Voices on the New Diasporas - an MIT student journal
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Universes and Stars
by Han Zhu
Click. Click. Click.
The sounds of stones clicking on the wooden board bounce around the sweltering room in which Tianyuan, my cousin, and I sit. With no air conditioning in the hot apartment in China, the doors and windows are wide open, greedily catching the occasional August breeze. My attention, however, is on the object in front of me: a wooden game board with a simple 19 by 19 grid painted on its surface and stones carefully placed in a seemingly random pattern on the grid’s intersections. Playing a strategy board game like Go is perfect for passing the time when it is too hot to go outside. The object of the game is to claim as much territory as possible by placing stones on one of the 361 intersections on the board and to reduce the enemy’s territory by capturing enemy stones, not unlike a real war. Tianyuan puts another black Go stone down on the board, a mischievous smirk growing on his chubby face as he looks up at me. Daring me to take my turn and put down the next stone.
I grimace as I debate where to make the move, banishing mental complaints about the weather in order to focus on the game. My situation on the Go board looks dangerous. I had been hoping that he would miss the mistake I’d made in the lower right hand corner when I accidentally placed a stone too far into his territory. Due to that mistake, I could lose the entire adjacent group of white stones to him. Squinting, I try to make sense of the complicated pattern of black and white on the board. He has the advantage when it comes to sheer territory size, but I have kept up the balance by capturing more of his stones. Since both territory size and number of captured stones determine the final score of the game, we are tied in this bloodless yet ferocious war.
However, the situation is far from simple. The black and white pattern of stones on the board grows complicated much too quickly, for Go has a near infinite number of permutations, many more than chess does. The most advanced, modern computer Go simulator cannot even beat the average human player. Why is that? Even the most sophisticated AI algorithms cannot take into account all the possibilities of the game, and therefore cannot simulate the flexible and experienced mind of a good Go player, much less a professional one. Something as simple as counting territory can baffle a computer algorithm, especially when territories overlap with or mask other territories. Even for the human player, keeping track of territory and dead stones is a skill that comes only with experience. Professional players can gauge territory size, despite complications, at a glance and keep a running score in their heads. I still have a long ways to go, but I am working on getting better.
Ignoring Tianyuan’s look to pressure me to make a move, I study the board some more. White walls of defense appear strong from one perspective but useless from another. Black patterns advance and retreat in my vision. I realize that I will have to play aggressively for the rest of the game if I want to gain back enough territory to win. Warily, I pick up a white stone from my bowl with my forefinger and middle finger, smacking it down on the wood.
Click!
There. The move I just made protects my white groups while also subtly attacking the black group nearby. Tianyuan frowns at the new development and I feel a small spike of victory at his temporary bafflement. The true thrill of the game lies not in its mechanics, but in interacting with your opponent. Go is a game that requires an enormous amount of brainpower and concentration, and it is crucial to see farther ahead than your opponent—as in chess, the player who has planned more steps ahead wins the game. Between two players of equal strength, the situation is never stable and the tide is always changing. Using the war analogy introduced earlier, you must always be aware of where you stand in relation with your opponent, and plan your battles accordingly. There is a time and place for every battle, and the two players have an unspoken agreement when to duke it out over a specific piece of territory and when to call a truce and shift attention to other parts of the board.
On the other hand, the complicated battle of stones playing out on a Go board can also be very beautiful. To the casual observer, the patterns look random; but if one closely analyzes any part of the Go board at any given time, one will find a puzzle much more challenging than any Sudoku or crossword problem. Each stone on the board is placed there for a reason, and it is up to the observer to deduce that reason, as well as in what order the moves were made (the professional player can do this with a single glance). Even more fascinating is the way each puzzle, or group of stones, fits into the big picture, the entire board. If the Go board is space and the stones are the stars, then we are creating solar systems, galaxies, and constellations. As more stones are added to the board, the galaxies shine brighter with the addition of new stars. Together, two players can create a universe. Sometimes, when one of us surrenders stones or small groups to our opponents, the stars die quietly and dim out. Other times, when we refuse to hand over a group of stones or a chunk of territory without a fight, constellations collide and entire galaxies are changed. The reason professional Go players exist in Asia, and the reason Go enjoys the same publicity in Asia as football in America, is that far from being just a game, Go is an art and a way of life. Many spend their entire lives mastering this art—decoding the deeper meaning in each Go game, inventing new moves and strategies. Most of all, Go is about creating and un-creating a puzzle with an opponent who understands on the same level the wondrous enigma spread out between you.
I would not have had a chance to appreciate the art of Go if I had not started sitting in on Tianyuan’s weekly Go classes. One can even say that Tianyuan and I are old-time rivals, because we are at about the same strength and we play each other often during the summers when I am in China. We know each other’s playing styles, how each of us would respond in certain cases. Tianyuan knows I like to start by claiming the upper left hand corner, and I know his preferred opening sequence. In many ways, we are developing our play styles and strategies based on how the other person will respond, learning to exploit each other’s weak points and trying to catch each other off-guard with unconventional moves. As our skills grow, the constellations we create together become more beautiful. It’s not easy to find a rival who can match your skill exactly without needing handicaps1 on one side or the other, and I often feel lucky to have Tianyuan.
Click.
Something catches my eye as Tianyuan places his stone. A single white stone is mixed in with the black stones in his bowl. It is partially covered by the other stones, yet it is still there. If that white stone found its way to his prisoner pile nearby (composed of my captured white stones), then it would be an extra point for him. Calm down, I tell myself, it probably just got mixed in there by accident. It would seem nitpicky of me to point out such a minor mishap during an informal game. Deciding that it would be better to just talk to him after the game, I remain silent.
