I Really Didn’t Mean to Play Go!
Chapter 330: From This Day On, the Three Great Unsolvable Josekis Are No More

Everyone around seemed as if they'd just been struck by a heavy blow to the head. They stared blankly at the board and the game itself, their minds dazed.

“White’s shape... has gotten heavier…”

Lightness!

Heaviness!

All the confusion, all the bewilderment, all the questions—they were finally answered in this game, at this very moment on the board. Everything became clear. Everything made sense.

And yet...

Even though they had now found the answer to the question of why Yu Shao played the way he did—both in the upper right against the Large Diagonal, and in the battle for the center—they found themselves even more confused.

Because this answer... was too terrifying, too shocking, too unbelievable. It wasn't the product of human thinking. It was completely beyond the capacity of man. It transcended mortal understanding.

Every Go player instinctively tries to prevent their opponent from building thickness—because once an opponent is thick, it's almost impossible to attack them, or threaten their shape by targeting weaknesses.

But no one had ever considered... what if your opponent was already thick, and you kept playing moves that made them even thicker?

As the saying goes—too much of anything becomes a liability. If your opponent’s shape becomes too thick, it also becomes heavy. And once the shape is too heavy, each move they play becomes less effective.

In other words—

Efficiency.

Only this cold, precise word could capture the meaning so perfectly in this moment.

When thickness reaches a certain extreme, it transforms into heaviness—and in this game, Black’s understanding of lightness versus heaviness surpassed anything anyone had ever imagined. It shattered every concept they thought they knew.

Black’s every move didn’t aim to attack White directly—but rather aimed to reduce the efficiency of every White move. It looked like calm, ordinary play, but each move hid a terrifying killing intent.

And it was with this bone-chilling strategy that Black seized the initiative.

That’s why, after the Large Diagonal was played, even though White appeared to have the advantage, they unknowingly slipped into a losing position.

That’s also why, even after working so hard in the center, White ended up securing only five or six points!

This line of thought—this level of strategy—was beyond anything they’d ever imagined. It was like Yu Shao had uncovered the secret logic that governed the entire game of Go.

Silence.

The hall fell into utter stillness.

No sound. Not even breathing.

The crowd stared at the board, dazed and disoriented.

Across from Yu Shao, Lai Yu no longer made a move. He gazed at the board in a trance, sweat trickling down his cheeks.

At last, after a long moment—

In that suffocating silence, Lai Yu reached into the bowl. The sound of stones clinking echoed louder than ever before.

But this time, he didn’t draw a stone to play.

Instead, he picked up two White stones, reached under the board, and let go.

Tap.

Tap.

Two White stones fell beneath the board with crisp clicks.

The game was over.

White had abandoned the bottom right to try and control the center. But the center had yielded only five or six points. The point gap was now unbridgeable. Continuing would be meaningless—a last gasp before the fall.

White had only one path left—

Resignation.

Lai Yu resigned in the middle game.

Seeing this, the crowd grew even more silent.

Then, Lai Yu turned toward Yu Shao and silently bowed his head.

Yu Shao looked at him—his expression calm, yet tinged with quiet reverence.

Lai Yu didn’t lose this match because he played badly.

He lost because of the difference in eras.

Though Lai Yu had played well throughout, many of his moves revealed the brilliance and persistence of a true Go player. Yu Shao could feel that determination—his pursuit of the Way, his refusal to give up.

But...

The gap was unbridgeable.

A player who couldn’t transition into the new era—no matter how passionate or determined—was doomed to be left behind.

That kind of gap couldn’t be closed. It was the difference between mortals and the divine.

It was just like—

The first time Yu Shao faced AI.

When he saw what Go looked like through the eyes of a machine, the disparity stunned him. The sheer impossibility of it all—those alien lines of thought—shook him, even when he stood at the top of the Go world.

And it made him realize:

There was no one in the Hall of Go.

In Go’s four-thousand-year history, there had only ever been two eras:

Pre-AI and Post-AI.

Back then, Yu Shao had sought the answer to Go in the pain and despair of that revelation.

He had chased it with trembling hands, challenged it with awe and humility.

And now, Yu Shao slowly bowed his head in return.

Not long after, the two of them silently packed up the stones. The complex web of the game vanished—like it had never existed.

Yu Shao rose from his seat, ready to leave.

Everyone around him still hadn’t recovered. But when they saw him stand, they instinctively stepped aside, opening a path for him.

Yu Shao walked through the crowd and exited the match room.

Lai Yu remained seated, staring blankly at the now-empty board.

After another long moment, the crowd finally began to recover from the shock of the match.

They looked at Lai Yu, still seated, and their hearts swelled with complicated emotion.

“Teacher Lai Yu… lost.”

“After five long years, he finally got another chance to enter the Title Match Main Tournament—but he still failed.”

“What’s scarier is… the one who beat him and advanced…”

“…is only seventeen. He just became a pro this year.”

“No, that’s not even the scariest part.”

“The scariest part is—Lai Yu never had a chance from start to finish.”

They looked at the empty board again, the echoes of the game still playing in their minds. Every exchange of Black and White—etched into memory.

