When I look at Su Yiming’s game records, I sometimes feel like I’m reading Shen Yi’s.”

“Can’t help but think of over a hundred years ago.”

“I’ve had the same feeling.”

An Hongshi grew reflective. “When I see Su Yiming’s large frameworks, his close fights—I can’t help but think of Shen Yi. Think of that peerless master from 180 years ago.”

“What a shame. He’s not Shen Yi. If only Shen Yi were still alive... to play just one game face-to-face.”

“That match would rock the world, wouldn’t it?”

The man chuckled at the thought. “But it’s a pity—Shen Yi’s gone. And his Go was over a hundred years old. He wouldn’t be a match for you, Teacher An.”

“But don’t you find his records shocking? In those midgame fights—those miraculous moves—even today’s top players can only stand in awe.”

An Hongshi smiled. “We wouldn’t necessarily be able to play those moves.”

“Exactly. That’s the magic of Go.”

The man sighed. “Go has certainly progressed, but our predecessors—able to seize fleeting opportunities in such complicated positions—modern players may not always manage that.”

“But even so, we can’t just say they were better than us, right?” the man asked with a smile.

“Then what if Shen Yi had learned modern joseki?” An Hongshi countered. “If I played him now—who would win?”

“....”

The man was speechless for a moment, then said, “Hard to say.”

“Hahaha!”

An Hongshi burst out laughing. “So what do you think—does Su Yiming seem like a modern-joseki-trained Shen Yi?”

“Now that you say it... yeah, kind of.”

The man rubbed his chin and suddenly thought of something, smiling. “Then here’s the real question, Teacher An.”

“Mm?”

An Hongshi looked up at him.

The man smiled and asked, “If Su Yiming really is a modern-day Shen Yi... then—”

He paused halfway through the sentence, then asked in a strange tone, “Who exactly is Yu Shao, the one who beat him?”

The question caught An Hongshi completely off guard.

His smile slowly faded as he looked down at the intricate board before him. He didn’t have an answer. He fell into deep thought.

“Haha, forget it. Just a random thought.”

The man waved it off with a laugh. “Su Yiming isn’t Shen Yi. And Yu Shao isn’t someone else either.”

“That’s true.”

After a moment of silence, An Hongshi suddenly asked, “By the way—the China-Japan-Korea Team Tournament is about to begin, right?”

“Yeah, starts in a week.”

“The last time we won the title, didn’t we?”

“I think so. Last year, our team won it.”

The man frowned slightly. “We beat Japan 3-2 in five games and took the championship. But in the main player match, Lee Junhyuk lost to Higashiyama Kaoru.”

“He’s been grinding hard all year, preparing for this rematch with Higashiyama.”

“But no one expected that China—who hadn’t had any standout team performances for five years—would suddenly produce Yu Shao and Su Yiming.”

The man looked worried. “I’m not sure we can defend the title this time.”

“Isn’t that what makes it exciting?”

An Hongshi smiled. “This year’s tournament should be phenomenal. They may be young, but their skill is already world-class. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Exciting, sure... but with more strong opponents, winning isn’t guaranteed.” The man gave a bitter smile.

“As long as the games are good, winning or losing doesn’t matter.”

An Hongshi smiled calmly. “There are things in Go more important than victory. I don’t mind winning—but if given a choice, I’d rather lose beautifully than win effortlessly.”

He stared at the board, then reached into the man’s Go bowl, pinched out a White stone, and gently placed it.

“An obsession with winning... will only blind you from Go’s truth.”

As he spoke, he dropped the stone.

Tap.

Column 14, Row 12—Wedge!

“Wedge?”

The man blinked in surprise, staring at the board. His expression began to shift.

“This is...”

He had thought the game was over, the gap too wide to close, and had resigned.

But after this wedge from An Hongshi, the board subtly changed. Though White was still at a disadvantage, this move perfectly used the dead stones—

White now had room to maneuver against Black!

From the position alone, White was still likely to lose—but it was no longer a guaranteed loss. If this wedge was played, the game could still continue!

And if Black misplayed the follow-up... White had a chance to turn it all around!

Jiangling, Southern Go Association, inside the review room.

Yu Shao looked at the board, thought for two seconds, then shook his head, picked out two stones, placed them on the board, and chose to resign.

“You pushed too hard here.”

Su Yiming looked at the board, thought for a moment, then pointed to it and said, “Also, if you had played a clamp here instead of the hane-connect, it might’ve been better.”

“If I clamp and you atari, then I jump, you extend, I peep, you tiger’s mouth, I jump, and then you turn... what if I don’t jump, but go for tiger’s mouth instead?”

Yu Shao thought for a moment and nodded. “I missed that.”

