I Really Didn’t Mean to Play Go!
Chapter 310: This Game Revealed the Secrets of Heaven

Facing what appeared to be a clearly sente diagonal push, Yu Shao’s move caught everyone off guard—white did not connect, but instead counter-ataried on the outside!

Moments later, Lee Junhyuk gritted his teeth, picked up a stone, and made his move.

Clack!

Column 4, Row 16 – Push and Cut!

At this point, since white hadn’t responded, black cutting was now virtually inevitable—he could only cut!

And with that move, the white stone on the third line had been split off and surrounded by black—its life now hanging by a thread.

Yu Shao looked at the board, picked up a stone swiftly, and placed it.

Column 4, Row 15 – Block!

Clack, clack, clack...

The stones rained down like droplets once again.

“That white stone below has been surrounded by me. The lower-left is a massive gain for black,”

Lee Junhyuk stared at the board with intense focus—no hint of relief on his face.

“But if I capture directly, it’s gote. White can tenuki. That’s unacceptable—I must gain sente!”

With that in mind, he picked up another black stone and placed it.

Column 2, Row 14 – Outside Turn!

As soon as he did, Yu Shao responded quickly.

In the world of professional Go, it's rare—but not unheard of—for a top-level match to end in under 100 moves. Sometimes, yes, you’ll see it, but only in situations where life and death are at stake—typically, a dragon gets slain midgame.

But in this match, it had nothing to do with life and death.

No black dragons had been killed. Every black group was alive and well. Yet by move 90, black could no longer match white’s formation or momentum—and so, he resigned.

It wasn’t just the commentary room.

All around the world, those who had been following the match stared at their screens, frozen in that same eerie silence.

People gawked at the board where, with only 90 moves played, the match had ended so abruptly—and then, they couldn’t help but think of the match from the day before: the game Higashiyama Kaoru had played.

That game was one for the ages—astounding, filled with divine insights, teeming with brilliance. Each move carried meaning, and creative tesujis dazzled at every turn.

When Higashiyama Kaoru placed that epic press at move 230, it was as if the stone was glowing.

He gave up a Triple Ko, sacrificed half the board, and walked away with a 7.5-point victory. That one game earned him the awe and respect of the entire Go world.

It was the first-ever match in history to settle a Triple Ko fight.

And yet today, the game against the same opponent—Lee Junhyuk, still playing black—ended in a completely different way.

No flashy sequences. No endless mutual killing.

Just 90 simple, even dull-looking moves… and it was over.

The contrast between the two games couldn’t have been more extreme.

And because of that, the shock brought by this second game may have surpassed the first.

“Before me, no game in this world could be called a masterpiece.”

A balding man in the audience suddenly found himself repeating Yu Shao’s words from the opening ceremony, dazed.

He seemed to have forgotten how he’d confidently mocked him earlier, saying “Yu Shao’s game today will never compare to Higashiyama’s.”

Actually… he wasn’t wrong.

It couldn’t compare.

In terms of brilliance, excitement, and spectacle—today’s match didn’t even come close to yesterday’s.

But because of that, it became even more stunning.

Or rather...

Even more terrifying.

A young man around twenty stared at the large board, his face blank, and murmured:

“If that line was true… then this game…”

He paused. Then finished, quietly:

“...revealed the secrets of Heaven.”

---

Seoul Grand Hotel – Press Room

“Ninety moves. It’s over.”

The journalists sat in stunned silence, staring at the TV.

“Yu Shao... won.”

They had all been expecting a hard-fought, nail-biting, dramatic showdown. Even ten minutes earlier, they’d been wondering how they’d report this epic clash.

And then—ten minutes later—the game ended.

So suddenly. So bluntly.

It left them completely at a loss.

“Yesterday’s game… and today’s game…”

A reporter opened his mouth, then faltered. For a moment, he was speechless.

Eventually, wearing a blank expression, he asked:

“If yesterday’s match was Higashiyama Kaoru’s response to Yu Shao’s words at the opening ceremony…”

“Then is today’s match Yu Shao’s response to Higashiyama’s?”

“And if so… whose answer was more powerful?”

No one replied.

---

Inside Team China’s review room.

Even here, the atmosphere was silent.

Zheng Qin, Xu Zi, Wu Zhixuan—all stared dumbfounded at the screen.

A moment later, Ma Zhengyu was the first to react. Even though he had hoped Yu Shao would win, this result still left him shaken.

“How… is that possible…”

He swallowed hard.

“He actually won… in just 90 moves?”

---

Elsewhere – Pyongyang.

An Hongshi slowly pulled his gaze away from the screen, falling into deep thought.

After a long silence, he picked up his phone, opened his contacts, and dialed a number.

It was quickly answered.

“Master An Hongshi?” said a middle-aged man on the other end.

“Director Xu Fengyuan, I’m terribly sorry… but I may not be able to make it to tomorrow’s teaching match,” said An Hongshi.

“What?” Xu Fengyuan sounded shocked. “Didn’t we already confirm? It’s just a few casual games, and it’s a full 100 million won appearance fee!”

