Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Matter of Life and Death

To make a long story short, within the span of an hour, eleven challengers issued a total of thirty-seven attempts, all of which ended in failure. As a result, Li Zhao gained thirty-seven taels of silver—a handsome profit indeed.

The silver was won, but the young Duke of Qi had yet to appear. Could it be that the plan to lure him out had failed?

What now? Should he persist with the current approach, or devise a new scheme? The sun was already sinking in the west, and if the young Duke of Qi did not show up today, or the matter of the distillery was not settled, all would be lost come tomorrow.

“Make way! Quickly, make way! The young Duke of Qi is coming to solve this life-and-death problem!”

“Greetings, young Duke of Qi!”

“Rise, there’s no need for ceremony!”

Just as Li Zhao’s anxiety reached its peak, the crowd parted, and through the opening strode a young gentleman clad in white. He was just past twenty, handsome, and with a noble bearing that set him apart, accompanied by more than a dozen guards.

This was none other than the young Duke of Qi—Cui Zongzhi, son of the former Grand Chancellor Cui Riyong of the Great Tang, and also Prince Consort to the Emperor Li Longji.

The young Duke of Qi was a man obsessed with the game of Go. He had been studying an ancient Go manual at his inn when his guards reported that a youth outside had set up a life-and-death problem and already defeated numerous Go masters. For a devotee of the game, such news was as irresistible as the scent of dried fish to an old cat. He could not resist the itch and came out to personally take up the challenge.

“Young Duke of Qi—Cui Zongzhi. May I ask your name, young friend?”

“Li Zhao.”

“I hear you have set a life-and-death problem. Might I have the honor of attempting it?”

“Please.”

After exchanging names, Cui Zongzhi sat opposite Li Zhao at the board to attempt the problem, while Li Zhao composed himself for the match.

With word spreading that the young Duke of Qi had appeared, the crowd swelled, packing tight in rings three-deep, none daring to make a sound, all eyes fixed intently on the board.

Those too far away to see climbed the nearby trees, peering down from above like a troop of great monkeys.

White’s first move: take.

Black’s first move: connect.

White’s second move: extend.

Black’s second move: cut.

...

From the first moves, it was clear Cui Zongzhi’s skill far surpassed the earlier challengers. Under his hand, the white stones darted about the board like a cunning rabbit, slipping through every gap, impossible to guard.

Realizing he faced a true master, Li Zhao summoned all his focus, countering every move, defending tenaciously, giving no chance for escape.

Twenty moves.

Thirty moves.

Forty moves.

...

The battle raged, black and white locked in fierce struggle, and after more than sixty moves, the cunning rabbit could not escape the hawk’s talons; it was cornered and slain. The challenge had failed!

Naturally, Cui Zongzhi would not be content. He issued a second challenge… and failed again.

A third attempt… also failed.

...

After three defeats, Cui Zongzhi accepted the outcome with grace. He drew a bar of silver from his sash—at least ten taels—and placed it beside the Go board.

“May I ask, young friend, what is the name of this life-and-death problem, and which eminent master devised it? Might you introduce me?”

“This problem is called: ‘Hawk Hunts Rabbit.’ I am its humble creator.”

“Hmph! I ask in earnest, yet you answer with boastful lies?” Cui Zongzhi’s temper flared. He thought Li Zhao was being evasive. Nor was he alone; the surrounding onlookers felt the same. How could such a profound problem have been devised by a mere youth? Did he think himself the reincarnation of a Go sage?

Nonsense! There must be a hidden master behind him!

“If you will not say, I will not press you. But may I truly play a game with you?” Cui Zongzhi now proposed a formal match—not just another life-and-death problem, but an actual game. Only in a true contest could each side’s real strength be revealed. The intention was plain: if Li Zhao claimed to have devised “Hawk Hunts Rabbit,” surely his skill must be extraordinary. Cui Zongzhi would play him in earnest, defeat him soundly, and thus expose the lie.

“I’m willing to play a game with you, but the price will be a bit higher.”

“No problem—name whatever sum you wish.”

“This game—I ask not for gold or silver.”

“Oh? Then what do you desire? Jewels, land, a mansion—anything I possess is yours to request.” Cui Zongzhi was magnanimous, unconcerned with mere possessions, ready for Li Zhao to make any demand. But the latter shook his head.

“Wealth and treasure are not my wish. If I am fortunate enough to win, I only ask the young Duke to do me a small favor.”

“What kind of favor? If it is anything against conscience or law, do not ask. I love Go dearly, but I will not betray my principles.”

“Rest assured, it is nothing against reason or morals, nor does it harm any man’s interest.”

“If that is so, I agree.”

...

The terms set, the match began. According to custom, lots were drawn to decide who would play first.

Yet Cui Zongzhi took up the black stones unbidden—a somewhat arrogant gesture, for in ancient Go, the rules differed from later times. Four corners would each start with a black and a white stone already placed; there was no compensation given to white, and white always played first. Thus, whoever played white gained a significant advantage.

