Sheng Jingchu remained silent.
His phone was turned off, and the passcode on his home’s lock had been changed.
Xiao Qi couldn’t reach him, and Cheng Liao sent him over a hundred WeChat messages, none of which were answered.
Cheng Liao guessed he was at home and stood at his door for a while, trying to guess the passcode.
Most people would use their birthday as a passcode since it’s easy to remember, but Sheng Jingchu wouldn’t have had that concern, so it was unlikely he would use his birthday.
Cheng Liao decided to try her luck, though luck had never been on her side. As a child, she never won anything in raffles—other kids at least got a consolation prize, but she never even got the lowest-tier dishcloth.
When she walked on ice with her classmates, everyone else made it across, but when it was her turn, she fell into an ice hole. Fortunately, she was strong enough to pull herself out.
During the Dragon Boat Festival, the school handed out rice dumplings. While others got ones filled with sweet dates or salted meat, she ended up with a couple of plain ones.
So Cheng Liao had always believed that if she relied on luck, she wouldn’t have survived to this day.
She called Jiang Chunlai. "Teacher Jiang, do you remember when you first met Jingchu?"
Jiang Chunlai thought for a moment. "It was June 18th, because the next day was my wife’s birthday."
Cheng Liao entered the passcode, 0618, and hit confirm. The door unlocked.
On June 18th, nineteen years ago, Sheng Jingchu had met Jiang Chunlai and Xie Hanzhou.
Cheng Liao expected to find Sheng Jingchu passed out drunk or the room filled with smoke and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts.
To her surprise, the room was still spotless. Sheng Jingchu had always been a bit of a neat freak, and even though he lived alone, he kept his space impeccably clean.
The living room was empty, as were the dining room and kitchen.
She climbed up to the second floor, first knocking on the bedroom door—no response. Then she made her way to the study.
Sheng Jingchu was sitting in the study, a Go board in front of him.
The board was empty, not a single stone placed. He was holding a Go stone in his hand, leaning back in his chair.
Cheng Liao didn’t dare disturb him and quietly watched him for a long time, but he didn’t move at all.
Finally worried, she softly called out to him, "Panda."
Sheng Jingchu didn’t respond, not even glancing her way.
It was as if all the life had been drained out of him, leaving only an empty shell.
Frightened, Cheng Liao rushed over and shook his shoulder.
"Panda, what’s wrong?"
He finally snapped out of his daze, only to say, "I can’t play Go anymore."
He couldn’t play anymore—whenever he touched the Go stones, a sharp pain would shoot through his head.
Cheng Liao tried to comfort him. "It’s okay, you’re just exhausted. Once you rest, you’ll be fine."
He shook his head slowly, almost sluggishly. "No, it’s not that. I can’t play Go anymore."
"It’s okay, if you can’t play in this tournament, we’ll just focus on getting you better first."
He continued to shake his head, his gaze unfocused. "No, I have to win this tournament."
He had to win, but he couldn’t play.
After hearing the news of his teacher's death, he had turned off his phone and changed the lock’s password, wanting to process everything on his own. He didn’t fully believe it, but his rational mind told him it was all true.
He didn’t feel much pain; the sadness was dull, like a knife without a blade that had pierced his heart. It didn’t hurt, but it festered within him.
He followed his usual routine, lying in bed, but sleep wouldn’t come.
So he got up, cleaned the room, and tried to study Go patterns as usual, but he couldn’t play anymore.
His heart felt empty, clinging only to the belief that he had to win, but reality contradicted this belief, leaving him anxious and angry.
Cheng Liao thought he was simply overwhelmed with grief. She went downstairs to make him some porridge, but he didn’t take a single bite, just stared at the empty Go board.
She tried talking to him, but his responses were brief and repetitive.
Running out of options, Cheng Liao simply sat beside him, keeping him company.
She sorrowfully thought that perhaps Jesus Christ hadn’t heard her prayers—or maybe He had, but was annoyed by her persistence, granting the opposite of her wishes: Xie Laoshi had passed away, and Sheng Jingchu had suffered a mental breakdown.
She didn’t know whom to turn to for help. Should she pray to Buddha? But she couldn’t think of a temple known for its effectiveness.
She could only console herself, thinking that maybe Sheng Jingchu would feel better by tomorrow.
January 3rd, with only three days left until the "Ji Shi Cup" Go tournament, it started snowing again as soon as daylight broke.
Reality shattered Cheng Liao’s hopes. Sheng Jingchu didn’t eat, drink, or speak, just sat there, withering away.
She realized she couldn’t wait any longer and called the hospital’s psychology department for advice.
The counselor didn’t have much to offer, only reminding Cheng Liao to care for the patient.
The day before, Sheng Jingchu hadn’t had a drop of water, and Cheng Liao hadn’t eaten either. She didn’t feel hungry, just exhausted.