“You’ve already won two rounds of 10-second blitz. What more do you want?”

At that moment, Gu Chuan rolled up his sleeves and nudged Yu Shao with excitement. “Alright, now it’s my turn again.”

Yu Shao had no choice but to get up from his seat and stand aside, watching Su Yiming and Gu Chuan play.

After being selected as main player, Yu Shao was required by the association to train with Su Yiming and Qin Lang in the review room on the third day.

Since the Fight for the Slot moves at a slower pace, most of the time is spent analyzing opponents’ records. But the Team Tournament uses fast time controls, so the focus shifts more toward actual games.

This 10-seconds-per-move blitz helps sharpen a player’s instinct for split-second life-and-death decisions.

To make the repetitive training a bit more interesting, they adopted a King of the Hill format—winner stays, loser out. Yu Shao had just won two in a row, but lost this round to Su Yiming.

Tap, tap, tap...

As soon as the game began, Su Yiming and Gu Chuan started placing stones like lightning.

The review room filled with the sounds of stones tapping the board and timers clicking.

“Little C...”

Yu Shao watched from the side. After Su Yiming invaded the 3-3 point, Gu Chuan immediately played a small knight’s move—setting up the Storm.

The so-called “Storm” referred to the large, complex 3-3 joseki from their match two days ago.

Because that game was played during a heavy rainstorm, Gu Chuan and the others nicknamed this intense, chaotic variation the “Storm”—which also happened to suit its ferocity.

When Gu Chuan played the small knight’s move, Su Yiming immediately pinched out a stone and placed it.

Column 14, Row 2—Attach!

Right from the opening, Black and White clashed in the upper-right corner, and the battle escalated rapidly, spreading across the entire board.

Soon, Yu Shao saw Gu Chuan make a mistake, and Su Yiming instantly seized it. Although Su Yiming also played a few slack moves, Gu Chuan’s position grew worse and worse.

“I lost.”

Not long after, Gu Chuan resigned—though his face showed no disappointment, just calm acceptance.

“You focused too much on the corner, so even though you got it, once White cut you off, you couldn’t manage both sides.”

Yu Shao pointed to the board and said, “A diagonal response might’ve been better here.”

“What if I jump here?”

This time, Le Haoqiang asked.

“The jump isn’t bad either—but the diagonal is a solid 100. The jump is maybe 99.”

Yu Shao considered. “The jump shape is thinner, might leave vulnerabilities for White to exploit. The diagonal is a bit slower but much more solid.”

After a quick review, Gu Chuan stood up and looked at Le Haoqiang. “Your turn, Strong Bro.”

“You lost way too fast.”

Le Haoqiang shot Gu Chuan a look, tossed a jab, then quickly took the seat across from Su Yiming. After determining colors and giving a polite nod, they began playing.

This game started with a Double Star Point vs. Star-Point plus Small Low Corner, then Le Haoqiang made the first move into 3-3.

When Su Yiming played the small knight’s move, Le Haoqiang didn’t attach—

Column 15, Row 3—Push!

“He dodged it.”

Yu Shao gave Le Haoqiang an extra glance.

The “Storm” could be dodged. A direct push led to standard 3-3 variations—and maybe Le Haoqiang was spooked. Since the push wasn’t a loss, why not take it?

To trigger the “Storm,” both players had to be willing. Since Le Haoqiang hadn’t studied that line deeply, it was wise to avoid it.

But what came next surprised Yu Shao.

Under the pressure of 10-second blitz, during a midgame fight, Su Yiming made the first mistake—and Le Haoqiang pounced on it hard.

For over ten moves straight, Le Haoqiang attacked fiercely and precisely, putting Su Yiming on the back foot.

“Is Le Haoqiang about to win?”

Gu Chuan’s eyes widened, and Qin Lang squinted unconsciously.

Le Haoqiang also realized he had the upper hand—his eyes locked in with focus, each move played with everything he had.

Time ticked by amid the constant click of falling stones.

But Le Haoqiang’s expression began to shift—turning grim. Gu Chuan and Qin Lang, watching from the side, were already a bit dumbfounded.

“Le Haoqiang had the advantage midgame, but now...”

Gu Chuan instinctively imagined himself in Le Haoqiang’s shoes. Looking at the board now, sweat broke out on his forehead. He felt an overwhelming pressure.

“This mid-to-endgame strength...”

Gu Chuan stared in disbelief at the board.

He had watched plenty of Su Yiming’s games. But in his matches against Yu Shao, for some reason, he had never sensed this kind of crushing mid-to-late-game ability.

In Su Yiming’s other games, he was usually already ahead by then—so his late-game strength never really stood out.

