When the viewers saw Jing Yu take the white pieces and force Qian Yu to resign mid-game, a rush of excitement surged through the entire 'Hikaru no Go' fanbase.
This wasn't a drama.
This was real life.
And in real life, the actor who plays Fujiwara no Sai—Jing Yu—had just defeated a professional 6-dan in the first round of the Go Exchange Event.
"Unbelievable!"
"Teacher Jing Yu is incredible! Who's still out there saying his wins over Li Le were staged PR stunts? Did anyone watch that match? Does anyone seriously think Qian Yu was throwing the game?"
"It was obvious Qian Yu was playing seriously—Jing Yu just used a weird setup and trapped him completely!"
"What even was that opening? Does anyone recognize it? My brain short-circuited."
"No clue. Never seen it before!"
"Doesn't matter what it was. He won. I'm more than satisfied. When I saw him draw Qian Yu, I legit froze—was so scared he'd lose in Round 1. If that happened, all those 'Fireworks' fans and 'The Prey' fans who hate 'Hikaru no Go' would be gloating for weeks."
"He beat a pro 6-dan. Think he has a shot at winning the whole tournament?"
"Eh… let's not get ahead of ourselves. That's probably not happening. He'll eventually have to face one of the two 9-dan players. As much as I want him to win, those guys have been playing Go longer than Jing Yu's been alive."
"Age doesn't mean anything in Go! Most top players are young!"
"Yeah, but they're full-time pros. Can a screenwriter, actor, pianist, and violinist also be a top-level Go player?"
"Doesn't matter. He beat Qian Yu. That alone proves his strength. No point arguing—just enjoy the games."
"Y'all sound so smart... Meanwhile, I'm just sitting here totally confused but refusing to change the channel."
"Honestly, seeing him dressed as Fujiwara no Sai—I really don't want him to lose. If he has to lose, at least let him take the white stones. In the drama, he's undefeated as black. The one loss didn't count—Hikaru misclicked."
The organizers at Qimu Sports were, of course, closely monitoring the broadcast ratings.
And they noticed something very quickly:
Whenever the cameras showed Jing Yu, ratings surged.
Whenever they cut to someone else, ratings dropped.
"Tell the camera crew and director—focus more on that screenwriter, Jing Yu," said the event supervisor, still reeling from the shock of Qian Yu's defeat.
But shock aside, this was still a media event—and ratings were king.
Now that they'd found the secret to success, of course, they'd exploit it.
"Also, Xiao Yu, go tell the backend team to adjust the draw algorithm. Try to match that Jing Yu guy against more professionals. Since he beat a 6-dan, next pair him with Huo Yu, the 7-dan. If he wins again, line up Xu Jun, the 8-dan."
"What about Li Le?"
"Forget him. Word is, he has already lost to Jing Yu fourteen times. No need to throw him under the bus again. We're here to host a Go exchange event, not a humiliation livestream."
Officially, everything was "random draw."
Unofficially?
Of course, the organizers manipulated the brackets. Normally, this was done just to avoid having the two 9-dan players face each other too early—after all, you wanted the finals to be a showdown between giants. If they fought in Round 1 or 2, then the championship would be watching a pro 9-dan annihilate an amateur.
Where's the fun in that?
"What? You lost?"
Su Lin had taken care of his opponent in under 30 minutes—a government official known locally as a Go legend.
But to a professional, this so-called "legend" was no different from a hobbyist.
Like comparing a high schooler who scored 150 on a math test to Chen Jingrun, the math prodigy.
Qian Yu looked ashamed. His teacher had told him explicitly:
"You must win."
And he still lost.
Off to the side, Zhou Zhengguang, the other 9-dan, glanced over with a smirk.
Before the event, Su Lin had mocked his student Li Le for losing to a screenwriter 14 times—and now his own disciple, a 6-dan, had also lost.
Still, beneath the surface, Zhou Zhengguang was feeling more serious than smug.
Now there was no doubt:
Jing Yu was genuinely strong.
Qian Yu was far superior to Li Le, and he'd resigned mid-game.
"But Qian Yu," Zhou asked, "why did you lose so quickly? Is that Jing Yu kid really that strong?"
"It's not just his skill—though yeah, he's fast and sharp. But I lost mostly because of his opening patterns. I've never seen them before. I didn't know how to handle them, so…"
He trailed off, clearly embarrassed.
What kind of pro player loses because he's never seen an opening before?
Yes, opening theory matters, but at the end of the day, if the opponent's calculations and mid-game reads are better than yours, that's the real reason you lose.
Su Lin didn't say anything, but the fact that his personal disciple lost was enough for him to take Jing Yu seriously.
There was no denying it now:
Jing Yu's strength was on par with the upper tier of professional Go players.
"If someone like him—an amateur—can play this well… If he'd chosen a career in professional Go instead of screenwriting, who knows… Maybe even we couldn't beat him," Zhou Zhengguang said with a sigh.
"Make sure Huo Yu and Xu Jun take him seriously. We can't afford another loss."
After a short break, players who were eliminated in Round 1 could either leave or stick around to watch matches.
Qimu Sports provided meals, drinks, and even arranged hotels nearby.
But most attendees—regardless of skill—were Go enthusiasts at heart.
Even though they couldn't comment during matches, in the broadcast room, they could freely switch camera angles and follow any match they wanted.
Qian Yu, frustrated from his loss, was itching to see more of Jing Yu's games.
What intrigued him most wasn't the loss itself, but Jing Yu's bizarre strategies—completely different from anything seen in modern professional Go.
He'd already made up his mind:
He was going to secretly watch all of Jing Yu's future matches from the control room.
Round Two Draw:
Jing Yu vs. Huo Yu (Professional 7-dan)
Back in front of the TVs, viewers saw the new matchup.
"???"
"Another pro??"
Let's look at the math.
In Round 1:
Probability of drawing a pro = 6 out of 64.
In Round 2:
Probability = 5 out of 32.
Not high odds.
And yet...
Jing Yu drew two pros in a row.
"Teacher Jing Yu must have the worst luck…"