She bought some fish and made a fish soup for Sheng Jingchu, bringing it to him. He didn’t even glance at it.
Growing desperate, she tried to feed him with a spoon, brushing it against his lips, but he turned his head away.
She pleaded, "Just one bite, please, just one bite."
He remained unmoved.
Frustrated, Cheng Liao put down the spoon. "If you don’t eat, I won’t eat either. Let’s just starve together."
Only then did he pick up the spoon and take a bite, then another, mechanically repeating the motion until the bowl of fish soup was empty.
Cheng Liao finally breathed a sigh of relief.
But after finishing, he returned to his previous posture.
Cheng Liao wiped the corners of his mouth and sighed, taking the bowl to the kitchen to wash it.
Afterward, she sat beside him again, staying until dusk.
She remembered the legend Sheng Jingchu had told her about the twilight hour and silently prayed by the window.
"If there are any spirits or demons passing by, please hear my request and stop."
She thought that spirits and demons wouldn’t help without something in return. She had nothing to offer, but maybe she could sacrifice her soul.
But perhaps her soul wasn’t appetizing enough, because as night fell, Sheng Jingchu remained the same.
Cheng Liao made dinner and brought it to him. He ate, but didn’t speak. After finishing, he remained in the same posture, going through his nightly routine—washing up, lying in bed—staring at the ceiling all night.
The room’s light stayed on, and Sheng Jingchu’s eyes remained open. Exhausted, Cheng Liao fell asleep on the edge of the bed. When she woke, Sheng Jingchu was still lying there, staring blankly at the ceiling.
From lack of sleep, dark circles formed under his eyes, and he visibly thinned day by day. His eye sockets deepened, and his eyes seemed hollow, occasionally rotating in their sockets as if they were stuck.
January 4th, with two days left until the "Ji Shi Cup" Go tournament, the weather cleared up, but last night’s snow had already melted, leaving the ground muddy.
Cheng Liao was at the end of her rope, but she felt she had to keep going—maybe a miracle would happen at any moment.
She called in to request leave from work.
Her supervisor’s voice was icy. "Cheng Liao, everyone’s swamped right now. Where are you planning to run off to?"
Unable to suppress her frustration, she snapped, "Then fire me."
She pulled Sheng Jingchu downstairs. He quietly let her lead him and sat by the window, looking up at the sky.
Cheng Liao turned on the living room TV. She didn’t really want to watch anything, but the silence was unbearable, driving her to the brink of madness. Even the most boring TV show was better than this oppressive quiet.
The news was on, and she listened absentmindedly, catching only a string of names.
Forcing a smile, she tried to make conversation with Sheng Jingchu.
"When I was a sophomore interning at a newspaper, I wrote a government news article. The piece was too long, and the editor asked me to cut some parts. I ended up removing a bunch of names. Can you guess what my editor said?
"He said, ‘Cheng, you can cut anything, but those names are absolutely non-negotiable.’"
Sheng Jingchu glanced at her, then looked back up at the sky.
January 5th, another clear day, with just one day left until the "Ji Shi Cup" Go tournament.
After enduring another long day, Sheng Jingchu went to his room to rest.
Suddenly, the whole house went dark. Cheng Liao fumbled for the switch and found that the power was out.
She didn’t know if it was due to an empty electricity card or a regional power outage. Using the light from her phone, she made her way downstairs and found some candles stored in the kitchen cabinet.
Carrying a candle, she walked into Sheng Jingchu’s room, and he finally showed a bit of a reaction.
He asked her, "Is the power out?"
Delighted by this small sign of life, she nodded and placed the candle on the bedside table, where its light cast shadows on the wall.
Exhausted, she lay down beside him, reaching for his pillow. He moved aside to give her some space.
She smiled. "Let me show you a magic trick."
Then she sat up, crossed her hands, hooked her thumbs together, and flapped her palms twice.
A shadow appeared on the wall.
"Look, it's a seagull."
She changed the gesture.
"Now, it's a dove."
As she spoke, her voice grew softer, almost as if she were talking to herself. "My grandfather taught me this. When I first came to my grandmother's house, I couldn't get used to it and cried all night long. My family didn’t know what to do; some even said I must have attracted something unclean. They suggested carrying a piece of paper with my birthdate written on it, circling the house three times, and then burning it. My family did that, but I still cried. One night, the power went out, and I was afraid of the dark. My grandfather came to comfort me and taught me how to make shadow puppets with my hands, and I finally stopped crying."
Sheng Jingchu slowly began to speak, his voice hoarse. "I sleep with the light on at night, but it’s not because I’m afraid of the dark."
He continued, "When I was four, my parents went out to take care of some business, leaving me at home alone. I cried so much, clinging to my mother’s clothes, not wanting her to leave. She told me, ‘You have to stay at home and keep a light on for us, so we won’t lose our way when we come back.’"