“I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind,” said An Hongshi with a faint smile. “If there’s nothing urgent, it wouldn’t hurt to play some teaching games—but…”

He paused, then looked again at the screen in front of him.

“As a Go player… there’s now somewhere I’d much rather be.”

---

Seoul Grand Hotel – Competition Hall

“No way... Lee Junhyuk actually lost in under 100 moves...?”

At Board One, both the recorder and the referee looked at each other in shock and confusion. They turned to Lee Junhyuk and saw him sitting motionless, head lowered, silent.

Not even yesterday—when he lost a winnable match to Higashiyama—had they seen him look like this.

Yu Shao finished packing his stones, stood up, and walked calmly toward Board Two.

He stopped behind Su Yiming and glanced at the board.

In this game, Su Yiming was playing black. His stones had formed a massive framework across the center. He had sacrificed all three corners.

The outcome depended on whether white could successfully invade and reduce.

Though the middle game would still have twists and turns, it was already clear that breaking into black’s moyo would be an immense challenge.

Park Jichang seemed to realize this as well. His face turned grim as he pondered for a long time, then finally moved.

Column 12, Row 14 – High Knight’s Jump!

“Using the large jump to reduce the moyo? Will Su Yiming counter directly?”

Yu Shao glanced at Su Yiming, who was fully absorbed in the game, completely unaware of his presence behind him.

A moment later, Su Yiming reached into his bowl, picked up a stone, and placed it slowly.

Clack!

Column 10, Row 14 – Small Knight’s Move!

“I see… He’s confident white has no effective invasion. So rather than respond directly, he’s staying balanced and waiting to strike.”

Yu Shao looked at Park Jichang—who clearly hadn’t expected that move. His face flushed red, his eyes twitching slightly.

Yu Shao turned away and headed to Board Three.

Qin Lang and Kim Choeun were locked in, fully immersed in their game.

This match resembled Su Yiming’s in one sense: the key to victory lay in whether white—Qin Lang—could successfully invade and reduce.

The difference was that in Su Yiming’s game, black had voluntarily given up the corners to build a moyo. Park Jichang had no choice but to invade.

But here, Qin Lang had taken first dibs on territory, aiming to live in the center.

Such life-and-death fights were the most chaotic and unpredictable—especially in close contact battles. Everything hinged on shape and liberties.

Fortunately for Team China, Qin Lang excelled in just such chaotic battles.

“Even game. A very tense situation. Hard to judge who’s ahead.”

After watching a while, Yu Shao headed to Board Four.

He stood behind Le Haoqiang and observed quietly—then frowned.

“Le Haoqiang is playing well, but…”

Yu Shao glanced across the board at Bae Yeon.

She was biting her lip, eyes sharp, fully focused. The gentle grace from earlier was gone—replaced by something fierce.

“Though she’s a woman, her play is ruthlessly decisive. She’s unafraid to sacrifice or press the attack. She may even be slightly stronger… Le Haoqiang is slipping behind.”

...

Column 2, Row 13 – Hane!

“He did hane!”

Lee Junhyuk wasn’t surprised. He had already calculated the follow-ups and grew more focused.

“I’ll cut to split the shape. White will atari. I extend. White has to crawl—he can’t abandon the head!”

“Then white will start a capturing race to kill my two outside stones, blocking off the three black stones in the corner—it’ll come down to a trade.”

“But—”

He reached into his Go bowl, the stones clinking loudly.

“I can save the three corner black stones and kill that white stone. If white wants to capture my two outside stones, he’ll have to use an extra move—so I’ll gain sente!”

Lee Junhyuk placed the stone with lightning speed.

Clack!

Column 3, Row 13 – Cut!

Yu Shao immediately responded.

Column 4, Row 13 – Atari!

Black: Column 3, Row 12 – Extend!

White: Column 2, Row 12 – Crawl!

Every move played out exactly as Lee Junhyuk had anticipated. These were the best responses for white in this fight. One wrong move, and the result could’ve been catastrophic.

“Here, it’s a trade. I save the bottom, but lose the top.”

The next moment, Lee Junhyuk moved again.

“Though I lose those two stones on top, I’ll gain a sente move there later—and they still serve as aji for future capturing races. More importantly—I seized the initiative!”

Clack!

Column 2, Row 16 – Atari!

This move directly captured the previously isolated white stone in the corner. White had no choice but to respond with a capturing move of his own or risk local collapse.

Yu Shao answered quickly.

Column 3, Row 9 – Capturing Race!

Now, the two black stones outside were left with only one liberty—certain death. These two stones were on key points. If white succeeded in killing them, it would be a major blow to black.

But Lee Junhyuk showed no reaction. He instantly tenuki’d.

Clack!

Column 12, Row 16 – Atari!

He had abandoned those two black stones. Or rather—he had already resolved to sacrifice them the moment he made that earlier cut.

A small sacrifice for the greater plan.

In Go, sometimes blood must be shed for the sake of the whole board.

“Gain and loss… life and death... Lee Junhyuk’s moves in the lower-left perfectly illustrate Go’s brilliance.”

