She sprinted, scratching her neck, and kept glancing back at him. “Is it still there? Is it?”
Sheng Jingchu was about to say no, but Cheng Liao had already dashed into the hotel, running headlong into Cao Xihe.
She was out of breath, panting heavily.
“Sp-sp-spider!”
Cao Xihe looked puzzled, glancing towards the door.
“Pig?” Cao Xihe smacked his lips. “Pork tastes best when roasted.”
That night, a heavy rain fell, leaving the air so saturated with moisture that it seemed to drip. By morning, the sky had cleared, a bright blue stretching overhead, with the scent of damp earth and, if you sniffed carefully, a hint of tea leaves lingering in the air.
The media had already set up their cameras, ready for the final match, where the outcome would be decided. Cheng Liao had arrived early, securing a front-row seat in the viewing room, directly facing the large screen. Her colleagues from Show Style had gathered together, with some even organizing a betting pool, evenly split between Sheng Jingchu and Xie Hanzhou.
Sheng Jingchu and Xie Hanzhou arrived almost simultaneously, exchanged polite greetings, and the match officially began.
Recently, Cheng Liao had been cramming Go knowledge, but her foundation was weak, so while her head was full of technical terms, she couldn’t quite grasp their meanings.
In this match, Xie Hanzhou played black, and Sheng Jingchu played white.
Yan Xiao, who had attended several Go matches before, whispered to Cheng Liao, “Sheng Jingchu doesn’t have the best luck when playing with white.”
“Don’t be skeptical,” Yan Xiao said, backing up her claim with data. “According to fan statistics, in the major tournaments Sheng Jingchu has competed in, his win rate with black pieces is 73%, but with white pieces, it’s only 59%.”
For Xie Hanzhou, this match marked the end of his professional career, while for Sheng Jingchu, who had already won several international titles and the domestic Tianyuan Go Championship, this was his chance to achieve a grand slam by winning the Go Saint Tournament.
Cheng Liao couldn’t quite describe how she felt. As a mere spectator, she was already on edge. How must the players themselves feel, as if they were sitting on a bed of coals?
At that moment, she finally understood why Cao Xihe had deliberately lost his match. No matter how skilled you were, facing your own teacher in a match would stir up complicated emotions.
Everyone present understood this, and even those who didn’t fully grasp the intricacies of Go sat in tense silence, eyes fixed on the screen.
The sports channel had invited Jiang Chunlai to commentate on the match. Glancing at the board, he joked, “If I hadn’t made that blunder the other day, it might be Mr. Xie commenting today.”
“You might not know this,” he continued, as the opening moves were still tentative, “but I actually met Sheng Jingchu at the same time as Mr. Xie. One day, Mr. Xie and I were strolling along the street when we saw two elderly men playing Go. We were about to go watch when a group of kids ran by and knocked over the board. The old men were furious, threatening to spank the kids, but one of the boys stepped up and said, ‘I remember how the pieces were placed,’ and quickly reset the board.
“Mr. Xie and I were both impressed. We wondered if this kid knew how to play Go, but it turned out he hadn’t learned it formally. He just played in the area often, watched a lot, and had a good memory, so he was able to recreate the game.
“Mr. Xie said to me then, ‘In ten years, the Chinese Go world will be in for a change.’ I didn’t say anything at the time because I was already thinking about taking this talented kid as my student. I didn’t want to give Mr. Xie the same idea. But when I returned after attending a conference, I found out that Mr. Xie had already taken the boy as his student.
“Later, I learned that the conference was originally supposed to be attended by Mr. Xie, but he found an excuse to send me instead.”
This was the first time anyone had heard this story, and the audience was intrigued.
Jiang Chunlai continued, “In terms of skill, Mr. Xie and I are about equal, but his eye for talent has always been sharper. He said ten years, and sure enough, Sheng Jingchu won the Tianyuan Go Championship at sixteen.”
Jiang Chunlai then pointed to the board and began analyzing the game.
“Mr. Xie’s style is bold and open, like the ‘Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms’ in wuxia novels. Sheng Jingchu’s style is similar but also different—more about striking after the opponent, like playing Tai Chi.”
Linda, sitting below, asked, “And what about you, Jiang Lao?”
Jiang Chunlai chuckled. “Me? I’m all about ‘fighting fire with fire.’”
