For the next half month, Yu Shao went to the activity room with Zhou De after school every day to study Go records and analyze games.
Zhou De’s shameless persistence was astonishing. Every day, he hounded Zhong Yufei for rematches, vowing revenge. His resilience was equally incredible; no matter how crushing his defeats, his confidence remained intact.
After all, he was a beginner. No matter how badly he lost, he always had an excuse: I’ve only been playing for a short time. Isn’t it natural for you to beat me?
Chen Jiaming also finally found a role where he could contribute. With Yu Shao and Xu Zijin’s skill levels far beyond his, he couldn’t teach them much, but Zhou De and Zhong Yufei were another matter.
He often pointed out their mistakes during games and even gave Zhou De extra one-on-one lessons.
Xu Zijin, meanwhile, spent her time silently studying game records. Her aloof demeanor discouraged any interruptions.
As for Yu Shao, he used this period to immerse himself in the game records of this world’s top players, gaining a clearer understanding of their skill levels.
“The top players in this world…”
Yu Shao gazed at the Go board in front of him, his expression contemplative.
“But thanks to Go’s elevated international status and wider popularity in this world—
“The top players here are no less skilled in areas like board balance, overall strategy, and attacking maneuvers compared to the elite players of my past life. They’re formidable opponents.”
Several game records from this world had deeply impressed Yu Shao.
Some moves demonstrated remarkable skill, leaving him with an intense urge to play against these players and see what kind of games they could produce together.
“I can’t believe I still feel this way.”
Yu Shao found this reaction puzzling.
In his past life, he’d felt a similar passion during his youth—a desire to challenge skilled players. Those years were when his skills improved the fastest.
But as his abilities grew and he had faced nearly every great player of his time, that feeling gradually faded.
Even with new up-and-coming players, though their games were brilliant, he no longer felt the same desire to compete with them.
Instead, what he felt was pressure—a fear of being overtaken by the next generation of stars.
So why, in this life, had that youthful eagerness reignited?
Was it because he was young again?
Yu Shao understood himself well. Even with a younger body and mindset, his core perspectives and understanding of the world hadn’t changed.
He stared at the board for a long time before the answer dawned on him.
“Maybe it’s because… I want to win.”
In his youth, he had nothing to lose, so he could approach games with reckless abandon, seeking only to play the most brilliant matches possible.
But later, after achieving fame and bearing the expectations of fans, family, and even his nation, he had to win.
The burden of needing to win became his cage.
A desire to win wasn’t inherently bad. It drove him to push his limits, helping him stage dramatic comebacks even in seemingly hopeless positions.
But when that desire grew too strong, it became an invisible shackle.
In his past life, he was acutely aware of his shortcomings in attacking play. Yet on the professional stage, he avoided overly aggressive strategies, sticking instead to the subtle, nuanced approach he excelled at.
Because he had to win.
His desire to win had overshadowed his love for Go.
Now, with no burdens from his past life weighing him down, his desire to win wasn’t as overwhelming. He still wanted to win, but that wasn’t all he wanted.
This newfound freedom was why seeing brilliant moves in these game records reignited his passion to compete against such players.
Realizing this, Yu Shao stared at the board in a daze.
“Did I come back to life because Go was my entire life in the past? Is it because, in this life, I simply want to enjoy my youth?”
Chen Jiaming’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“It’s about time. Let’s wrap it up for today. You can all head home.”
Yu Shao snapped back to reality, quickly put the Go pieces away, and slung his backpack over his shoulder to leave.
As he walked past Xu Zijin, he noticed her still engrossed in the game in front of her, showing no intention of leaving.
“Xu Zijin, we’re leaving. Aren’t you going home?” Yu Shao asked, puzzled.
Xu Zijin didn’t respond, her attention fixed on the board.
Yu Shao raised his voice slightly.
Finally, Xu Zijin seemed to wake from her trance. She turned to Yu Shao and asked, “Is it time already?”
“Yes, it is. What are you looking at so intently?”
Curious, Yu Shao glanced at the board in front of her and was instantly surprised.
The black and white stones were fiercely tangled, the board a chaotic battlefield. Both sides were locked in a desperate struggle, with massive dragons on the verge of being captured. The tension was palpable, a rarity even in professional games.
Xu Zijin answered softly, “It’s an ancient game record between Yang Shirong and Gong Sheng.”
“Yang Shirong and Gong Sheng? This record is famous?” Yu Shao frowned, sensing the game’s significance.
“You don’t know it?” Xu Zijin looked at him, surprised.
“No, I don’t,” Yu Shao admitted.
After a moment of silence, Xu Zijin’s clear voice explained, “This is one of the most famous ancient game records and also my favorite.
“Back then, komi didn’t exist, so games were incredibly aggressive. From the opening moves, both players fought fiercely, leaving no room for retreat.
“Because the attacks and counterattacks in this game were so brilliant, even modern players still study it to learn from their strategies.”
Xu Zijin paused, her gaze returning to the board.
“But this record is incomplete. It ends abruptly here.”
“The complete record has been lost. All we know is that white eventually won, leaving the latter half of the game to the imagination of future players.”
Staring at the board, she added softly, “I wish I could see how the full game played out. It must have been incredible…”