Chapter 28: Playing Go!

Drunken Immortal Pavilion stood at the heart of Wuan County’s main street. With four lavishly decorated stories, it could seat seven or eight hundred diners at once, making it the largest restaurant in town. Behind the restaurant lay the Drunken Immortal Inn, boasting several hundred guest rooms—similarly unrivaled in size throughout the county.

Currently, the young Marquis Qi of the Cui family, Cui Zongzhi, was staying at the Drunken Immortal Inn.

At midday, Li Zhao, White Bun, and Steward Sun arrived at the inn’s main entrance and were immediately taken aback. The gates were firmly shut, and a large wooden plaque hung high above, bearing two bold characters: “No Visitors.”

As it turned out, word had spread that the young Marquis Qi—Cui Zongzhi—was lodging at the inn, and visitors of every sort flocked to call upon him: scholars and poets, local gentry, minor officials… Some brought expensive gifts, others paraded beautiful daughters, but their intentions were all much the same—flattery and currying favor.

Cui Zongzhi, beset by this endless stream, grew thoroughly exasperated. He simply shut the doors to all, hanging the “No Visitors” sign at the entrance, and instructed his attendants to turn away everyone, no matter who came to call.

Even so, many refused to leave, waiting in hope outside the gates. The queue stretched for a mile or two, growing ever longer—just for a chance to see the young Marquis Qi.

Li Zhao was left somewhat dumbfounded. If he queued up in turn, it might be three days and nights before his knock was heard—and even if his turn did come, he’d likely not be admitted. What could he do?

Forcing his way in was out of the question—guards stood both inside and out, making the entrance impenetrable. Scaling the wall in secret would be far too disrespectful, an act sure to draw ridicule.

What other options were left?

Suddenly, inspiration struck: why not reverse the situation? Since his aim was to see the young Marquis Qi, and he could not enter, if he drew the Marquis out instead, would that not suffice?

The question was—how to lure the ‘snake’ from its den?

“Steward Sun, do you know what hobbies the young Marquis Qi enjoys?”

“My lord, I’ve heard he has two great passions in life: drinking wine, and playing chess. His skill at chess is considered superb—third rank, they say—making him nearly unmatched among his peers.”

“Oh? Chess, you say?”

The ancient work ‘Shiben’ records that the game of go was invented by Emperor Yao. By the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, go was already widely played, a favorite of the wise. By the Sui and Tang dynasties, go flourished—loved by countless enthusiasts, including emperors themselves. For instance, Emperor Gaozu of Tang, Li Yuan, once plotted rebellion against Sui during a game with Pei Ji. Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin, blended the art of war with the game, seeing chess as akin to commanding troops: orthodox and unorthodox, shifting in endless transformation.

The reigning emperor, Li Longji, was an inveterate go devotee. In his leisure, he played with ministers, royals, concubines, and even created the official post ‘Go Attendant’ (sixth rank) in the Hanlin Academy, recruiting masters from all over the land to play with him.

Take Wang Jixin, the greatest living master: his prowess at go elevated him from impoverished countryman to imperial favorite, constantly by the emperor’s side, showered with rewards, his fortune envied even by the nobility.

When those above delight in something, those below follow suit. Under the emperor’s influence, the people of the Tang Empire flocked to the path of go. Anyone of standing who could not play was as embarrassed as an illiterate; they would scarcely dare greet a neighbor.

Go players were customarily ranked from highest to lowest in nine grades: Sage, Seated Illumination, Concrete Skill, Subtle Comprehension, Strategic Wisdom, Cunning Hand, Strength Contest, Seeming Foolishness, and Stolid Simplicity.

For the young Marquis Qi to be considered third rank showed him a true master of the game.

Having learned all this, Li Zhao patted his belly and quickly devised a plan. He sent White Bun to buy a go set and borrow some brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.

“Master, why buy a go set?” White Bun asked.

Li Zhao smiled. “Naturally, to lure the Marquis out. Go quickly!”

Obeying, White Bun wandered the street and soon returned with a simple set: the board carved from wild pine, stones of polished black and white pebbles, purchased for just a hundred cash. He also borrowed writing materials from a nearby shop.

In front of the inn grew a thousand-year-old ginkgo, its branches thick and leaves lush, casting a wide green shade. Li Zhao sat cross-legged beneath the tree, thought for a moment, then arranged a life-and-death problem on the go board.

He picked up a brush and wrote in bold characters on a sheet of white paper:

“To all esteemed elders and friends: I am an unknown youth from the wilds. Here I present a life-and-death chess problem, challenging all masters of the game. Whoever solves this puzzle shall receive my ancestral blood-red jade qilin as reward. Those who fail, kindly leave a tael of silver. This statement serves as a binding pledge!”

