I Really Didn’t Mean to Play Go!
Chapter 338: The One Who’ll Lose... Will Be You!

Evening. Inside a quiet teahouse.

Jiang Changdong lifted his teacup and took a slow sip. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Zhuang Weisheng across from him. “You losing the 10-Dan title really caught me off guard.”

Hearing this, Zhuang Weisheng simply gave a faint smile. “Weren’t you always waiting for the day I’d lose the 10-Dan title?”

At that, Jiang Changdong’s hand paused in mid-air. The teacup he was holding froze halfway up, and silence fell between them.

After a moment, Jiang Changdong slowly placed the cup back on the table and said, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting for that day.”

“But when you actually did lose the title... it didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would.”

Jiang Changdong continued slowly, “Losing to people like Kong Zi or Zhang Dongchen, I could accept that. But you had to go and lose your 10-Dan title to some greenhorn like Zhu Huai’an.”

“In the end, sure, I wanted to see you lose that title... but I wanted me to be the one to take it from you—not someone else.”

Zhuang Weisheng fell silent at that.

Jiang Changdong lifted his head and stared at Zhuang Weisheng, “What’s really going on with you?”

“Twenty years ago, Master Hu Yuze was forty-five, and you were barely twenty.”

“Everyone in the Go world agreed that a player’s peak comes around forty. That’s why Hu Yuze, 10-dan, told the media that no one in their twenties could ever hold the 10-Dan title.”

“But then you went and proved him wrong—beat him 4-2, claimed the 10-Dan title, and defended it for twenty straight years.”

“Now you’re forty—you’re supposed to be at your prime—and you lost to some punk like Zhu Huai’an. Don’t tell me your decline’s starting already at just forty?”

Zhuang Weisheng gave a dry laugh. “Zhu Huai’an may be young, but his Go strength is already among the world’s best. I may have lost a few games, but they weren’t shameful losses, were they?”

That seemed to strike a nerve—Jiang Changdong’s expression twisted, and his voice even grew sharp. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Those games weren’t even close to your real level! Sure, Zhu Huai’an’s strong—but in a seven-game match, he shouldn’t beat you more than twice!”

“How the hell did you lose a best-of-seven to him?!”

“I thought maybe you had some bigger strategy going, but after looking at your recent game records—I don’t see your old self at all. What happened to the Weisheng-style? What happened to your trademark style?!”

“You’re more than this, Zhuang Weisheng!”

Zhuang Weisheng said nothing, simply sitting there quietly as Jiang Changdong grew emotional.

After realizing he’d lost his composure, Jiang Changdong took a deep breath, picked up his tea again, and took a calming sip.

“I want to re-learn Go,”

Zhuang Weisheng finally said, looking at Jiang Changdong.

“What?”

Jiang Changdong blinked, stunned as if he’d just heard something absurd. “Re-learn Go?”

Zhuang Weisheng didn’t explain further, only saying, “He always seems unconcerned with anyone who came before him. He thinks... there can be a National Master in their teens.”

“A teenager... holding a National Master title?”

Jiang Changdong was dumbfounded. Just as he was about to speak, he paused—something clicked.

“You’re talking about... Yu Shao?”

“Yeah.”

Zhuang Weisheng took a small sip of tea and nodded.

“Hahaha... hahahahaha!”

Jiang Changdong suddenly burst into laughter, as if he’d heard the joke of the century. “Zhuang Weisheng, you’re saying I’m gonna lose the National Master title to him?”

“He just beat Li You, 8-dan, today. It was a brilliant game—you didn’t watch it?” Zhuang Weisheng asked as he set down his teacup.

“I saw it. Yeah, it was a masterpiece, no doubt,”

Jiang Changdong admitted. “I won’t deny that kid’s freakishly talented—but Li You’s still young. He lacks experience—he’s still green.”

“In that game, if it had been me, or someone like Kong Zi with years of battle under their belt—we’d have won.”

Zhuang Weisheng didn’t argue. He just stared at the empty board in front of him.

After a moment, he slowly reached into the Go bowl, and with the clink of stones, he picked up a black stone.

“You asked why I haven’t been playing the opening I’m most skilled at, right?”

Zhuang Weisheng looked at the board, speaking as he placed the first stone.

Tap!

Column 16, Row 4—Star Point!

“Weisheng-style?”

Jiang Changdong’s brow furrowed as he watched the stone land. “Why?”

“This was from a game I played against Yu Shao.”

