Chapter 13: A Game of Spiritual Chess—Young Lord and Lady’s Affection

Previously, we saw Young Master Shen and Miss Xu arrive at the Shen residence, carefully arranging their battlefield—each side drawn up across the Go board, two-star formations facing each other.

The “eight refined arts”—zither, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, wine, flowers, and tea—were especially revered by the literati of ancient times. Those skilled in music were composed and far-sighted; those adept at chess were shrewd and wise; calligraphers displayed deep emotion and true nature; painters pursued the utmost in goodness and beauty; poets conveyed the voice of the heart in melodious lines; wine was for moments of kindred spirits; flower appreciation revealed a tranquil character; and tea refined one's temperament.

Chess here refers, naturally, to the game of Go, which brings to mind a poem from the Song Dynasty:

Appointment

By Zhao Shixiu, Song Dynasty

During the yellow plum rains, every household is shrouded in drizzle,
Green grass by the pond, frogs croaking everywhere.
A guest was expected but has not arrived by midnight,
Idly tapping Go stones, watching lampwick flowers fall.

Go, a contest of intellect, originated in China three or four millennia ago, played upon a gridded board with black and white stones. Throughout history, scholars and gentlemen have been especially fond of Go, finding joy in both victory and defeat—indeed, the very journey of the game is meaningful.

From the opening to the midgame and on to the final phase, black and white contend for territory—under the Chinese counting method, victory is awarded to whoever controls more than 180.5 points. Yet, through much practical play, it was discovered that black, moving first, holds an advantage. Therefore, black gives white a compensation—nowadays, this is six and a half points.

To the game: Young Master Shen, holding black, invaded the white corner. White responded with a pincer. Black played the double-swoop. Each move came swift as a falling star, revealing their deep familiarity with the variations of the double-swoop.

“My lady’s position as black is quite strong,” Xiao Ling said proudly.

“You understand the game?” Xiao Long was surprised.

“What do you think?” Xiao Ling retorted. Seeing her confidence, Xiao Long dared not reply.

Back at the board, the players were locked in a fierce struggle, evenly matched. Young Master Shen’s style was steady and methodical, while Miss Xu excelled at bold, unexpected moves—her brilliance often shone through in the unlikeliest moments.

Then, black pressed on the second line, leaving white in a dilemma.

“Brilliant! Simply brilliant!” Young Master Shen exclaimed.

After weighing the situation, the young master chose to sacrifice a stone, building a formidable outer wall.

The contest was neck-and-neck, and the two onlookers could hardly contain their nerves. This match tested not only skill but also composure and wisdom.

As the game entered the endgame, black held a clear lead, but Young Master Shen did not relent. In the upper left, after a sequence of bends and connections, he suddenly placed a stone at the two-one point in the upper right.

White, with no choice, connected to make eyes—black’s double life! In an instant, the advantage flipped: white now led by two points.

“Miss Xu, I concede,” Young Master Shen said, sipping his tea—a declaration of victory.

“Young Master Shen, your skill is truly unmatched. I am full of admiration,” Miss Xu replied with poise.

After a hard-fought battle, Young Master Shen narrowly claimed victory in this splendid contest.

“Come, have some watermelon,” said Madam Shen, entering with a beaming smile and a tray.

“Thank you, Auntie,” Miss Xu replied courteously.

“Xiao Long, fetch a basin of well water.”

“At once, young master.” Xiao Long hurried off to the kitchen.

The well’s edge was smooth. Xiao Long spun the crank, lowering the bucket. With a splash, the bucket hit the water. Skilled, he flicked the rope, the bucket obediently inverting. With a quick jerk and a pull, the bucket came up, swaying gently.

He poured the cool well water into a wooden basin, picked it up, and turned—colliding headlong with Xiao Ling, spilling water everywhere.

“Oh!” Xiao Ling shrieked. “You’ve soaked me!”

“Sorry! So sorry!” Xiao Long’s face flushed red.

“You must make it up to me.”

“For what? Besides, you were standing quietly behind me—how is that my fault?” Xiao Long stammered, flustered.

The young master offered Miss Xu the best slice from the tray after she washed her hands. “Since my mother brought it, please, help yourself.”

“Thank you.” Miss Xu turned aside and began to eat, and everyone else gathered around to take a piece as well.

Meanwhile, the two fathers-in-law made their way to the riverside bathhouse, where Mr. Xu discovered that the place indeed operated day and night. In the heat, a cool wash in the evening was a familiar comfort, but here, in the misty light, the two found themselves at ease, soaking in the clear water. Mr. Xu felt an incomparable relaxation—one that home could not provide.

“Well, how is it? Comfortable?” Mr. Shen asked cheerfully.

“Exceptionally so.”

