“There’s only one room left. You all know the rules.”
The young woman at the front desk lazily pointed toward the corner, where an old man sat hunched over a Go board. “That’s my boss. Whoever beats him gets the room.”
“I’ll go first!” A young man, eager and excited, strode forward with his friends. He slung his backpack to the side and plopped down across from the old man, face glowing with confidence.
Jiangzhou was hosting several events recently, and nearly every hotel in the city was fully booked. Even if there were still rooms, the prices had already shot up into four digits per night. The group was here to take part in the Yixin Cup Go Tournament. Just to reach the top thirty-two meant nine rounds over eight days—who could afford such steep lodging?
“Let’s draw for first move. Sir, please grab the stones.” The young man tried to keep the excitement off his face. He had played in international amateur Go tournaments before and even placed in the top three. At an amateur 7-dan level, he could easily crush most players!
Brothers, who would’ve thought—you could actually win a free room this way!
The old man didn’t even lift his eyes. From the bamboo container, he scooped up a handful of white stones. The young man pinched a single black piece and guessed odd.
The old man opened his palm—four stones. Wrong guess. They switched bowls, and the old man took black to play first.
One move was enough to tell an expert from a novice. People gathered around the board, watching black and white stones fall in turn. Those who understood the game shook their heads and sighed, while even those who didn’t could tell from the expressions: the elder calm as ever, eyes half-lidded as though on the verge of dozing off; the young man tense and sweating, eyes locked on the board, his back already damp.
The old man opened at the star point, using the Huaguo style. His formations were elegant, his speed astonishing. Developing from the komoku, his wings spread wide, like a black hawk swooping down with talons outstretched, and soon the flow of the game turned into effortless attack and profit.
“I lost.” The young man set two stones at the edge of the board, dejectedly admitting defeat before standing and leaving. Another youth’s eyes flickered; after exchanging a look with his companion, he sat across from the old man.
Dragging his suitcase, Nian Le had already checked eight hotels with no vacancies. At the ninth, just as he set foot on the steps, a few young men stumbled out in embarrassment, luggage on their backs. Behind them, the old man stormed out, broom raised, striking down hard.
“Argh—you old bastard!” One of the youths, too slow to dodge, flushed red from the blow.
“You brats! Think I can’t tell you were cheating with Bluetooth earpieces just because I’m old?”
The old man swung the broom mercilessly, shouting, “Don’t even know how to act like decent people, and you dare play Go! Get back to your homes—you’re a disgrace!”
The group of youths, faces burning with humiliation, exchanged looks. One held down the broom despite the sting of the blow, while another seized the chance to lash out with a kick. But before his foot could touch the old man, pain shot across his back, and he stumbled forward two or three steps before crashing to the ground with a thud.
Furious, he twisted his head back—only to see a young man standing behind him.
The newcomer wore a pale blue shirt, tall and straight in posture. His amber eyes carried a natural gentleness. His skin was fair, and along the side of his straight nose was a tiny mole that made his already exquisite features even more striking.
The hand gripping the suitcase was steady, warm as jade. His whole bearing was calm and composed—like a model senior in school, about to step on stage to give a speech.
“Who the hell are you?!” The youth clutched his waist as he got back on his feet, rage undiminished.
“This question should be mine to ask you.” Nian Le calmly pulled out his phone, his light-colored eyes turning a shade darker.
“Which Go dojo are you from? Who’s your supervising teacher? Do they know you’re cheating?”
The moment he brought up dojos and supervising teachers, the young men instantly panicked. Seeing the old man about to raise the broom again, they spun around and bolted out of sight.
The old man held the broom, gave the newcomer a long once-over, and asked, “You want to stay at the inn?”
“You still have a room?” Nian Le’s eyes lit up, a glimmer of excitement flashing through them.
“Beat me, and we’ll talk.” The old man slung the broom over his shoulder and sauntered back inside. Nian Le dragged his suitcase in after him, sat down in the challenger’s seat, and gave a polite bow.
