“Who is it?” Nian Le asked with a gentle smile, tossing the question straight back.
“Chi Mianmian, 3-dan, a professional player,” the reporter replied, emphasizing his words. “She’s the grand-disciple of Senior Lin. Although she entered the profession relatively late, she successfully achieved professional ranking two years ago. In just these two years, her record has been outstanding and at this pace, she’s about to be promoted to professional 4-dan!”
Nian Le looked at the reporter, smiling politely.
“You really don’t know at all?” the reporter said, a little speechless. “She’s one of the Top Ten post-2000s beauty players in the Go world!”
Nian Le’s expression didn’t change. He turned back and checked the game clock.
“Alright, Old Chen, stop wasting time on amateur players. There are still several players we haven’t photographed,” a colleague reminded him. Gripping the wireless microphone, the reporter turned away with visible exasperation.
“They haven’t even selected the top thirty-two yet. The skill levels among these players are uneven, that’s normal. We just need to focus on the ones everyone’s optimistic about. There’s no need to waste time on people who are bound to be eliminated anyway…”
Their voices gradually faded into the distance. Several players who had witnessed the whole exchange glanced at Nian Le with interest.
The reporters didn’t know, but they did, they had seen this young man make his opponents cry. The only question was whether, when facing a professional player with real strength, he would become the one left in tears.
There was a faint sense of spectacle in the surrounding gazes. Nian Le paid them no mind, his calm eyes settling on the board before him.
Twenty minutes later, the chief referee announced the start of the match. The soft sounds of stones being placed and clocks being pressed rose and fell. Nian Le glanced at the still-empty seat across from him, his breathing steady.
Tournament rules stated that if one side was more than half an hour late, they would be judged to have forfeited and lose the match.
Nian Le sat quietly in his seat, waiting, his gaze resting on the empty board without the slightest hint of impatience.
No one knew how much time had passed when a nearby player glanced up at the clock. Twenty-five minutes had already gone by since the match began, yet the seat opposite the young man was still empty.
If Chi Mianmian didn’t arrive within the next five minutes, he would pick up a free win without lifting a finger.
What luck—this was unbelievable!
The second hand ticked forward bit by bit. Nian Le faintly heard movement from downstairs, and then, in the very last minute, a young woman in a nightdress came charging in. She hurriedly pushed back her messy hair, her gaze sweeping across the competition hall before locking precisely onto the empty table.
With barely a dozen seconds left, the young woman sprinted down the aisle. On the slick tiled floor, she slipped slightly and slid to a stop, landing squarely in the seat across from Nian Le. She glanced up at the time and instantly let out a long breath of relief.
“Sorry about that,” she whispered, lifting a hand to smooth her frizzy hair, her face flushed as she struggled to catch her breath.
“I didn’t mean to be late.”
Catching a faint scent of alcohol, Nian Le smiled lightly to show it was fine and lifted a black stone between his fingers. At that moment, two staff members hurried over from behind and stopped directly at their table.
“Chi Mianmian, professional 3-dan,” one of them said in a low voice, gesturing toward the side. “Please come with us and leave the competition area.”
“I arrived within the allowed time,” Chi Mianmian said urgently, keeping her voice down as she pointed toward the surveillance cameras in the hall. “If you don’t believe me, you can check the footage!”
“It’s not a matter of timing,” the staff member replied sternly, his gaze dropping to her nightdress.
“The tournament rules clearly state that during the selection matches, players must at least be neatly dressed. Clothing without collars, sleeves, buttons, or other irregular garments is not permitted.
“For violations of these rules, we have the right to escort the player out of the venue.”
Chi Mianmian froze. Lowering her head, she finally realized that she had rushed out wearing nothing but her nightdress.
The nightdress was long, but it had thick spaghetti straps, and emblazoned on it was a large, world-weary cartoon octopus. Her face instantly turned red. She looked around helplessly and realized that many eyes were now on her. Her toes practically wanted to dig a Palace of Versailles out of the floor.
“Chi Mianmian, professional 3-dan,” the staff member said again softly, making a polite please gesture.
Unwillingly, Chi Mianmian looked at the still-blank board before her. Images flashed through her mind—last night, swallowing drink after drink to secure sponsorship for her team, forced by social obligations to smile through it all. A stifled glimmer of tears welled up in her eyes.
Several teammates she was close with were sitting nearby, watching. There was awkwardness in their eyes, but not one of them stood up. Not a single word was spoken.
Everyone talked about how the post-2000s generation was “cleaning up the workplace” yet when it came to her, all she could do was bow to reality.
Her nose burned as she stared at the board. When the staff urged her again, she swallowed her tears and stood up resolutely.
Rules were rules. Dress code wasn’t just about a player’s image, it was also about respect for Go and for one’s opponent. Chi Mianmian did her best to keep her emotions from spiraling, and even more so, to avoid crying in front of everyone.
She turned to leave—
—but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the young man across from her stand up as well.