Click.
My white stone answers his black stone at the appropriate intersection. As expected, our positions are equal now. My last move created a jie cai2, a stalemate, a pattern that can repeat forever without gaining favor for either player. If he attacks, then I can attack him back. If I attack, then he can attack me back. We are in a precarious balance of stones that check each other, like a binary star formation—two opposing stars revolving eternally around each other. Neither of us can truly gain a point.
I glance up to catch his expression, but he is not looking at me. Instead, with the skin on his forehead wrinkling in a frown, he stares hard at the game. Disbelievingly, I watch him as he surreptitiously slips the single white stone from his bowl into his pile of white prisoners. What?! What he has just done will give him one more point than I have, which is enough to upset the balance and allow him to win! I have never noticed him cheating before, but I feel a surge of anger at him, sitting there cheating calmly. Hot acid simmers and smokes in my stomach. The beautiful shapes on the board suddenly lose their meaning.
“Did you just cheat?” My voice shakes, and the anger I cannot contain seeps through.
“NO I DID NOT!” Tianyuan’s calm face rapidly transforms into a raging tempest. His dialect becomes more pronounced, his speech sounding like a machine gun spitting bullets into a steel can.
At 12 years old, we are both still such kids.
It only takes a split second for me to overcome the shock before I release my own anger in a screaming string of words. “You…” My common Mandarin suddenly sounds bland and impotent in my own ears. “I saw you put that white stone into your prisoner pile! You can’t gain points that way!”
“I told you I did not cheat! You must have cheated if you’re accusing me of cheating!”
“WHAT?”
“You know you are not as strong as I am, so you decided to take the easy way out.” He sticks his tongue out at me, fat cheeks flattening viciously, eyes bulging in self-righteousness. I cannot even speak at this point. Not only has he ruined the flow of the game, but now he’s turning the situation around on me!
Suddenly, I don’t want to see the game in front of me anymore. It is a twisted parody of what it could have been. This is not a universe. The significance of each stone, the power each held, is lost. Instead, it lies there mocking me.
CRASH!
Suddenly, stones are scattering all over the wooden floor. The Go board is overturned, a large crack running down its middle. I belatedly draw my hand back, realizing my mistake. Tianyuan looks murderous, since the Go board belonged to him. Without a single word, he stalks out of the room.
Later, when my grandparents ask us why we do not play Go together anymore, we tell them that we have moved onto other hobbies. Neither of us looks at the other when we say this.
I am 17 and sitting at my desk, procrastinating from doing homework and playing Internet Go. The game is still undetermined, and I stare at the computer screen while waiting for my opponent to make a move, feeling a twinge of something I thought I had lost a long time ago. My opponent is somebody with whom I can play evenly, and the game is tied. The territory my opponent has lost in the upper left hand corner is large, but s/he still has a chance to make a comeback in the center area of the board. Even if I do not make any more careless mistakes, I may not be able to maintain my advantage. The balance can be tipped anytime.
When was the last time I played such an even game with anyone? I rarely get a chance to play anyone in person, I do not know many people who play Go in America. Having resorted to playing Go on the Internet, I have encountered countless anonymous, wildcard players. There have been weak players whom I beat easily, and there have also been strong players who have slaughtered me and left me bleeding all over the virtual Go board. Occasionally, I have even met strong players who were willing to play “tutor Go,” to teach me by making instructive moves with the intention of teaching me, not crushing me. However, no matter how many different players of different levels I have played, I have never been able to encounter another Tianyuan, someone whose skill had been such a close match for mine.
My screen name in the play window lights up, indicating that it is now my turn. Shockingly, my opponent has made a move in the lower right corner, in the place where I had been planning to move next. I had wanted to attack at that key location, but my opponent had somehow known where I was going to move next and blocked accordingly. Is this hard to do? Not for exceptionally strong players. But for players of my level, it is a pretty unlikely occurrence. Unless s/he knows me well, s/he could not have seen that opportunity. Was it pure luck then? Or maybe, by some freak coincidence, is it Tianyuan coming back for a long-awaited rematch? No, I quickly realize that it cannot be Tianyuan because the screen name reads “Jewelzdiva8.” A girl, most likely.
However, I cannot help thinking, wistfully, that it would have been perfect, if by some twist of destiny, Tianyuan and I met on the Internet to settle things from that fateful day five years ago. Even with the diversity of net go players out there, there has never been anyone I have enjoyed playing as much as I enjoyed playing him. He was my rival, the only person I would bother to keep a winning count with. In my memory embellished with imagination, I remember the excitement of our minds clashing in battle, the transfer of competitive energy into the stones, our games of universes and stars.
To play Go, you need more than a board, some stones, and some quick thinking. The game is a discourse between two people. Your opponent is just as much your counterpart as he is your adversary as the two of you play a game of mutual chase around the galaxies you have created. Rather than communicating through speech, the two players communicate with each other through their moves on the Go board. In this way, a challenge, a question, a declaration of war or peace, can all be communicated with very little ambiguity. Through this same avenue, two kindred minds can touch, exchange ideas, and induce each other to grow. Some of the best professional Go players in history have become incredibly strong because of the presence of a good rival, or a good friend.
After all, it takes two players to create a universe.
1When two players of unequal levels play, it is common for the stronger player to allow the weaker player to place several stones on the board wherever they like before the game starts, to make the game challenging for both players.
2In Japan, Europe, and the U.S., a “jie cai” is also known as a “ko threat” or “ko fight.”
© 2007 MIT E-merging Journal