His voice was faint. "So I kept the light on, but they never came back."
Since then, he left a light on every night, to light the way for his departed parents.
Cheng Liao moved closer to him.
"My mother passed away when I was very young, so my memories of her are blurry. But I always longed for the scent of her, and I secretly kept one of her shirts. Whenever I missed her, I’d touch the buttons because that’s where her hands most often touched.
"The older I got, the more her face faded from my memory, but the longing only grew stronger.
"Later, I heard that if you close the curtains at dusk, play a blank cassette tape in a recorder, and ask questions to the deceased, then flip the tape and play it back, you’ll hear their answers."
She paused, and Sheng Jingchu didn’t ask her to continue. After a long silence, she finally went on.
"But I didn’t hear anything.
"That was the first time I truly understood death. Ah, so this is what death is—a separation that lasts forever. I would never hear her voice again, she would never speak to me again.
"Death is an endless goodbye, and whether or not we’re ready to say farewell, when it comes, all we can do is accept it. We have no other choice.
"There’s a line in a Song Dynasty poem that I find particularly poignant: ‘A long separation dulls the grief.’ When a parting lasts too long, time washes everything away, and all the love and hate seem insignificant. But just because the sorrow fades, does the longing disappear? Not at all. It lives in our blood, in our breath, for eternity.
"Master Xie is gone, and I know you’re heartbroken. I’m heartbroken too, though not even a fraction as much as you are. But could you perhaps think of this as just another goodbye? Like when you left for international tournaments and parted with him each time. In a way, he’s closer to you now—he’s in your heart. Whenever you think of him, he’s there, never to leave again."
Sheng Jingchu remained silent for a long time as the candle burned lower. Finally, he spoke, his voice slow and heavy, "What I regret most is the image of my teacher losing his last game at the Go Saint tournament whenever I close my eyes.
"It’s a feeling of loss.
"So I keep asking myself the same question over and over—did I really make the wrong choice?
"Respecting every opponent is my only belief in Go, but compared to my teacher, that belief seems insignificant."
It was an unanswerable question, and even though Cheng Liao knew that even if Master Xie had won the game, it might not have brought him happiness.
Sheng Jingchu understood this too.
A smart person, once caught up in a problem, can find it hard to escape the mental trap.
"I can’t make sense of this," he sighed. "That’s why I can’t play Go anymore."
Cheng Liao gently patted his chest. "Then stop thinking about it for now. Just try to get some sleep."
He finally closed his eyes. Perhaps he had reached his physical limit; he relaxed and soon fell asleep.
By the light of the candle, Cheng Liao watched him sleep. He was frowning, like a child lost and unable to find his way home.
January 6th, cloudy with snow flurries.
The "Ji Shi Cup" Go tournament was the next day. When Cheng Liao woke up, Sheng Jingchu was still asleep.
The candle had long since burned out, leaving only a short, blackened wick.
Sheng Jingchu had always been a light sleeper, requiring absolute silence at night, and he woke up at the same time every morning, whether he had slept well or not.
She quietly slipped out of bed and made some breakfast for Sheng Jingchu, but seeing that he was still asleep, she didn’t wake him.
She sat downstairs for a while before getting up and heading out.
When Sheng Jingchu woke up, he went downstairs and looked around but couldn’t find Cheng Liao.
She was the type who could make any place lively, and with her around, it felt like there was an entire world in the room.
Now that she was gone, Sheng Jingchu felt something was missing.
He liked listening to her talk—anything she said was fine. Just hearing her speak made him feel alive.
He returned to the Go board in the study, and as soon as he picked up a stone, his head felt like it was about to explode, the pain blinding him.
Downstairs, he heard the door open. He could already distinguish her footsteps—a light, hurried pace with her weight on her heels, causing her to lean back slightly when she stood still.
He focused on the sound, counting the seconds. After about three minutes, Cheng Liao opened the study door.
Her voice was excited. "Look who I brought with me!"
He turned to see, and a little head peeked out from behind her—it was Tiantian.
Tiantian ran past Cheng Liao, climbed onto Sheng Jingchu’s lap, and wrapped his arms around his neck.
"Teacher, teacher, I missed you so much."
"I lost to Liangliang again at Go." Tiantian grabbed a Go stone and placed it on the board, pressing a black stone into Sheng Jingchu’s hand.
"Teacher, what should I do now?"
Sheng Jingchu looked at the board. The black and white stones crisscrossed, with the white stones trapping the black.
He stared at the board for a long, long time before placing the black stone back in Tiantian’s hand, guiding it to a spot on the board.
"See? It’s alive again."
At that moment, he finally understood his teacher’s true intention.
His teacher had never cared about winning or losing.
It was always about passing on the knowledge.
Outside, snow began to fall again, soft and silent, blanketing the earth in quiet whispers.
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