Meanwhile, the Korean team held an emergency meeting, and Director Zhu was furious. "They’re always pulling some kind of trick. They’re definitely analyzing Sheng Jingchu’s game strategy. They’ve got plenty of old hands over there just waiting to give Zhao Yanxun advice during the break."
Director Zhu waved his hand. "Let’s go, we’re holding a meeting too!"
The meeting itself wasn’t particularly technical. Each player had their own distinct style, and although they practiced by mimicking others’ strategies, few ever tried to imitate Sheng Jingchu’s. His style was balanced and straightforward, with no tricks or traps—simple and honest. If someone else played like that, they would likely lose.
The strength of his approach was clear: like a deer hanging from a branch, leaving no trace to follow.
But the weakness was just as evident—his defense was impenetrable, but his offense lacked aggressiveness.
However, if the opponent couldn’t secure a win before the mid-game, and the match became a battle of attrition, it would come down to endurance.
In the afternoon, as the match resumed, Zhao Yanxun changed his strategy.
Normally, his style was sharp and decisive, leaving his opponents no room to breathe. But now, his moves were noticeably slower, taking longer to consider each one, placing his stones with great caution.
Sheng Jingchu played with his left hand. While waiting for Zhao Yanxun to make a move, he would unconsciously rub the ring finger of his left hand, where he wore a matching ring with Cheng Liao.
A sharp-eyed journalist captured this moment, even taking a close-up shot of his hand.
But the comments under the news article took an unexpected turn, with everyone marveling at his “perfectly beautiful hands.”
Indeed, his hands were elegantly shaped—slender yet strong, with long, straight fingers and perfectly trimmed nails, creating an impeccable curve.
Although Zhao Yanxun’s attacks seemed more aggressive, Sheng Jingchu’s major dragon had already taken over the central territory.
The momentum was lost, and Zhao Yanxun was defeated.
Despite his loss, Zhao Yanxun accepted it gracefully, though his competitive nature drove him to challenge Sheng Jingchu to another match.
Sheng Jingchu’s response was simple: “There’s wine, there’s Go, and there’s me. Come on over.”
Zhao Yanxun asked him, “I’ve always wondered, what exactly makes you better than me?”
Sheng Jingchu smiled. “Perhaps it’s because I have a girlfriend.”
A reporter asked Sheng Jingchu, “How do you feel right now?”
He was known for being succinct, rarely saying more than a hundred words in response. But this time, his answer was surprisingly long.
“After my teacher passed away, there was a lot of criticism directed at me. Some people left comments on my Weibo, asking me to explain myself. First of all, I want to thank those who offered their advice. We don’t know each other, but I appreciate your concern.
“Even now, I feel that my feelings for my teacher are personal and don’t need to be shared with the public or subject to judgment.
“On December 3rd last year, I met my teacher for the last time. He told me that he hoped I would lose a game. I understood what he meant. He didn’t actually want me to lose, but he was worried that the pressure on me was too great.
“When he said those words, he must have realized that his life was nearing its end and that he wouldn’t be able to help me relieve that pressure anymore. So he wanted me to experience failure once, to find my own way out.”
He looked up at the sky. “I want to tell him that I did it.”
I did it, teacher. Did you see? It’s so cold in Hangzhou—has it snowed again? The cold must make your legs ache. Are you well in the other world?
Sheng Jingchu used his winnings from the "Ji Shi Cup" to expand Xie Hanzhou’s Go academy, opening it to the public and establishing a “Inspirational Scholarship” in his teacher’s name. He gradually withdrew from the competitive Go scene, shifting his focus to teaching.
He continued to live a reclusive life, only agreeing to an interview with Jiangcheng TV after some time.
The interviewer was Chen Duanyang. She noticed the wedding ring on his finger and began by saying, “First of all, congratulations on your marriage.”
His wedding had been a low-key affair, with only friends from the Go community invited.
Chen Duanyang teased him, “I thought we were friends too, but you didn’t invite me to your wedding.”
His response was direct: “I didn’t want to show favoritism.”
So, he hadn’t invited anyone from the media.