Gu Chuan couldn’t help but glance at Yu Shao with a bit of awe. “How the h*ll does Yu Shao play him evenly in the endgame?”

Soon after, Le Haoqiang let out a long breath and bowed his head to Su Yiming. “I lost.”

After a quick review with Su Yiming, it was Qin Lang’s turn to play.

This match was much simpler. Su Yiming opened with a Three-Star Formation, Qin Lang with a Double-Star, looking to grab points early and stabilize later.

But he failed to reduce territory, and Su Yiming’s massive framework crushed him midgame.

“It’s lunchtime—let’s eat.”

As the game ended, Gu Chuan waved his hand to stop the King of the Hill matches. “Aren’t you guys hungry?”

Yu Shao rubbed his stomach—yeah, he was a bit hungry—and nodded. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“Let’s skip the cafeteria today. Down at Chuan Cuisine.”

Gu Chuan raised his brows proudly. “I’ve finally found a legit Sichuan restaurant here in Jiangling. You guys are gonna love it.”

“You’re paying?”

Hearing that, Le Haoqiang gave Gu Chuan a side glance.

“I’m paying, I’m paying!”

Gu Chuan thumped his chest boldly. “The China-Japan-Korea Team Tournament is in Korea this year. We’re flying to Seoul in three days. Let’s eat Chinese food while we still can!”

Hearing that Gu Chuan was paying, Le Haoqiang’s eyes lit up. “Godfather!”

“We’re heading to Korea?”

Su Yiming seemed to remember something, and asked, tone a little complex, “Didn’t Korea used to be called Goryeo?”

“Yeah, why?”

Yu Shao looked at him, half-joking, “You feeling like it’s unlucky or something?”

Everyone froze at his words.

“Unlucky to go to Korea?”

Gu Chuan was confused. “Where’s that coming from?”

“Someone once asked the general how to play a Go move. The general said: go south.”

Yu Shao laughed. “Why else would it be called ‘Chao-Han’?” (Korea, in Chinese.)

The room fell into an awkward silence.

“What the h*ll are you talking about?”

After a moment, Gu Chuan stared at Yu Shao, his Sichuan accent slipping out.

“D*mn...”

Yu Shao scratched his nose awkwardly, only just remembering that no one in this world would get his joke.

This parallel world was similar to his last life—but also quite different. Here, Korea was one unified country.

Every time he saw “Pyongyang Go Academy,” he couldn’t help but laugh. That old joke always popped into his head—but no one here ever got it.

So awkward.

“Nothing.”

Following the motto of if I’m not embarrassed, it’s others who are, Yu Shao forced a calm nod, looked at Su Yiming, and changed the subject: “Why were you asking about Korea being called Goryeo?”

“I’ve never been abroad. Always felt like our place was big enough.”

Su Yiming smiled and shook his head. “But I heard Korea’s Go scene is the strongest right now, so I got curious and looked it up.”

“Well, you can explore a bit while you’re there.”

Gu Chuan thought a moment. “Honestly, the barbecue is really good. I’ve been to Korea before. Doesn’t excite me much now.”

He smacked his lips and added, “If the tournament were in Japan, that’d be better. I’ve never had authentic ramen.”

“All you think about is food. How about focusing on playing better? Look at Master Xinhe—why don’t you learn from him?” Le Haoqiang quipped.

“Master Xinhe?”

Su Yiming looked curiously at Le Haoqiang. “You mean Honinbo Xinhe?”

Yu Shao also turned his gaze toward him. He’d heard of Honinbo Xinhe before—had even watched a live stream of one of his matches.

This world had the Honinbo title too, but the lineage was completely different from his past life—naturally, the Go was different too.

“Yeah. Haven’t you heard the story about Master Xinhe?”

Le Haoqiang explained, “When he was nine, he was playing a game, and there was an earthquake—not a big one, but noticeable.”

“But he was so focused, like a monk in meditation, completely unaware of anything outside the game—unmoved by all the noise and chaos.”

“He didn’t even realize an earthquake had happened until he made his move. By then, his opponent had already fled.”

Le Haoqiang clicked his tongue. “His teacher said back then: Xinhe would definitely become one of the best in the world. And he was right.”

“That’s it?”

Gu Chuan looked unimpressed. “That’s nothing. Where I’m from, people don’t even run from quakes—hotpot’s still boiling, BBQ’s still grilling.”

“So if I purposely play a game during an earthquake and don’t run, doesn’t that make me even more badass? Guarantee I’ll be number one in the world.”

Le Haoqiang was instantly speechless—didn’t even know how to argue.

Yu Shao glanced at Gu Chuan and nodded with total sincerity: “Makes sense.”