“There’s a saying—‘In the morning, water wraps the skin; in the evening, skin wraps the water.’ At first, it sounds odd, but it’s an old rhyme in our ancient town, embodying our leisurely pace of life,” Mr. Shen explained, ever the conversationalist.

“I’ve heard it before—when I visited Yangzhou in the third month, I heard locals say it, but I never understood what it meant,” replied Mr. Xu, enjoying the bath.

Indeed, “water wrapping the skin in the morning” refers to Yangzhou’s morning tea tradition. Perhaps the canal trade brought this custom north to He Xia. In Yangzhou, to savor morning tea is to slow down, to find a teahouse, brew fine leaves, let the gentle warmth and fragrance infuse your senses, and start your day with delight.

In the evening, one visits the bathhouse—this is “skin wrapping the water.” Yangzhou is famed as the “hometown of back-scrubbing,” an essential part of its bathing culture, and a unique form of traditional therapy.

“We’ve soaked long enough. Master He, give my friend a good scrub,” Mr. Shen called out. Master He, a must-have for every visit—a true Yangzhou craftsman—approached with a booming voice. Mr. Xu saw a burly man, his build testament to years of back-scrubbing.

Lying by the poolside, Mr. Xu soon surrendered to Master He’s expert hands, so relaxed that before long he was snoring thunderously.

“He’s fallen asleep already?” Mr. Shen exclaimed, then called, “Xiao Li, come take care of me.”

Xiao Li, a cheerful young man in his twenties, hurried over, eager to serve.

“Let’s play another round,” said Xiao Ling, still unsatisfied as she helped clear the board.

“Very well. Miss Xu, let’s switch colors—this time I’ll play black,” Young Master Shen replied promptly after polishing off his watermelon.

Miss Xu finished her tea—a familiar, fragrant jasmine that brought a smile to her lips. Xiao Long helped gather up the stones.

As she sipped her tea, she reflected: in the last round, Young Master Shen seemed to have victory in hand from the outset. His opening was grand, his midgame balanced strength and subtlety, and in the endgame, his defense was flawless. That double-life reversal at the last moment showed a truly extraordinary talent.

Especially memorable was her own proud play on the second line, which had troubled him for quite some time—yet he decisively sacrificed a stone to build a mighty wall. Clearly, his adaptability was remarkable.

Now, with herself as black, she would have the first-move advantage. In the new round, with wine by the lamp, Young Master Shen would take black—she would see how he made the most of it.

“Young master, the board is ready.”

Young Master Shen placed a black stone on the upper right star point, a gesture of respect toward his opponent. Miss Xu responded by placing a white stone on the opposing star point. Black then laid down a three-star formation; white immediately approached on the side; black pincered, white jumped, black followed to reinforce the corner.

White slipped into the corner, black wedged at 3-3, and white suddenly shoulder-hit the previously pincered black stone, testing black’s response.

Unexpectedly, black tenukied, invading the upper left. After white secured the corner and made a high extension, the three-star formation on the right merged into a formidable black presence.

White invaded the upper right at 3-3, black chose outside influence, and white took the corner.

Looking over the board, black had seized the outer lines while white occupied solid territory—both sides were evenly matched.

Suddenly, black boldly placed a stone at the very center—the tengen. White was startled. The move at tengen signaled an ambition to unite the board, to dominate all directions. It was as if a dragon had surged from the sea—master of attack and defense, advancing or retreating at will.

The tengen, the “Celestial Origin,” was seen in ancient texts as the star surrounded by all others, a symbol of supreme status—a title even adopted by emperors in later dynasties. In time, it came to mean “king” in any field.

Such boldness! Miss Xu’s heart leapt with joy. This was the kind of man—a true, unyielding spirit—she had always dreamed of.

Facing this fierce advance, white resolutely parachuted a stone deep into black’s territory. The battle was joined—attack against defense, life against death, each side fully committed.

Hundreds of moves followed, black and white entwined, the board ablaze with conflict. Onlookers’ hearts raced.

Shen and Xu leaned closer to the board, eyes locked, as the tension mounted to a breaking point.

White placed the final single dame—the match was over.

“I’ll do the counting,” said Xiao Ling, who, trained by her mistress, was well-versed in such matters.

She deftly filled in black’s territory, organizing the remaining spaces into neat groups of ten.

“Ten, twenty, thirty… one hundred seventy…” Xiao Ling announced, astonished at the outcome. “It’s a draw!”

Truly, a day on the Go board feels like a thousand years in the mortal world. Night had fallen when, suddenly, a man’s voice called from outside, “Xiao Ling, where is Miss Xu?”

All eyes turned to see two gentlemen approaching, deep in conversation.

What would happen next? That must wait for the next chapter.