The Yangjangchi Cup
“I’m f-full, Mom….”
“No Go until you finish everything on that plate.”
“But I have a game scheduled with Yu Jeonhun 9-dan….”
“Oh, do you? Then you’d better eat fast.”
Mother was merciless.
Ever since I collapsed during my exhibition match against the Meijin on our trip to Japan, she had been force-feeding me like it was her personal mission, steadily inflating my portions.
Assorted nutritional supplements on top of that, plus fruit and nuts…. I was grateful she cared, but it bordered on excessive.
“Ugh….”
Mother could be remarkably stubborn, so like a prisoner enduring some kind of eating torture, I had to shovel every last bite down before I finally won my freedom.
The moment I finished, I switched on my computer.
I was a year older now, in a new grade, and the main draw of the Yangjangchi Cup was looming right in front of me. If prize money were what I wanted, I could have ground through a punishing schedule of appearances at other tournaments, too — but right now, my eyes were fixed on the Yangjangchi Cup alone. It was a world championship stage, and that was the only place I could prove I had surpassed the ‘Shin Changmo’ of the past.
I had struck up an arrangement with Yu Jeonhun 9-dan, a connection from Japan, and we now met regularly online to play.
I’d honestly been trying my best at it… no way. Had it actually been showing?
I chuckled in satisfaction as I tapped away at the keyboard. Right, there was no way it showed.
Once the small talk ran its course, the game began.
I took Black. Yu Jeonhun 9-dan held White.
A common misconception among people who take up Go is the belief that knowledge simply accumulates.
But if knowledge truly accumulated, why have so many scientific theories of the past been discarded by the modern era?
Go is no different. There is no absolute truth. And that is precisely why knowledge doesn’t ‘pile up’ — it must be endlessly renewed in step with an ever-shifting current.
And to test something new, you need an opponent worthy of the test. After AlphaGo’s arrival, AI existed as a convenient tool offering instant feedback — but in this era, the only way to verify anything is against the strong.
The reason Chinese Go keeps climbing in stature is the constant, feverish exchange among its elite players.
An opponent like Yu Jeonhun 9-dan, someone I could face again and again, was beyond price.
Two consecutive games ended in a one-to-one split.
It wasn’t only Yu Jeonhun 9-dan. I played online Go until I was sick of it — against the Meijin, with whom I’d exchanged internet Go IDs by letter in Japan, against my disciple Lee Jiah, and against the nameless professionals who periodically threw challenges my way.
I had just finished a light review of my games and was warming up on some life-and-death problems when someone came up from behind and hugged me.
“Seoa! Come have a snack with Daddy.”
Father, seeking me out with kimchi pancakes Mother had made.
“Ugh — Daddy! I can’t eat any more.”
“That’s exactly why you have to eat — that’s how you stretch your stomach. Come on, open wide.”
“Mmmmmmph!”
With chopstick skills so deft you’d never believe he wasn’t born Korean, Father pressed a piece of pancake into my mouth.
The day of the round of 24 arrived.
Qian 7-dan, riding a thirteen-game winning streak in China’s Jia A League, was set to face Ryu Seoa 2-dan — the youngest player in the tournament, and its sole female entrant.
Though he had yet to make his mark on the world stage, his dominance in the Meijin-winner’s domestic league and his rampage through the Jia A League had seized him the No. 2 ranking in China. Now he entered the main draw with open ambition: to finally post results where it counted, on the world championship stage.
“This one’s easy money from the start. Korean Go has run its course, all the way to the end.”
On the eve of the round of 24, Qian 7-dan flashed a grin at his friend, league teammate, and fellow main-draw qualifier — Wang Juan 8-dan.
“Must be nice. The heavens themselves are lending you a hand. You’ll get a good result this time, my friend.”
“Kukuk, oh, that’s not all. I looked her up — she’s actually quite a cute little thing in her photos. Making her bawl her eyes out would be quite a sight, no?”
“What a nasty streak you have. Still, she must have some fundamentals to have reached the main draw at all, wouldn’t you say?”
“Come off it, friend. A twelve-year-old girl — how much Go can she possibly play? Apparently she did some damage on the women’s circuit, but if you dropped her into the Grade B League she wouldn’t win half her games. You don’t seriously think she stands a chance against the Jia A League MVP, do you?”
Sixteen teams competed in the Chinese Jia A League. It was such a prestigious team competition that the appearance fee for a single winning game approached 100,000 yuan — well over ten thousand dollars. Only China’s absolute top players took part, and the constant high-level collisions between the strong had become the engine that lifted Chinese Go to its present position.
“Still, don’t get cocky. You cracked like cheap porcelain the last time you underestimated someone, and that one was Japanese.”
“Hey! That one… I’ve got nothing to say. He really could play.”
“I’m bored. Want to review a game record together?”
“Well, preparation is preparation, I suppose.”
Qian 7-dan and Wang Juan 8-dan pulled out their phones and pulled up the latest games of Ryu Seoa 2-dan.
Her exhibition match against Japan’s Meijin was on record. The Meijin had won — by a margin of 1.5 points.
“Doesn’t that seem… off to you?”
“Same thought. One and a half points? He must have taken it easy — being an exhibition match and all.”
They lit cigarettes and began placing the stones on a board, one by one, in order.
They had started out scoffing at Ryu Seoa 2-dan — but before they realized it, they were leaning in, and the endgame arrived in what felt like a blink.
“Good God.”
“Well, well.”
It was a magnetic game. Not formulaic Go — Go blazing with color and character.
“I’m taking back what I said about the Grade B League. Shouldn’t we be recruiting her as a mercenary for our own team?”
Qian 7-dan, revising his assessment of Ryu Seoa 2-dan on the spot, asked his friend in dead earnest.