He added the rules: he would play black, challengers white; white to move first, seeking life.

He then removed from his neck a walnut-sized jade pendant, crimson as blood, carved with the figure of a mythical beast: dragon head, deer antlers, lion eyes, tiger’s back, bear waist—the qilin, foremost of the five auspicious creatures of Chinese legend.

The male is called ‘qi’, the female ‘lin’. The former bears thick antlers, majestic and powerful, exuding a kingly aura; the latter’s horns are slender, with a gentler air.

The pendant bore a qi beast, finely cut from excellent material, and had hung from Li Zhao’s neck since childhood.

“Master, this qilin pendant is a family heirloom. If you lose it, how will you answer your ancestors?” White Bun, who had grown up with Li Zhao, knew he could scarcely play go, nor had he ever studied a manual. To challenge all comers was surely to lose!

Li Zhao only laughed. “Don’t worry. No one will win this pendant away!”

He was confident for good reason. When go first appeared, the board was just eleven lines by eleven. Over time, it grew to thirteen, fifteen, seventeen… Only by the end of the Northern and Southern Dynasties did the nineteen-line board emerge, with 361 intersections, matching the heavens above and the five elements below—thereafter, the game’s framework was set.

It had been barely two hundred years from that point to the flourishing era of Tang. Thus, go was still in a formative stage—technique undeveloped by later standards.

But in Li Zhao’s former world, after more than fourteen centuries of evolution, the nineteen-line board’s tactics had become fully mature: innovative openings, myriad variations, a host of lethal maneuvers. As a player, Li Zhao was well-versed in go, had watched many championship matches, studied numerous manuals, famous games, and life-and-death problems. By such standards, here he would rival even the first or second rank, if not surpass them.

Moreover, the problem he set was no ordinary one. Named “Eagle Seizes Rabbit,” it was a famed life-and-death puzzle from “The Profound Go Classic”—deceptively simple in appearance, yet fiendishly complex, filled with traps at every turn. It was a five-star difficulty.

To speak plainly, even the top masters of this era would need several days and nights, losing hundreds of hairs in frustration, before they could hope to solve it. To crack it in a short time? Impossible!

Curiosity is universal; soon, a crowd gathered, pointing at Li Zhao and his chessboard.

“Whose child is this, daring to set a life-and-death puzzle here? He must be reckless, but that pendant is truly fine—superb material and craftsmanship, worth several hundred taels of silver at least, maybe more!”

“Lad, if you lose your heirloom, don’t come crying later, ha!”

Li Zhao smiled, “A gentleman’s word is his bond. If anyone has the skill, let them try!”

“Very well, I’ll take up the challenge!”

A slender scholar in blue stepped forward and sat opposite Li Zhao, ready to take on the puzzle.

On the board, black stones dominated, like an eagle spreading its wings to pounce on the white stones, the ‘rabbit’ in this game—white was in dire peril. Yet, with clever play, white might still escape, perhaps even turn the tables.

The match began. The scholar, as white, played his first move—a stretch—trying to break out from the corner. Li Zhao, as black, responded with a block, sealing the escape route. White’s second move: a wedge, still seeking freedom; black replied with a capture, closing all gaps.

And so it went, more than twenty moves passing in this fashion—black sealing every breach, white’s attempts at escape failing time after time, ending with white’s pieces slain in the corner.

“I was careless, truly careless. Let’s try again.”

“Gladly.”

Again, and then again. The scholar challenged three times, each attempt ending in defeat. At last, realizing this puzzle was no simple matter, he shook his head in resignation, left three taels of silver, and returned to the crowd, frowning with frustration—unable to solve the puzzle, his mind would know no peace.

“Move aside, let me try!” An elderly man with a white beard stepped forward, full of confidence, and sat down to face the challenge.

Yet his luck was little better—three attempts, three failures, and he too left his silver and withdrew in disappointment.

“Too hard, far too hard! I have studied go for over thirty years and never seen such a life-and-death problem. It looks simple but is endlessly complex, like being lost in a maze—how does one find the way out?”

“Who could disagree? Today has been an eye-opener. May I ask, what is this young man’s background?”

“No idea! No one knows him!”

Word of the chessboard spread, and more and more people gathered—three deep, shoulder to shoulder, with some pondering how to solve the puzzle, others quietly asking about Li Zhao’s identity.

But try as they might, no one could find any information—a mysterious youth indeed!

Yet one thing was certain: such a profound life-and-death puzzle could not have been set by a mere boy. Surely there was a hidden master behind the scenes. If they could meet this sage, it would be an opportunity beyond measure.