“What rank are you?” the elder slowly scooped up a handful of stones.
“Amateur 3-dan,” Nian Le replied with a smile.
Go is divided into amateur and professional ranks. The higher the rank, the stronger the player. An amateur 3-dan might be exceptional among ordinary people, but within the Go world, it was at best the level of a county champion—nothing too impressive.
“Alright then.” The old man opened his palm—six white stones. Nian Le spread his hand to reveal two black stones resting quietly inside.
“You first.” The old man picked up a white stone. The young man’s long, slender fingers pinched a black stone, his pale fingertips faintly tinged with pink as he placed it at the upper-right star point.
It was a good spot for defense, though not ideal for outward expansion. The old man countered coolly, his moves flowing with practiced ease. Nian Le remained composed, eyes fixed on the board as his fingers dropped stone after stone.
Spectators crowded around. Those who knew the old man expected the game to be over within half an hour—it usually was with the young challengers. Yet two hours had passed, and neither side showed any sign of faltering.
The old man grew more and more serious, while the young man sat upright, his warm amber eyes glinting with a sharp, unyielding edge. No matter how long the elder pondered, Nian Le’s rhythm never wavered.
Three hours later, the final stones were placed. Without waiting for others to count, Nian Le looked up with a gentle smile.
“Thank you for letting me win.”
“You can count that fast?” The old man was taken aback. The board was still a tangle of black and white—how could he know the result already?
“Black has one hundred and eighty-five stones. By international rules, with a three-and-three-quarters komi, I win by half a point.”
As his words fell, the old man began calculating, grouping black stones into tens, tallying the remainder. At last, he arrived at the same number Nian Le had spoken.
The elder fell silent, as if tempted to recalculate. Around them, onlookers broke into laughter.
“Old Master doesn’t usually follow international rules. No komi. By that count, you beat him by eight points. He’s never lost like this before—he’s sulking!”
“Enough out of you lot!” The old man’s cheeks flushed red. He waved the spectators away, slapped a room card onto the table, and stormed upstairs.
Holding the hard-won keycard, Nian Le couldn’t help the upward curve of his lips. He cheerfully pushed his suitcase to the front desk to check in.
When the receptionist realized he had actually beaten the old man, she stole several glances at him, surprise flickering in her heart.
Others might not know, but she was well aware of the old man’s true strength. To defeat him at such a young age—there was no way this man was just an “amateur 3-dan.”
“All set?” Nian Le asked softly.
The receptionist found herself staring at his gentle features—the smooth brows, the straight nose, his fair skin and faintly tinted lips. The longer she looked, the more striking he seemed.
“Just a moment.” She quickly scanned his ID, when the glass door opened. A plainly dressed middle-aged woman entered, burdened with bags and holding a small child in her arms.
“Excuse me, do you still have any rooms?” Her complexion was sallow, and the child in her arms was frail, with a medical bandage still taped to the back of their hand.
“Sorry, no vacancies.” The receptionist’s tone carried regret. The hotel wasn’t exactly close to the hospital—finding her way here must have taken some effort.
“It doesn’t need to be anything fancy, just somewhere to stay.” The woman adjusted the child in her arms, her exhausted face pleading. “My little one is very well-behaved—she won’t disturb anyone. She doesn’t even cry when she’s stuck with needles…”
She brushed the corner of her reddened eyes with the back of her hand. Nian Le tightened his grip on the room card, avoiding their gaze.
Two minutes later, he wheeled his suitcase back out the door, the same way he had carried it in.
“Thank you! Thank you, young man!”
The woman’s voice of gratitude rang behind him as Nian Le pushed his suitcase to the side, lifted his head to the sinking sunset, and after a long pause, opened a video on Bilibili that he had saved long ago.
“Family, if you’re watching this, it means you have the potential to be a proper vagrant!
First, let me teach you how to find a great place to crash in the big city…”
The video had barely begun when his phone buzzed with an incoming voice call, cutting it off. Seeing his roommate’s avatar, Nian Le answered.