Chen Duanyang asked, “I’m curious. I’ve met your wife, and it seems like you two have very different personalities. How did you end up together?”
“It’s like the Maillard reaction,” he explained. “In simple terms, it’s a form of browning. When hydroxyl compounds and amino compounds combine, they form melanoidin. If I’m the reducing sugar, then she’s the amino acid or protein. Completely different substances come together to create something new. The most typical example of the Maillard reaction is the crust that forms on bread when it’s baked.”
His analogy was fresh and unique, and Chen Duanyang took a moment to process it. “I do love the crust on bread,” she said with a smile.
Chen Duanyang continued, “If you had to describe your feelings for your wife in one sentence, what would it be?”
He thought for a moment and replied, “With all I have, as you wish.”
The audience erupted in applause, cheering loudly.
Finally, Chen Duanyang asked him a more personal question. “This one’s a bit private… How old were you when you had your first crush?”
He smiled. “Six years old.”
Chen Duanyang laughed. “That young?”
Cheng Liao watched the interview, feeling a twinge of jealousy at the last question.
She nudged Sheng Jingchu. “Are you still hung up on that little girl who taught you how to fold paper mice?”
He nodded. “First loves are always hard to forget.”
Cheng Liao was so annoyed that she ignored him for a while. Later, when she went online, she saw that Sheng Jingchu had posted a new Weibo update.
The post included a photo of a little girl wearing a floral jacket, smiling with two bright white front teeth showing, while a small, serious-looking Sheng Jingchu frowned and held her hand tightly.
The caption read: “Mr. Sheng was six years old that year, Mrs. Sheng was four.”
Cheng Liao thought the little girl in the photo looked familiar, faintly recognizing herself from childhood.
She didn’t remember much from before she was five, so she pointed at the computer screen and asked Sheng Jingchu, “Is this me?”
Sheng Jingchu felt a pang of regret, realizing that she didn’t remember.
Back then, little Cheng Liao had two pigtails. He had opened a pack of Want Want Senbei rice crackers and given her one, which made her incredibly happy. She took a bite, but it accidentally fell to the ground.
Even though she was heartbroken, she pretended to be generous, pouting and telling him, “It’s no big deal!”
He couldn’t bear it and handed her his piece.
She wanted to refuse but couldn’t resist the temptation. After taking a bite, she asked him to pinky promise.
“You’re so nice. When I grow up, can I marry you?”
He looked at her snot bubble coming out of her nose, hesitated, and then nodded.
Cheng Liao’s father, who had always kept an eye on Sheng Jingchu’s updates, immediately recognized the little girl as his own daughter. He quickly reposted the Weibo post, adding the comment: “That year, Mr. Sheng was twenty-six, and Mrs. Sheng was twenty-four.”
But after a day without getting any likes, feeling embarrassed, Cheng Liao’s father deleted the post.
After leaving Xiushidai, Cheng Liao started a media studio, launching a single show called "Unsolvable Chess Mysteries."
The show was mainly about teaching people how to play Go.
Cao Xihe volunteered to be the host.
His thoughts were all over the place, and he had a tendency to ramble, often going off-topic by miles. He even liked to argue with viewers in the comments, which became a signature feature of the show. Despite the flood of negative reviews, the audience kept growing.
A tall thread was even created on Tianya Forum: “If you’ve been insulted by Cao Xihe, join the Anti-Cao Alliance.”
When spring came, Cheng Liao accompanied Sheng Jingchu on a trip back to Hangzhou.
They first visited Xie Hanzhou’s old residence, which had been turned into a memorial, attracting visitors who admired the late master from afar.
The room had been preserved in its original state, with the central hall’s wall now displaying a biography of Master Xie.
A large, enlarged photo of Sheng Jingchu and his teacher hung prominently in the middle.
Though the person was gone, the smile remained.
Sheng Jingchu stood silently for a long time, lost in thought.
He began to speak about his childhood. “You think I’m patient with the kids learning Go? It’s all because of my teacher. The way he treated us is the way I treat them.”