Chi Mianmian turned back. She saw his clear, steady gaze, and his long, pale fingers calmly unbuttoning his long-sleeved jacket. He slipped off the light-colored outerwear and, in the next instant, draped it over her shoulders.
“This is a collar. These are buttons. These are sleeves,” Nian Le said, calmly showing the jacket to the staff.
After a moment of shock, Chi Mianmian immediately understood. She quickly put the jacket on properly, her fingers trembling slightly as she fastened the buttons.
The two staff members couldn’t hide their astonishment as they looked at Nian Le. If they weren’t mistaken, these two were opponents in this round. Anyone in the venue could have helped Chi Mianmian but it shouldn’t have been him.
The jacket still carried residual warmth. For some reason, Chi Mianmian suddenly felt a surge of courage. She lifted her head and looked at the two staff members.
“May I continue the match?”
They exchanged a glance, then looked at Nian Le again for a moment before nodding.
Returning to her seat and looking at the young man now dressed in only a light blue shirt, Chi Mianmian couldn’t help but smile. Gratitude filled her chest, yet for a moment she didn’t know how to express it.
“Let’s begin,” Nian Le said with a slight smile, lifting a black stone once more.
Seeing this, Chi Mianmian quickly pressed the game clock.
This round, Nian Le had drawn first move. Black went first. Perhaps because of the long wait earlier, both players unconsciously picked up the pace.
Black took a star point. White approached from below. Black played tightly, pressing down beside the white stone. White extended; black followed. White extended inward again, and black blocked, cutting off white’s momentum into the corner.
Chi Mianmian pressed her lips together in thought and split along the side. Holding black, Nian Le reinforced his corner, his style steady and composed.
It wasn’t until approaching the midgame that both players finally slowed down. Nian Le studied the board when he suddenly heard a faint scratching sound from across the table. After placing a stone and pressing the clock, he looked up and saw Chi Mianmian sitting stiffly, clearly uncomfortable.
Her eyes remained fixed on the board as she responded carefully to the situation. She picked up a white stone, and the back of her hand was already covered in red rashes and scratch marks.
Nian Le lifted his gaze toward her. Chi Mianmian endured the intense itching and discomfort, well aware this was the aftermath of last night’s drinking. She had taken anti-allergy medicine before bed, but it hadn’t fully worked.
Nian Le lowered his eyes back to the board and silently accelerated his offensive rhythm. After a dozen or so moves, Chi Mianmian’s scratching slowed as she realized his intention.
“Don’t underestimate me,” she said, lifting her head to look at him. Her voice was low, but her eyes shone brightly.
“This little difficulty is nothing to me. I can confidently tell you, if you suddenly change your strategy like this, I’ll beat you soundly.”
Nian Le looked at the girl in front of him and smiled gently.
Chi Mianmian had the right to talk tough. As a professional player who had steadily risen to 3-dan within just two years, the strength she displayed had already exceeded expectations. Not only was her stone efficiency extremely high, but her sense of the overall position alone was enough to command respect.
Nian Le slowed his pace accordingly, his thinking time returning to what it had been earlier.
Though she was a woman, Chi Mianmian’s play was like a raging wind sweeping across the land, destructive and unstoppable. Yet it wasn’t reckless force; it avoided solid ground and struck directly at weak points, determined to scatter the opponent’s formation, leaving them in utter disarray.
A black stone fell from Nian Le’s fingers, following the flow of white’s momentum. Chi Mianmian’s white stones pressed forward relentlessly, expanding like a gale seeking new territory, trying to shake off the entangling black stones yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite break free.
Chi Mianmian stared at the board, her brows tightly knit. She had faced many formidable opponents before, but one this tenacious—this was a first.
Fixing her gaze on Black’s earlier corner defense, a glint flashed in her eyes. She placed a probing stone, meant to test the thickness on that side. It was supposed to be a simple move yet the opponent across from her did not respond for a long while.
A vague sense of unease rose in Chi Mianmian’s chest. She looked up.
The opponent in the plain shirt held a black stone between his fingers. In his amber-colored eyes, there was still that faint, easy smile.
It was as if a gale were spiraling around him, whipping his clothes into motion. Yet his posture remained straight and steady, his gentle features showing not the slightest fear of the raging wind.
Nian Le’s fingers released the black stone. It landed with a crisp sound.
Chi Mianmian quickly lowered her head. The moment she saw the board clearly, she froze in place.
He hadn’t been entangled in White’s momentum at all, he had been borrowing the wind to gather strength. What looked like a howling storm had, in fact, followed a path entirely of his own design. And now, with this single move, he linked past and present, like drawing a sword and riding the wind, soaring straight up, ninety thousand li into the clouds!
For a long moment, Chi Mianmian didn’t place a stone. She stared blankly at the board, forgetting entirely about the pain and itching wracking her body. When she finally snapped back to herself, she lifted her gaze and looked straight at the young man before her, the shock in her heart impossible to put into words.
So this… is the kind of genius Master was talking about?
