The Girl Emperor of the Board
The Haihe Cup World Women's Go Championship.
The passion and fighting spirit that Ryu Seoa, 1-dan, displayed in Game One became a trending topic for days on end.
The photograph of the young pro, her lips stained pale with fatigue, spread across the internet and began winning her legions of fans — men and women alike.
Then came the organizers' unfair tournament management and the hotel room incident, splashed across the media, compounded by the heart-wrenching story of a father battling cancer. The sensational narrative was complete.
Game Two.
Against all expectation, Ryu Seoa 1-dan won. And not just won — won in a rout.
Anticipation for Game Three within the Korean Go world swelled to enormous heights.
The youngest player ever to turn professional, competing in her very first tournament, facing the youngest world Go empress.
It was potential no one had predicted, and now only a single game stood between her and its realization.
Game Three.
The Go Channel shattered its all-time viewership record, and even a national public broadcaster aired the match live in simulcast.
Go officials were crying tears of joy over the unexpected windfall.
Capturing the public's attention at the same time was the online Go handle tlsckdah1021, which had been setting the Go community abuzz not long ago.
Analysts noted that the Go Ryu Seoa 1-dan had played while mounting her ferocious comeback in Game One bore a striking resemblance to the style of tlsckdah1021 — the legend of fifty wins without a single loss, who had vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared.
But it was mere speculation, so the hypothesis that Ryu Seoa 1-dan might be tlsckdah1021 stirred little reaction and was quietly buried.
Amid all this anticipation, the third game of the final began.
Hui Yun, 5-dan, once brimming with momentum, looked utterly deflated.
Having drawn black in two consecutive games, Ryu Seoa 1-dan now took white.
— Click.
With Hui Yun's first stone as black, the match began in earnest.
Black 1, 5, and 7 formed a modified mini-Chinese opening — a fashionable fuseki frequently played among today's professionals.
After concluding a joseki exchange in the upper right corner, Ryu Seoa 1-dan responded to the modified mini-Chinese with a move that broke from conventional joseki.
A stone placed snugly against the 3-3 point.
Black was forced to twist and contort itself to defend the corner, while white, pressing down on black, secured influence across the board.
A fresh interpretation.
Opinion split: had Hui Yun 5-dan mishandled the response, or had Ryu Seoa 1-dan unearthed a genuine antidote to the modified mini-Chinese opening?
The professional commentators covering the match tried rewinding to the earlier position to study it, but the opening had unfolded so quickly that they couldn't spare the time to analyze it properly.
The first fifty moves — where win rates swing most wildly.
Where Hui Yun 5-dan's position felt stiflingly compressed, white's shapes were crisp and expansive.
Yet Hui Yun 5-dan pressed on without a single misstep. Even so, the gap only kept widening.
The interpretation required no convoluted reasoning. It was simple.
Ryu Seoa 1-dan's skill simply overwhelmed Hui Yun 5-dan.
The Chinese media had churned out claims that Ryu Seoa's victory in Game Two had been sheer luck — but a theory that lightning struck twice in a row was about to lose all credibility.
The match that had drawn the eyes of Korea, China, and the entire Go world ended with a one-sidedness that bordered on cruel.
China's proud powerhouse beauty pro, crushed on the very stage China itself had so carefully built.
The girl who was supposed to be a supporting character shoved the lead actress aside and claimed the spotlight all to herself.
In a silence so heavy it was almost frightening, Hui Yun 5-dan laid down her stones to the bitter end of Game Three.
Victory by resignation.
Two knockout wins in a row.
Despite this tremendous achievement, Ryu Seoa 1-dan's expression barely changed.
The Chinese press corps, ever the professionals, pressed their shutters with fervor regardless of what they themselves were feeling.
Whatever else it was, this was a historic moment for the Go world — and a scoop.
The closing ceremony, held the morning after the final game.
Complicated feelings outweighed any joy.
Winning and losing is what professional players do every day as naturally as eating meals.
Unless one intends to quit competition altogether, neither despair over defeat nor giddiness over victory has any place.
One need only thoroughly review the game — a mirror reflecting exactly who you are right now — and resolve to be better tomorrow than today.
Championship.
400,000 yuan.
It would be a lie to say I wasn't happy — but this is only the beginning.
For now, what mattered was the problem staring me in the face.
"Hehehe…."
Lee Na-ye, 9-dan, beaming as she fussed over my hair.
After Game Three ended, she'd clearly had shopping on her mind.
Perfectly understandable — she'd spent the whole tournament managing her condition at the hotel, without a chance to tour the city or shop properly.
I owed her so much that I swallowed my urge to rest and gladly followed her lead.
Going shopping was all well and good.
We enjoyed a spread of Jiangsu cuisine — Yangzhou fried rice, Nanjing duck, and more — and strolled the city center to our hearts' content.
The problem was that Lee Na-ye 9-dan decided she was going to buy me clothes.
The blue qipao I was wearing right now was the result.
The side slits weren't particularly deep, and yet it felt as if the fabric exposed everything right up to my thighs.
Worse, the material clung so snugly that the contours of my body were laid bare without mercy, and my shame doubled with every glance.
It felt like a hammer slamming down on my masculinity — an identity already crushed flat by this transformed body of mine.
If I could just get through it with my mouth shut, fine — but the way I looked right now stood a very good chance of being immortalized in photographs forever.
"You look great. It really suits you."
Utterly oblivious to my inner torment, Lee Na-ye 9-dan kept offering her easy reassurances.
"That's exactly the problem…."
The little blonde girl in the mirror was wearing an outfit that suited her distressingly well.
Loving what's cute and beautiful is simply human nature.
It amounted to cross-dressing, and yet I couldn't deny that some corner of me was quietly pleased about it.
If this went on, I might one day degenerate into someone who giggles to herself while shopping for women's clothes.
Since the shell itself was female, society would never bat an eye — which was all the more reason to stay vigilant.
Having tied my hair back with a blue ribbon and dusted a light layer of makeup onto my cheeks, Lee Na-ye 9-dan shoved me out onto the awards stage.
A perfunctory congratulatory speech. Commemorative photographs.
Holding up the placard printed with 400,000 yuan, I smiled awkwardly.
This too shall pass.
I only prayed the press conference scheduled right after would be over just as quickly.
"This is reporter Lee Yu-ra from XX Daily. Master Ryu, first of all, congratulations on your championship! You gave us a thrilling comeback — a loss, then two straight wins. After your defeat in Game One of the final, did you change your mindset or revise your strategy?"
"I didn't dwell much on the Game One loss. More than strategy, I think what made the difference was focusing on recovering my physical condition."
First question. I answered off the top of my head, as best I could.
"This is reporter Shin Min-gi from XX News. Thank you for such a beautiful game. You've achieved something no one believed possible — have you decided what your next move will be?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't have any concrete plans yet. For now, I'd like to spend some time with my parents."
400,000 yuan in prize money. More than enough for immediate needs.
There was no reason to strain myself playing in as many tournaments as possible.
"This is reporter Lee Gyeol from XX Go. Have you heard of the online handle 'tlsckdah1021,' which has been making waves on the internet?"
"No, this is the first I've heard of it."
I plastered a stone-cold expression onto my face and feigned innocence.
"This is reporter Fang Bin from XX Daily. Your charismatic presence in Game One has earned you the name 'Girl Empress of the Board' all across China — are you aware of that?"
"…N-no! But that's very kind of them…."
From the Chinese reporter's question onward, the direction of the questioning began to veer somewhere strange.
From my family history to my hobbies — and before I knew it, to the very clothes I was wearing.
I had already been struggling to hold my shame in check.
Both my cheeks flushed scarlet.