The Haihe Cup World Women's Go Championship
"Haah… damn it."
Walking down the hallway, noisy with children running wild during lunch break, I catch myself swearing under my breath.
Fourth period. For a grown adult who's long since finished the entire elementary curriculum, sitting still and listening to it all over again is genuine torture.
If I just read a book, the teachers would take it as an insult.
Which means the only thing I can do in class is meditate while fighting off the avalanche of drowsiness.
Before the vacation, I'd managed to adapt to this routine, but getting used to it all over again feels like a mountain to climb.
"Think positive thoughts…. Damn it…."
I try to refresh my mind with optimism, but all that grows is the pile of sighs.
Fine. The principal's office, then.
A game of Go would make the time pass quickly enough.
Two flights of stairs later, I arrive at the principal's office.
"Excuse me."
I knock on the door.
"…Come in!"
A voice from inside. I turn the handle, step in, and give a small bow.
"Mr. Ryu, have you had lunch?"
The principal is speaking to me with honorifics. It feels a little awkward, but I suppose this is his way of treating me not as a student, but as a full-fledged professional player.
"Yes, I ate before coming."
"Sorry for dragging you all the way here. Still, you were once a student of this school, and it would feel cold-hearted of me not to congratulate you on becoming a principal here — that's why I called. I hope you understand, Mr. Ryu."
"Not at all! Thank you so much for thinking of me!"
The congratulations are more than enough — it's the banner I wish he'd take down as soon as possible, but I can't bring myself to say so out loud.
"Mr. Ryu. So, if you have the time, might I impose on you for that game of Go I mentioned?"
The principal asks as he sets a Go board down on the guest table.
"Of course!"
Lunch break isn't long. If we play leisurely, the time will be laughably short.
"Would four stones make an even match for you?"
Honestly, without knowing how strong the principal actually is, it's hard to answer off the cuff.
Ask him to take more, and I'd bruise his pride; take fewer, and the game could turn into a complete rout.
"Yes, whatever suits you!"
Four black stones filling all four star points.
My opponent is the weaker player.
But if you can't play your best against the weak, you won't against the strong, either. No matter who's across the board, my Go has to stay consistent.
Without arrogance, without timidity — I must play the optimal move, every time.
Four black stones.
No empty corners.
The wide-open territory is along the sides and in the center, roughly.
For his first move, I play a knight's approach at the lower-left corner.
Black extends along the third line to take the bottom side.
Avoiding a direct fight, is it?
Not a bad choice.
I claim the left side and reach toward the right.
Black takes the top side while I secure influence along the right.
Black then reinforces the lower-left corner, hoping to nip any invasion in the bud.
Should I probe the remaining three corners, or invade the broad expanse of the side?
After a moment's thought, I poke at the bottom side.
The principal, avoiding conflict, builds a massive fortress on the strength of his lower-left corner.
His fundamentals are rock-solid, so getting greedy would only backfire on me. I take my profit modestly and pull back, widening my influence along the bottom.
Fast chess leaves no room for leisurely calculation.
Trusting instinct and the feel of my fingertips, I play each move as sharply as I can, pressing the principal hard.
But he faithfully banks the advantage of having claimed all four corners, steadily reducing the number of variables.
He's a seasoned player whose Go, by ordinary standards, is quite good — and he's clearly been playing for a long time.
Perhaps three stones would have been the right handicap.
Open space still remains on the board, but there are few places left where a meaningful change can be wrought. And in fast games, one can't always conjure the perfect move.
If the principal continues defending as skillfully as he has so far, he'll be ahead of me — by a narrow margin, but ahead.
"I lose. Thank you for the game!"
My failure to play more aggressively was my downfall.
I place my stones back on the board and resign.
"I learned a great deal. The youngest player ever to turn pro really is something else. Even with four stones, I couldn't relax for a single moment until the end — and I've been playing this game my whole life, you know."
Wiping the sweat from his brow, the principal rummages through his desk drawer.
"You only just turned professional, and now school's started again — I figured our Ryu Seoa would be all over the place, so I prepared something."