One of Jiang Chunlai’s students, Guan Ce, called out, “Then what about me, Teacher?”
Jiang Chunlai glared at him. “You little brat, if you don’t make it to 7-dan in this tournament, I’ll give you a good thrashing!”
As Jiang Chunlai’s gaze returned to the screen, he pointed to a white piece. “That’s a great move by Mr. Xie, trapping the black pieces in the center. If I were Sheng Jingchu, I would place my piece here.”
He pointed to a spot, but Sheng Jingchu had already placed his piece in a different location.
Jiang Chunlai paused, then burst out laughing. “I was wrong—Sheng Jingchu is the real ‘fight fire with fire’ master. That move has just blocked all of white’s escape routes.”
The game grew more intense, with black and white pieces battling fiercely across the board. Mr. Xie took longer and longer to make his moves, sweat gathering at his temples. He was so focused that he didn’t even notice the perspiration soaking through his shirt collar.
Sheng Jingchu, on the other hand, remained as steady as ever, his outward demeanor showing no signs of inner turmoil. He didn’t spend much time pondering each move and placed his pieces with precision.
As time passed, the board filled up with pieces. Even Jiang Chunlai, captivated by the match, occasionally forgot to continue his commentary.
357 moves!
There are only 361 points on the board, and they had nearly filled it.
If this match ended in a draw, they would have to play an additional game.
Most people had already resigned themselves to the idea that there would be no decisive winner today. Sheng Jingchu stared at the board but hesitated to make a move.
“Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Tick-tock!”
The sound of the countdown echoed in Cheng Liao’s ears, each tick hammering at her nerves.
Sheng Jingchu picked up a piece but didn’t place it immediately—a serious breach of etiquette for a Go player.
Xie Hanzhou slowly looked up and met Sheng Jingchu’s gaze.
As the final second ticked away, Sheng Jingchu placed his white piece on the board.
Xie Hanzhou smiled, a mixture of melancholy and relief, and placed his last two black pieces on the board.
Mr. Xie conceded!
There was no cheering, no applause. The viewing room was deathly silent.
It was Jiang Chunlai who first broke the silence, clapping his hands and saying, “The new generation has surpassed the old!”
Cheng Liao also began clapping enthusiastically, the sound jarring in the otherwise quiet room.
From the back row, Ding Lan muttered irritably, “Does she always have to make everything about herself?”
Mr. Xie was helped out of the arena by his assistant, and reporters quickly swarmed him for interviews. He turned back, glanced at Sheng Jingchu, and smiled faintly at the cameras. “As a Go player, I have some regrets. But as a teacher, I feel very proud.”
After a pause, he continued, “Sheng Jingchu did very well. He didn’t disappoint me.”
As the reporters dispersed and Mr. Xie left, Sheng Jingchu remained seated in the game room. Cheng Liao wanted to call out to him but felt that he might need a moment to collect himself.
Ding Lan rushed up to Sheng Jingchu, biting her lip so hard she nearly cried.
After a long silence, Ding Lan finally burst out, “You’ve really let me down! Did you really want to win that badly? Does stepping on your teacher’s shoulders make you feel good? Do you even realize how important this match was to him? I don’t want to speak to you ever again!”
She seemed like she wanted to say more but was quickly pulled away by Cao Xihe.
There were no congratulations, only accusations.
This victory felt utterly hollow.
"Do you also think that I beat my teacher because I wanted to win?" After a long silence, Sheng Jingchu asked Cheng Liao.
Cheng Liao didn’t think so. Sheng Jingchu had his own pride and principles—this was about the professional ethics of a Go player.
She was eager to express her thoughts but worried that she might say something wrong. In the end, all she could manage was, "How about... I show you a fox trick?"
Sheng Jingchu slowly smiled, as if someone was gently coloring a sketch on paper—green grass, red flowers, fish flicking their tails in a stream, splashing water droplets, peach trees laden with fruit, wisps of smoke rising from chimneys, the sounds of people, water, insects... life itself.
When he was silent, it was like a barren mountain locked in ice. When he smiled, the ice cracked, and winter’s snow melted away.
Cheng Liao’s heart brightened with his smile. She looked at him, eyes twinkling. "I really want to give you a big compliment, but I’m afraid it might make you proud."
Sheng Jingchu was a little surprised. "What would you compliment me for?"
"I’d say your smile is beautiful."