Usually, only when a master played a novice or an elder played a youth would the master graciously take black. For Cui Zongzhi to do so was a clear slight—he did not believe Li Zhao’s skill was truly high, nor that “Hawk Hunts Rabbit” was his own creation.

“Since that’s the case, I won’t stand on ceremony.” Li Zhao took up white and played first, placing his stone high at the 4-5 point in the lower right corner.

Traditionally, Go begins with occupation of the corners, then the sides, and finally the center. The first move is best played low, on a 3-4 point or a 3-3. Playing high on the first move is a grave error—one even a beginner would not make.

Only a fool would do such a thing!

Cui Zongzhi nearly laughed aloud. This youth was not just mediocre—he was hopeless! There was no need to play seriously; to bully a child might offend the hidden master behind him.

Black’s first move: 3-4 point, low and solid.

White’s second move: 4-9, again high.

Black’s second move: star point on the side, again low.

...

Thus, white played high at every turn, black remained low. Black seemed to have a sure advantage and victory appeared certain.

But after forty moves, the game changed. Cui Zongzhi was startled to find that though his black stones controlled the corners and sides, they were trapped beyond the third line, while the vast central territory was white’s alone.

Counting the territory, black was not ahead but behind—what on earth was happening?

Cui Zongzhi realized, at last, that the youth before him was no amateur, but was deploying a novel opening—one he had never seen or even heard of before, and it was formidable!

He put aside all thoughts of superiority and concentrated, seeking a way to recover.

But he could not imagine that Li Zhao’s method was a killer move from fourteen centuries in the future—the famous “Cosmic Style!”

Contrary to traditional openings—corner first, side second, center last—the Cosmic Style placed stones high, ceded the periphery, and focused on building central influence, overwhelming local advantage with overall strength to seize victory.

Such a revolutionary style, with its unique approach and unpredictable tactics, left traditional players utterly at a loss; they could only suffer heavy defeat.

To return to the story: after long deliberation, Cui Zongzhi abandoned his struggle for the corners and sides, attacking the center instead, hoping to claim a share of the board.

But it was too late. Li Zhao’s white formation had already secured the heart of the board like an iron bucket; no matter how black struck, he could not breach the white lines. Any black stones that broke through were swiftly exterminated.

After dozens more moves, Cui Zongzhi was hopelessly behind. He could not turn the game around. After a long, silent struggle, he shook his head, scattered his stones on the board, and conceded defeat.

A sensation rippled through the crowd. The famed Duke of Qi, a player of the third rank in the capital, defeated by an unknown youth? Who could believe it?

But so it was, witnessed by all—there could be no deception.

The onlookers were astounded, many nearly dropping their jaws in amazement.

“Young friend, your skill is profound, your style so novel it is as though a heavenly steed flies across the sky—truly admirable!” After the game, Cui Zongzhi’s arrogance was much diminished. He began to wonder if perhaps Li Zhao really had created “Hawk Hunts Rabbit.”

But then he thought: this defeat was due to underestimating his opponent. If he had played his best, the result would surely have been different.

“May I request another game, young friend?”

“Of course.”

Seeing that Cui Zongzhi was still not convinced, Li Zhao nodded, and the second game began.

This time, Cui Zongzhi did not dare be overconfident. He obeyed protocol: guessing odd or even for the first move.

He guessed correctly and took white, playing first at the 3-4 point—neither high nor low—intending to secure both the sides and the center, to avoid repeating his earlier mistake.

For every illness, there is a remedy; for every change, a counter.

This round, Li Zhao altered his tactics. Playing black, he moved low, and on the twenty-fourth move, executed the famous “inside turn” of the Great Avalanche—one of the most complex and lethal patterns known to later generations. The struggle for the sides soon turned in his favor.

Having secured the sides and built a strong position, black swept into the center like a giant constrictor, tightening its coils around its prey.

White resisted desperately but could not escape being devoured.

After more than half an hour, Cui Zongzhi sighed and resigned again, though a trace of unwillingness lingered in his eyes.

...

“Your instruction today has been most enlightening—may I ask for yet another game?”

“Certainly.”

“Ahem—cough, cough!”

At the sight of Li Zhao’s two consecutive victories, Steward Sun, who had been watching anxiously, hurried over under the pretense of helping to clear the board. He furtively made faces and coughed loudly, signaling to Li Zhao to hold back and not win the third game.

Why? The reason was simple: they had come seeking the young Duke of Qi’s help in ensuring leniency regarding the distillery.

When one seeks a favor, one should be humble, courteous, and eager to please—only then is success possible.

Yet Li Zhao, with his calm and unyielding manner, had publicly defeated the young Duke twice. If this angered Cui Zongzhi and provoked a desire for retribution, it could spell disaster—not only would the distillery be lost, but their very lives might be at risk. Thus, Steward Sun covertly reminded him not to win a third game.

Li Zhao, ever astute, understood the hint at once. Now, how would he respond?