Letting the opponent grow thicker and thicker. Killing in silence. Luring them step by step into a dead end. This kind of Go was bone-chilling.

They couldn’t help but recall every game Yu Shao had played since becoming pro.

From the Promotion Tournament, to the Flame Inheritance Match, to the Hero’s Pride Cup, to the Challenge Match, then the Team Tournament, and finally to today’s National Master Tournament...

This game hadn’t just redefined thickness and thinness.

It had redefined lightness and heaviness.

One messy-haired young man suddenly remembered a line Ding Huan had written after the Hero’s Pride Cup:

“Some Go players are born to crush an era.”

Back then, he thought that was an exaggeration. But now, staring at the empty board and recalling Yu Shao’s games...

He had nothing to say.

The Demon Blade—gone.

The Great Avalanche—gone.

And now, the Large Diagonal—with all its complex variations—was cut down.

Though this game hadn’t proven the Large Diagonal was invalid, it likely marked the end of its “thousand variations.”

Much of its complexity… might now be obsolete.

The young man stared at the board, eyes clouded with confusion.

Lightness, heaviness. Thickness, thinness...

This mind-bending strategy of “thickening the thick”... this world-shaking brilliance…

He muttered, overwhelmed:

“How could anyone…”

“How could anyone possibly play like this…?”

...

...

That night.

Though today’s National Master Tournament match was just a preliminary, without an official recorder or live broadcast...

Once the game ended, the match still spread online like wildfire.

Earlier, the appearance of the Great Storm joseki had already shocked the world. Then came Yu Shao vs. Su Yiming in the Promotion Tournament, where the Demon Blade and Avalanche were both annihilated—shaking the Go world to its core.

So during this period, one question had consumed everyone:

Does the Large Diagonal still exist?

No one, in all of history, had ever fully explored the “Three Great Unsolvables.”

They were used for desperate fights—moves that could kill or be killed.

Everyone was in awe of the complexity of the Demon Blade, Avalanche, and Large Diagonal. They felt their own insignificance before these formations.

They were like three towering Buddhas, standing in the sacred hall of Go. Even gazing upon them filled players with reverence.

But when the statues of the Avalanche and Demon Blade crumbled—everyone trembled from the soul outward.

And so—does the Large Diagonal still exist?

That was the question.

And today, with this match in the National Master Tournament, the answer was revealed.

---

Capital City.

In a cluttered rental apartment.

A bespectacled young man had just gotten off work. As soon as he got home, he rushed to his computer, his expression tense. He opened it, typed: “Yu Shao,” “National Master Tournament.”

Instantly, countless links popped up.

“Lament of the Large Diagonal?”

That was the title of the most popular post.

His heart thudded. His palms sweated on the mouse.

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and clicked it open.

The post was short:

“This is a game from today’s National Master Tournament Preliminaries. Yu Shao, 2-dan, played Black. Lai Yu, 9-dan, played White. I don’t even know how to comment on it. Just look at the game. The record is linked below.”

He scrolled down and clicked the link.

The room fell silent.

He stared at the game record. As he followed each move, vivid images of Yu Shao and Lai Yu playing the match surfaced in his mind.

“Cut here?”

His face filled with confusion.

He patiently kept watching, but his questions only deepened.

Then—the game unfolded in a way he never expected.

White clearly had the upper hand in the top right.

But as the game progressed, the control seemed to slip…

And suddenly—it was Black who was dictating the pace.

His expression shifted from confusion, to disbelief, to seriousness, and then—to shock.

Then came the central battle.

The final showdown.

White had sacrificed a massive group to claim the center. It was risky—but it was his only chance!

Seconds ticked by.

He stared, frozen.

Ears ringing. Mind blank. As if the sky had collapsed.

“This…”

He opened his mouth—but couldn’t speak.

He had spent half the game confused.

Now, at the end—he had his answer.

And the answer was… terrifying.

Thickening the thick.

Too much thickness leads to heaviness.

Too much heaviness destroys efficiency.

A completely new concept. A different dimension of Go.

Now, looking back—White never had a chance.

From the moment the Large Diagonal was played, the board was under Black’s control.

“Can a human even… play a game like this?”

After a while, he finally said it aloud.

Still staring blankly at the screen, as if time had stopped.

Riiiing!

He didn’t know how long had passed before his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He checked the caller ID, answered, put it on speaker, and looked back at the computer.

The call connected—but the other side was silent.

After a long pause, the voice finally asked:

“Mr. Wang… did you see today’s National Master game?”

“I saw it.”

He kept looking at the screen as he replied.

Another long silence.

Then:

“So… the Large Diagonal… it still exists, right?”

Wang didn’t answer right away.

He stared at the screen. Then said:

“It exists.”

The other voice let out a breath. “That’s a relief. I have to teach the Large Diagonal in class tomorrow—”

But Wang’s raspy voice cut in:

“But without the thousand variations…”

“Can we still say it exists?”

The other end went silent.

“…From this day on, the three great unsolvables are no more.”

Wang murmured, dazed:

“He stepped into the hall of elite players—on the bones of the Demon Blade, Avalanche, and Large Diagonal…”

The game was over.