Sheng Jingchu chuckled. "It seems most people are shallow after all."
Just then, Cheng Liao’s phone rang. She answered it, and it was her father.
Her dad had had a bit to drink, and his voice was loud, practically shouting.
"My son-in-law won!"
Cheng Liao glanced nervously at Sheng Jingchu, feeling both embarrassed and awkward. She took a few steps away with her phone.
"Who’s your son-in-law?" she said, trying to play it off. "Don’t talk nonsense."
"Sheng Jingchu, of course!"
Her dad, oblivious to her hint, continued to shout, "Tell Jingchu that when he comes back, he has to come to the house. I’ll treat him to a drink."
Calling him "Jingchu" now… Cheng Liao was speechless and quickly made some excuses before hanging up.
She turned back to Sheng Jingchu to explain, "That was about my dad's goddaughter. My godbrother-in-law won a square dance competition, and now he’s going to compete at the district level. The prize is a set of Little Apple DVDs."
She added, "Signed editions."
Sheng Jingchu didn’t respond, and Cheng Liao felt a bit anxious, unsure if her lie was convincing. She replayed her words in her head, thinking it seemed to hold up well enough.
As they rode the elevator up to the seventh floor, Sheng Jingchu stopped at his room door.
"I have a question."
"Sure, go ahead."
"Do you know what ‘欲盖弥彰’ (yù gài mí zhāng, trying to cover something up only makes it more conspicuous) means?"
Cheng Liao realized he had overheard the phone call and felt her face flush. She rubbed her cheeks and said, "I don’t know what ‘欲盖弥彰’ means." Then, with a cheeky grin, she flashed her white teeth and added, "But do you know what ‘非礼勿听’ (fēi lǐ wù tīng, do not listen to inappropriate things) means?"
Before Cheng Liao could finish helping Sheng Jingchu pack, Xiao Qi arrived.
Cheng Liao officially handed the "panda" back to Xiao Qi, jokingly saying, "Finally, I can relax now," but feeling a bit of disappointment in her heart.
The Go Saint Tournament had concluded, and her business trip was coming to an end. Her thesis was finally complete, but she still had the defense to get through.
The company had already booked her return flight for the same day as Sheng Jingchu’s.
Apparently, he had a commercial event lined up after returning, and the contract was ready to be signed, so he had to catch an early flight.
Cheng Liao wanted to see him off but thought it might be awkward. Even though she woke up early and listened for any sounds from the room next door, she waited a few hours before pretending she had just woken up and sent Sheng Jingchu a message: "I overslept and didn’t get to see you off. Did you arrive okay?"
Sheng Jingchu replied, "I’ve arrived. There’s something I left for you at the front desk."
Huh? Something for her? Cheng Liao hurried downstairs, and the receptionist handed her a Husky plush toy—the very one she had been eyeing.
With its round, dark eyes and a golden bell on its collar that jingled when she shook its head, Cheng Liao tapped the plushie’s head, feeling guilty for avoiding the send-off.
Sheng Jingchu’s message came through: "Are you happy?"
Cheng Liao replied, "I’ve officially changed my surname now."
He asked, "Huh?"
She replied, "Very happy!"
The DV was filled with footage, and her notebook was crammed with various observations and experiences. Cheng Liao and Yan Xiao bought some Hangzhou specialties—West Lake lotus root starch for her grandma, a silk scarf for Cheng Yi, West Lake Longjing tea for her dad, and Lin’an walnuts for Cheng Nuo.
She even borrowed the largest convenience bag to carry all the plushies.
As she arrived at Xiaoshan Airport, she thought about how she had practically come to this city empty-handed, and it felt a bit surreal.
In life, we constantly move from having nothing to having something, then back to nothing again. The only thing that remains eternal is our memories.
She spread her arms wide and took a deep breath of the air, joking with Yan Xiao, "I think I might become a philosopher someday, like Aristotle."
Yan Xiao punched her on the back, making her almost cough up blood.
"How much is in your bank account?
"Do you own a house?
"Do you have a car?
"When are you getting married?
"How many kids do you plan to have?
"Answer all these, and then tell me if you still think you can be a philosopher."
Cheng Liao rubbed her back and sighed pitifully. "I heard that begging at the airport can make you over ten thousand yuan a month. Maybe you all should go ahead, and I’ll stay here for a few months to give it a try?"
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