Cheng Liao hugged him from behind. “Do you want to cry? I can’t see you if you do.”
The sadder he was, the colder his demeanor became; the angrier he was, the calmer he appeared. His expressions and emotions were always out of sync.
He stood there for a long time, lost in memories, as if he were trying to reach back through nineteen years of time.
After leaving Xie Hanzhou’s old home, they took a ferry on the canal.
A flock of ducklings floated on the water, their downy feathers soft and their flat beaks pecking at the surface, perhaps trying to catch some fish.
Cheng Liao pointed them out to him. “Your favorites!”
He glanced at them but said nothing.
Cheng Liao called out to him, “Panda! Yuanyuan! Jingchu!”
He smiled. “You know, when you call me Panda, I just want to cuddle with you.”
“What about Yuanyuan?”
“Yuanyuan makes me feel like a little kid again, like I want to be a really good boy.”
“And Jingchu?”
“That’s who I am in the eyes of the world. I have to shoulder my responsibilities, win against my opponents, bring honor to my country, and teach the next generation so they can grow.”
Cheng Liao thought for a moment. “And what about ‘husband’?”
He pulled her close. “It makes me want to buy you candy.”
Cheng Liao changed her voice, making it sweet and almost dripping with affection. "And what about ‘darling’?"
He was silent for a moment before replying, "That makes me feel like hitting someone."
He took her to see his childhood home, a long alleyway lined with gray stone walls.
When it rained, the scene resembled an illustration from a book, with deep, nostalgic colors.
The area had become a tourist spot, and the gates were locked, so they could only look inside. The doors opened one after another, revealing the elegant design of the old-style residence.
In the courtyard stood a large camphor tree, so old that it would take several people to embrace its trunk. Its branches extended wide, and though spring had just begun, and the green hadn’t fully seeped in yet, tiny buds were starting to sprout.
He told her how he used to sit under that tree as a child, placing a narrow bench beneath it to watch the swallows in the sky, with their black feathers and scissor-like tails.
There weren’t many tourists, but a few children were flying kites in the alley, and the sound of the wind made them flutter.
Cheng Liao, holding onto his arm, asked, "Did you recognize me when we were on the bus?"
He shook his head. "You just seemed familiar."
He had forgotten much of that childhood memory—a promise made between children is rarely remembered.
Later, while sorting through old belongings, he stumbled upon a photo.
It was as if the memory was suddenly unlocked, and he recalled bits and pieces about her.
As they walked along the canal, they heard a song playing from someone’s house:
The cotton candy is still uneaten
The movie is yet to be made
The corner hasn’t seen a locust tree planted
And you’re still waiting at the platform
Time rewinds to the beginning
But I didn’t arrive
You became someone else’s memory
And I remained myself
Seeing the small flowers by the corner
I worry about their fate
Passing by the cotton candy stall
I think it might not taste good
Hearing about the movie being filmed
I can guess who will claim they’re too busy to play the lead
This is the moment when we just missed each other
Why does it feel so familiar?
...
Perhaps time really does reset, and after meeting and falling in love, time rewinds, and we forget each other.
Cheng Liao asked him, "Have you heard of the Mayan prophecy? That the world would end on December 21, 2012?"
He nodded. "Yes."
She continued, "Maybe that day really was the end of the world. Humanity went through all sorts of trials and survived, only to return to December 21, forgetting everything that came after.
"Maybe we met and fell in love after the world ended, but when time reset, we forgot each other."
He smiled. "Then it must be because I loved you more deeply, so I remember you."
She leaned into him. "Don’t worry, this time I’ll remember you well. So when time resets again, I’ll find you first."
She imagined their reunion. "You’ll probably greet me coldly and say, ‘Who are you?’ But I’ll cling to you so you can’t escape."
He shook his head. "I’ll definitely say, ‘You’re here.’"
Across mountains and rivers, through the ages, you still came.
Your arrival adds color to my barren life.
Your arrival brings sound to my silent world.
With your arrival, spring breezes across ten miles, flowers bloom like brocade, and as I walk through the crowd, you are all I see, the only one I will ever see.
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