Zhou Zhengguang stared at the board.
Only the fifth move of the game had been played, yet he hesitated for quite some time. In the end, he chose not to respond directly to Jing yu's opening 3-3 invasion and instead played elsewhere.
But Jing yu's next move?
The same pattern.
Lower-left corner, another 3-3 invasion.
"Huh?"
"???"
"So that first move wasn't a misclick? He meant to play that?"
"Is this part of a strategy?"
"Is there even such a thing as a 3-3 strategy this early?"
"No clue… but he played the same move twice in a row."
"Wait—could Jing yu be throwing the match on purpose? I mean, after beating so many pros, maybe he wants to lose?"
"Or maybe he knows he can't beat a 9-dan and is playing obviously bad moves so that if he loses, he can say it was intentional and save face?"
Some lurking haters from the 'Hikaru no Go' fanbase seized the chance to stir things up.
"I don't get any of this, but it looks really badass."
"Can someone explain why this move is considered bad?"
Zhou Zhengguang narrowed his eyes at the board.
He had no idea what Jing yu was planning, but since the move had already been played, there was no backing down.
Time to follow the standard 3-3 response pattern.
The conventional 3-3 joseki is already known to favor White.
It's a move that's been thoroughly studied—if someone plays 3-3, and you don't follow the standard sequence, you'll usually lose even more.
That's what a joseki is: a tried-and-true sequence of moves developed through decades of play. It's not perfect, but it minimizes loss.
In short:
Even within this well-known losing pattern, you're choosing the lesser evil.
You're still losing, just not as badly.
In the lower-left corner, the first few moves played out normally.
White hane.
Black blocks.
White extends again.
Black "crawls" deeper.
And then… comes the critical move.
This is where AlphaGo's custom sequence would appear in the original pattern.
According to the AlphaGo style, Black should now have on the left, then attach and force a White response.
That would cause White to develop a thick exterior wall, while Black gets a few points in the corner.
The problem?
The outer influence White gains is usually way more valuable than Black's small corner territory.
But what if Black doesn't hane an attach?
Then White can extend, and Black would be forced to block—creating what Go players call a "big pig's mouth" shape: an inefficient formation that's even worse than the standard loss.
So here's the difference between humans and AI:
AlphaGo's playstyle skips the hane.
But how does it continue after skipping?
Jing yu, following that logic, chose not to hane.
Instead, he added one more crawling move in the corner.
To human players, this looks like a blunder. It gives up tempo and territory.
But AlphaGo's research had shown that this extra crawl—though seemingly inefficient—creates a powerful future opportunity.
Across the room, several players frowned deeply as they watched the match unfold.
Even Zhou Zhengguang himself began to feel something… off.
And then, right at a critical moment, Jing yu ignored the corner fight entirely and made a move elsewhere on the left side of the board.
"Huh? He's still not playing the hane?"
"Teacher Jing yu is really not playing by the book today!"
"He is throwing this match, isn't he?"
"Come on, seriously?"
"Did the Go Association pressure him? Is that why he's playing obviously subpar openings?"
On fan forums and chat groups, arguments exploded.
But just a few moves later, after Jing yu made a strategic extension…
Zhou Zhengguang blinked.
He stared at the board.
This shape…
He looked up at Jing yu—startled.
Gradually, fans watching the livestream began to realize something wasn't right.
"Wait… what's going on with this formation?"
"It looks really weird."
"Can someone tell me if this is good or bad?"
"So… Jing yu didn't play the hane and attach on purpose?"
"What's going on? Can someone who knows Go explain??"
"You can see it for yourself. That shape… White's position isn't great."
"Exactly. If Jing yu had played the normal hane and attach, White would've gained a massive outside framework. But he didn't. Instead, he saved those two moves and used them to build a structure above that corner. Now, White's stones aren't nearly as solid."
"This joseki—the idea is that White gives up the corner to build influence outside. But now? White's influence is weak, and they didn't get the corner either. That's just a flat-out loss."
"Yeah. Black got solid territory. That extension he played is now threatening the center and the left side. Meanwhile, White's stones look kind of… isolated. They're not connected well. Could become dead stones."
"It's not that bad."
"Spoken like someone who plays 5-kyu online."
"We can tell something's wrong—Zhou Zhengguang definitely can too. There's no way he's happy with this result. Right now, the balance has shifted—White has a slight disadvantage. It's not fatal… but in high-level matches, this kind of slip can be costly."
Indeed, just like the pro players on the forums were saying, Zhou Zhengguang realized the problem.
He hadn't expected Jing yu to turn a normally bad 3-3 invasion into an actual working strategy.
He'd miscalculated.
After a fierce exchange, Zhou managed to stabilize the group.
Still, he couldn't help feeling frustrated. He'd lost ground in that local skirmish.
Black (Jing yu) had secured solid territory.
White had built a weak outer framework that barely influenced the board—and would still need to fight to prove useful.
But then Zhou glanced over the whole board—and his eyes lit up.
All four corners of the board had started with star points.
Both he and Jing yu had placed two each.
Which meant…
Time to gamble a bit.
He paused, weighing his options.
This wasn't a title match, just a friendly exchange event.
So why not take a risk?
He didn't believe Jing yu could have a plan for every 3-3 invasion pattern.
No way he had prepped for both sides.
And so—
Zhou Zhengguang played his next move:
Another 3-3 invasion, this time in the top-right corner.
A perfect mirror of the sequence Jing yu had used on the left side.
"That's Zhou Zhengguang for you! Always bold!"
"He's literally copying Jing yu's own move! Isn't he afraid Jing yu has a counter-strategy ready?"
"He's betting that Jing yu doesn't. That this new 3-3 trick only works from one direction."
"If you've watched his pro matches before, you'd know—Zhou lives for chaos. He loves wild, unpredictable games. He thrives in messy battles."
"Today was totally worth waking up early for. Seeing top players test out cutting-edge strategies—this is the good stuff."
"Go, Teacher Jing yu!"
"Don't lose!!"
"Crush the pros!!"
"If you win, I'll send a gift to Yunteng TV in your name!"
"At this moment, you're not alone, Teacher Jing yu. Sai has possessed your body!"
As the match continued, the livestream's viewership kept skyrocketing.
Back at the venue, after seeing Zhou's mirror move, Jing yu froze, staring at the board.
You weren't expecting me to do that, huh?
Zhou looked across the table, waiting for a response.
But then, the man sitting opposite him—the man who had remained calm and expressionless throughout the match—finally showed some emotion.
Jing yu looked up…
And gave Zhou a faint smile.