The recorder scribbled while watching the board intently. To her, this wasn’t just a game—it was a battlefield, full of schemes and traps.

“If white now takes sente in the lower right, black won’t be alive. And white’s central potential will explode. Black traded two key stones for the initiative.”

“That atari resolved the fight in the lower right.”

At that moment, across from him—

Yu Shao lowered his eyes, gazing calmly at the board. Reflected in his pupils was a world of black and white stones, full of hidden threats and silent blades.

Clack.

After a pause, Yu Shao reached into his Go bowl, picked up a stone, and placed it gently.

Column 17, Row 8 – Jump!

Seeing that move, Su Yiming raised an eyebrow.

“Back to the top to reinforce?”

In the Japanese review room—

“A jump? That’s not a bad reinforcement, but it’s a bit slow.”

Onishi Keikawa saw the white stone on screen and frowned slightly.

Beside him, Murakami Junichi mirrored the move on his board at Column 12, Row 3, then thought for a moment and nodded.

“If black invades here, it could be troublesome. But black doesn’t have a severe follow-up. If white attacked directly, that might’ve been better.”

Fujiwara Terashima watched silently, brows furrowed.

“Terashima? What’s wrong?”

Murakami noticed and asked.

“I’ll admit his arrogance at the opening ceremony pissed me off, but...”

Fujiwara hesitated, then continued, “Those questionable moves earlier—he just played them so casually. And yet, in the end, black was the one trapped.”

Everyone froze at his words.

“Doesn’t it seem odd?”

He stared at the screen. “His game records show he’s a fierce, calculation-heavy attacker.”

“But this match? He’s made zero killing moves. No aggression. Not a single move toward black’s large dragon.”

Just as he finished, the screen showed Lee Junhyuk placing his next move.

Column 17, Row 12 – Extension!

“Lee Junhyuk is starting an all-out attack on the lower-right white group!”

The room instantly locked in on the screen, their earlier discussion pushed aside by the looming fight.

White’s reinforcement up top made it hard to attack there, so black turned his guns to the lower-right group, linking up with the left side and forming a net—initiating the kill!

But white’s response came quickly.

Column 17, Row 17 – 3-3 Point!

“He ignored the attack and went straight for the 3-3 point?!”

Everyone looked stunned—even Higashiyama Kaoru.

“If black hanes and white jumps, black can press to prevent a cut. White will crawl. If black diagonals, he might counter-kill white!” Onishi couldn’t help but shout.

Clack, clack, clack…

Black and white stones fell in rapid succession.

As the fight unfolded, expressions began to shift.

“Black diagonaled, threatening white’s eye shape, but white just ignored it and diagonal-pushed into the corner!”

Onishi stared at the screen, drenched in sweat. “That looked like a reckless move—but black can’t do a thing to counter it!”

Higashiyama Kaoru stared intently, shocked, as his mind raced through every one of Yu Shao’s earlier moves.

“To defend without attack implies an even deadlier intent.”

Suddenly, realization struck him like lightning.

“That jump reinforcement was slow—but in hindsight, it secured the top, letting him monitor black's every move from above!”

“Black has no means in the upper left. The upper right is entangled. The bottom? Though black built a large moyo, it’s stuck low under white’s pressure!”

“This game... looks peaceful, but every move reeks of killing intent!”

On screen, white made another move.

Column 12, Row 4 – Connect!

Higashiyama’s pupils contracted—he could see the endgame already.

“Black... has collapsed!”

...

In the commentary room.

“White connected. Black’s next move must be a strong push—it can sever white’s connection!”

On the platform, Ryu Dahye laid out the variations. “Black pushes, white ataris, black connects, then…”

Halfway through, she froze. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

The audience noticed and exchanged glances, puzzled by her sudden silence.

They stared at the board… until one by one, they began to realize the truth behind the position. Their hearts trembled.

Some were still lost—but then:

“White has a jump that can kill black’s three stones.”

Moon Yonghyun, silent until now, finally spoke.

“Even though both sides have three liberties—and it’s black’s turn—black can’t reduce white’s liberties fast enough.”

He moved the stones. “If black squeezes, white plays the 1-line diagonal, black must connect, white fills liberties and captures.”

“If black pushes instead, white ataris, and that atari is an unescapable tesuji. Black connects, white takes, and black is still dead.”

Silence.

Then—on screen—Lee Junhyuk placed his move.

Column 15, Row 2 – Connect.

If he couldn’t cut white, he could only connect.

Moon Yonghyun placed it on the demo board.

Immediately, white responded.

Column 17, Row 7 – Hane!

Moon Yonghyun placed it as well.

He didn’t explain. There was no need.

The room was silent. Dead silent.

Lee Junhyuk didn’t move.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

Finally—five full minutes later—under everyone’s gaze, he pulled two black stones from his bowl and placed them on the board.

Clack, clack.

Those two stones echoed through the commentary room.

On the board, only the corners and sides held stones. The center was empty—but the game was over.

Move 90.

Lee Junhyuk resigns… midgame.

Silence.

Utter silence.