“Xiao Nian Nian! You’re at that Go tournament in Jiangzhou, right?”
His roommate, Huo Huohuo, was true to his name—hot-tempered and always in a rush.
“Yes.” At that, Nian Le suddenly recalled—Huo Huohuo’s family was based in Jiangzhou.
“Perfect!” His roommate’s voice cracked with joy.
“Nian Nian, my mom’s hitting menopause, my little brother’s in full rebellion mode. I planned to take Mom abroad for a while, but the housekeepers can’t handle my brother—one by one, they’ve all quit on me!” Huo Huohuo’s voice brimmed with misery.
“Please, Nian Nian, could you stay at my place for a while? It won’t affect your matches. All you need to do is make sure my brother eats!”
Standing there with his phone pressed to his ear, Nian Le suddenly felt as though a soft pillow had been slipped under the back of his head.
Hotels were scarce in Jiangzhou—his roommate surely knew this. Without hesitation, Nian Le agreed.
Listening to Huo Huohuo’s tearful relief over the phone, Nian Le couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off… though he couldn’t quite say what.
After getting the address from Huo Huohuo, Nian Le waved down a taxi and disappeared in a blur.
Back at the hotel, the old man was secretly reviewing his loss. As he reached a certain move, something clicked in his mind—he jolted upright, not even bothering to put on his shoes before running out of the room. But no matter how he searched, the young man was nowhere to be seen.
× × ×
“Welcome back to the 2022 Australian Rally! Up next is Stage Four—the final stage of the week—stretching 31.8 kilometers with about 200 meters of elevation change.
Now rolling out, we have car No. 2 from the Jiyu Racing Team—Li Yan!”
In a pitch-black room, a faint glow flickered to life. A dark figure sat leaning against the bed, eyes closed, holding a phone broadcasting the race and slowly bringing it to his ear.
Engines roared, steel beasts hurtling forward like arrows loosed from a bowstring. The blood-pumping sound could not dispel the heavy gloom that hung in the room.
The livestream cut to the driver and co-driver inside the car as the male and female commentators chatted smoothly.
“Li Yan’s performance has been steady this time. He’s placed in the top six in two consecutive Australian rounds—a rare feat. But compared to Jiyu’s previous No. 2 driver… he’s just a bit behind.”
“You mean Jiyu’s former No. 2—the Chinese-Australian heartthrob?” The female commentator immediately recalled.
That prodigy had once dominated entire seasons. With sharp Western features blended with the soft elegance of the East, when he took off his helmet his naturally wavy hair curled at the ends, a face of bold refinement tinged with cold sharpness. His striking looks, paired with dazzling results, made him unforgettable.
“Yes. If not for that accident six months ago, Jiyu would surely have fielded him today. Australia is his home ground, and…”
The male commentator’s words suddenly trailed off. He stared straight at the broadcast feed. Following his gaze, the female commentator’s eyes locked onto the screen.
Dark clouds had rolled in without warning, pressing down over the racetrack like a silent gray tsunami. Mist rose from the air, gathering into waves of backlash, spattering against the windshields with sharp slaps. Wind and rain shook the earth.
“It’s raining.”
The male commentator’s voice carried both excitement and a silent sigh.
The female commentator knew what he regretted.
It wasn’t that rain made the tires lose grip or that the course’s water crossings would become even harder.
It was because Jiyu’s former No. 2 driver had been hailed as the new Rain King.
In the chaos of a wet track, he could always find the perfect entry point, locking out his opponents’ lines. The slicker the course, the more at home he became. His textbook drifts sprayed fine rain-mist; beneath his visor, gray eyes reflected the water’s gleam—steady, practiced, and unshakable.
Yet on this track, it was the new No. 2 racing for Jiyu. And as the rain worsened, Li Yan’s second half grew noticeably less smooth, ending with a seventh-place finish in his group.