Zhuang Weisheng placed a white stone on the board and said, “I lost that game.”

“What?!”

Jiang Changdong froze for a second. Then his expression snapped—he blurted out, “You... lost?”

“No way!”

“You lost to Yu Shao?”

Zhuang Weisheng didn’t answer. He just kept pulling stones from the bowl and placing them on the board.

Tap, tap, tap...

Black and white stones spread across the board under Jiang Changdong’s gaze.

Komoku. Small Knight’s Approach. High Extension.

Black was clearly playing Weisheng-style!

As Zhuang Weisheng’s rival of over thirty years, Jiang Changdong’s understanding of Weisheng-style ran deep—perhaps second only to Zhuang himself.

“You played Black?”

Jiang Changdong stared at the board, disbelief written across his face. “You used this layout... and still lost?”

Deep down, he already knew the answer. After all, it was Black who played the Weisheng-style—it wasn’t likely someone else would dare use that against Zhuang Weisheng.

The Weisheng-style was Zhuang’s creation—his legacy. Using it against him would be like trying to slay a swordsman with his own blade. More likely than not, you’d end up cutting yourself to pieces.

So how could Zhuang, using his own system, lose?

Zhuang didn’t answer. He just kept playing.

Tap!

Column 17, Row 15—Small Knight’s Approach!

“A small knight’s approach?” Jiang Changdong’s eyes widened, staring at the board in disbelief.

The stones continued to fall.

Tap, tap, tap!

As more stones landed, Jiang Changdong’s expression slowly changed. Shock crept across his face.

“Against the Weisheng-style, the small knight’s approach is widely considered bad—but White still used it. Then, when Black replied with a small knight, White pressed.”

“White even pressed all the way to the fourth line—completely against standard theory!”

“But...”

“But as the board progressed, Black fell behind, and White began to shine!”

A flood of confusion surged in Jiang Changdong’s chest. He stared at the board and asked, almost unwilling to believe it:

“Zhuang Weisheng, who played Black?”

He already knew—but as long as Zhuang hadn’t said it out loud, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept it.

“I played Black,” Zhuang Weisheng finally said, placing another stone. “Yu Shao played White.”

Hearing the inevitable answer, Jiang Changdong opened his mouth—but no words came out. He just stared at the board, watching the stones fall like rain.

After a while, Zhuang Weisheng placed the final stone.

“This is where I stopped,”

He stared at the board for a long moment, then looked up and said, “I didn’t continue after this.”

Jiang Changdong didn’t speak. He just stared at the board, unblinking.

Others might not be able to tell who won at this point—but like Zhuang, he’d already seen the path to the endgame.

Black had lost.

But more shocking than Zhuang losing to Yu Shao... was how this game unveiled a brand-new variation against the Weisheng-style—a hidden innovation that challenged the foundations of territory and influence.

Yes!

Territory!

Influence!

Just like thickness and thinness, these are the pillars of Go. If either shifts, the entire strategy of Go transforms completely.

“This was a blitz game?” Jiang Changdong asked, his eyes narrowing as he noticed certain patterns.

“Yes.”

Zhuang Weisheng nodded without hesitation.

“Since it was a blitz, and not an official match, it doesn’t prove anything,” Jiang Changdong said. “It means nothing.”

Zhuang Weisheng didn’t argue—because it was true.

Blitz games aren’t official matches. Anything can happen.

Zhuang stared at the board, then lifted his head again and locked eyes with Jiang Changdong. “Jiang Changdong.”

Jiang Changdong blinked and looked at him in confusion.

“You haven’t played him face-to-face like I have. You’ve only seen his game records. That means... you don’t know his strength.”

Zhuang stared directly at him and said, “I’m not being arrogant.”

“And I’m not trying to offend you.”

“But if you don’t change—if you don’t rethink how you see Go—”

Zhuang Weisheng’s voice turned stern, every word ringing like a bell:

“When you finally meet him on the tournament stage... the one who loses—will definitely be you.”

“Ever since that match ended, I’ve been learning—rethinking how Go should be played. Letting go of fixed mindsets. Rebuilding my understanding from the ground up.”

“Because soon—we’ll meet again at the National Master Tournament.”

“In that match... the world will see a brand-new Zhuang Weisheng. A completely evolved Weisheng-style.”

Jiang Changdong stared at him in awe.

And from Zhuang’s expression—he couldn’t see even the slightest trace of a joke.