A clear file placed in my hands.
The schedules of all the major tournaments, neatly organized.
"Thank you so much!"
I never expected this much consideration.
"Heh heh. No need to thank me. When a student of this school does well, the school does well too. Now, it's getting late — off you go. I wish you every success."
The principal waves me off. I bow deeply and leave the office.
Reviewing the tournament schedule the principal had given me, I settled on the first competition I would challenge.
The Haihe Cup World Women's Go Championship, hosted by the Chinese Weiqi Association.
A prestigious international title with a winner's purse of 400,000 yuan.
Three slots in the main bracket were allotted to Korea.
Lee Na-ye, 9-dan — last year's champion and holder of the seed — had already claimed one, leaving two up for grabs.
In the qualifying rounds held two weeks ago, I seized one of those slots with three straight wins. And with the school's blessing, I'd arranged to attend the tournament without it affecting my attendance.
Having landed in Jiangsu Province, China, where the tournament was being held, I was in a taxi headed for the hotel.
Accompanying me as my guardian was Lee Na-ye, 9-dan — Korea's number-two ranked female player and a titleholder.
She seemed to be a woman of rather few words, and starting conversations isn't exactly my nature either, so an awkward silence settled over us as we sat side by side.
"…Want one?"
Lee Na-ye rummages through her pocket and offers me a piece of candy.
"Thank you."
"…First tournament?"
"Yes. My first since turning pro."
"No need to do well your very first year… so don't put too much pressure on yourself. And China is… well, they can be pretty territorial in all sorts of ways…. Even if you lose, it might not be a reflection of your actual skill…."
Lee Na-ye offers her advice with a weary look, her voice soft and unhurried.
"Whew… then again, these taxis really are consistent, aren't they…."
At some point I'd gotten the feeling we were circling the same block over and over — and it seemed Lee Na-ye had noticed it too.
Two foreign women fresh off a plane. One of them a little kid, at that.
The perfect targets for a rip-off.
Well. Nothing new there.
I let out a light sigh and speak up.
"Excuse me. Could you print me a receipt later? It seems you keep taking wrong turns, so I'd like to check whether the fare matches the meter."
"Hahaha! Sorry about that! It's your first time in this area, so I was hoping to show you a bit of the city — I didn't realize you spoke Chinese, or I'd have said something beforehand! Of course I was always going to charge the proper fare! Don't worry about the meter!"
The moment I spoke in Chinese, the driver scrambled through a rather flimsy excuse — and only then finally took the shortest route.
A receipt displays the vehicle information and departure time, so once I raise a formal complaint, a taxi driver finds himself in a very awkward position indeed.
"…Your Chinese is really good. This'll make traveling together easy…."
Lee Na-ye looks at me, her eyes brightening.
"Ahaha, I only know basic conversation."
Chinese I'd studied in my spare time during my professional career. Turns out it would prove useful in this life as well.
"Well, you just saved us some taxi fare, so let's put it toward something delicious…. Eating well and sleeping well are part of a professional's job, after all…."
Eating well and sleeping well.
Critical factors in competitive performance.
Yet the moment we arrived at the hotel, those expectations shattered completely.
The accommodation booked by the tournament organizers sat directly beside a pedestrian promenade in the heart of the city — teeming with people.
The room assigned to us at reception was, of all things, on the first floor. The noise would be brutal.
"Is there nothing available besides a first-floor room?"
"I'm very sorry. All our other rooms are fully booked."
We tried to switch rooms, but the answer that came back was merciless.
"I'm sorry… being last year's champion, I suppose they're already trying to keep me in check…. Haah…."
Lee Na-ye lets out a sigh deep enough to swallow the ground.
"It's fine! I actually packed an eye mask and earplugs just in case!"
"…Really!? Good thinking…. I forgot to pack spares…."
She pulls an eye mask and earplugs out of her own bag to show me as she says it.
"Ahaha…."
Perhaps this is simply the fate of any professional traveling to China.
Dragging our luggage toward our rooms, Lee Na-ye and I share a hollow laugh.