“What a pity. With his combined results over the first three stages, Li Yan is currently fifth overall. If it were Jiyu’s former No. 2, Huo Weiran, he absolutely had the strength to bring home the Australian Rally crown. I wonder how his injuries are now, and when he’ll be back…”
A slight tilt of the phone cast the screen’s glow over the dark figure’s sharply cut features as countless comments streamed past:
[Back? With what arm? Heard it was crushed—what’s he coming back for?]
[Karma. He thought he was so high and mighty. Now look—he can’t race. He’s just trash!]
[Exactly. Sweetie flew halfway across the world to watch him race—no autograph, no smile. Looks down on influencers, huh? Serves him right to end up crippled!]
[Trash trash trash…]
He pressed the power button. Darkness reclaimed the room.
After a moment of stillness, the statue-like shadow moved. Long, defined fingers slid down the plaster cast on his right arm, reaching for his hand.
Whether he squeezed or slammed it, even tried to snap it—there was no sensation at all. Only numb, icy emptiness, like a television with no signal, screen filled with endless gray static. Feeling anything at all had become a luxury. Gripping a steering wheel again… that might belong to another lifetime.
A fine ache rose from his chest. The ribs once broken still seemed to constrict his breath. Huo Weiran tilted his head back, letting the clustered pain wash over him. Sweat gathered at his forehead; his Adam’s apple bobbed as his pale face turned even whiter.
“Huo-jie, how’s Weiran doing?” Two sets of footsteps sounded outside. A middle-aged woman’s voice carried real concern.
“His arm just had its fifth surgery. Bones can heal—but the brachial plexus was badly damaged. In the future…” Mrs. Huo’s voice dropped, worry thick in her eyes.
“The doctor said long-term therapy might help a little if we’re lucky. But Weiran… he won’t cooperate.”
“My naughty one fell in love with racing after just a few F1 events. He’s always idolized Weiran.” The other woman sighed, then asked, “Say, can you even race one-handed?”
Mrs. Huo forced a smile, glanced at the door in front of her, steadied herself, and knocked.
“Weiran?”
Silence. After a long pause, a faint “Mm” came from inside.
“Weiran, the psychiatrist told me you’ve skipped a whole month of sessions.”
Mrs. Huo’s brows furrowed. “Tomorrow I’ll have Old Zhao drive you. How about talking with the doctor again?”
The room fell silent. The middle-aged woman at Mrs. Huo’s side clenched her fists and instinctively stepped back.
“Huo Weiran, I’m in menopause. This is China, not Australia. At least give me a response!”
Mrs. Huo fought to hold down her rising anger. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he had coolly blocked the psychiatrist’s number on his phone.
Maybe the past six months of pressure had been too much. Every time she closed her eyes, she dreamed of her youngest son, unable to accept his forced retirement, phantom pain driving him to the edge… and ending it all.
Her dreams were always dark and cruel. Madame Huo had long since lost count of how many times she’d woken in tears, yet she still had no way to reach her youngest son. Now he refused even to see a psychiatrist. No matter how anxious those around him became, nothing—nothing—could change him.
“Do you think that just because you’re past eighteen, no one can control you anymore?” Madame Huo gritted her teeth, trying to sound harsh, but the words rang hollow. She realized too late that, in truth, there was no one left who could rein him in.
After hesitating too long, her momentum faltered. Forcing herself to speak, she pressed on stiffly:
“Have you heard of arranged marriages in China? If you won’t see the psychiatrist, I’ll go out right now and find you a little wife. I’ll marry you off and let her whip you into shape!!”
Huo Weiran glanced at his arm, steadied his breathing in the dark, and tried not to hear his mother’s absurd threats.
Her voice chattered on outside the door, drifting faintly to mention travel. Huo Weiran reached for his noise-canceling headphones, swallowed a few painkillers, and let the world fall silent once more.
[mfn] If you enjoy my translations, you can show your support by leaving a comment or donating to my Ko-fi. It will be much appreciated. Thank you! [/mfn]
