Chapter One: On Momentum
Some time ago, Kai and Peng played a game of Gomoku, each seeking to defeat the other. Kai thought with meticulous care, advancing step by step.
The two were evenly matched. Peng could not win for the moment, so he defended carefully for several rounds, yet victory remained undecided.
Peng saw that Kai’s skill was refined, and his heart grew somewhat timid. As his own position gradually weakened, he concentrated his spirit in deep thought before placing each stone.
Kai urged him hastily, but Peng did not respond, continuing to deliberate as before.
A spectator sighed and said: “In chess, one contends for momentum. When form declines, momentum scatters; when momentum scatters, defeat follows. The mediocre follow the momentum; the wise turn the momentum to victory.” All agreed this was well said.
By noon, Peng had unexpectedly reversed the situation and defeated Kai, rejoicing in his triumph. Yet the onlookers found his play too slow and dull, and so they dispersed.
Chapter Two: On Spirit
There was a guest skilled at chess who played against Kai but could not win. This man had thrice faced Peng in battle and never been defeated, yet today he lost to Kai. Peng was both astonished and proud; he played no more, instead mocking the man.
Kai was thus praised by all.
A wise man named Rui came from the west and fought fiercely with the guest, who won narrowly. Rui was not satisfied and hastily took back a move. The guest despised him.
They played again, and Rui lost once more, again taking back his move. All laughed at him, treating it as amusement.
At evening, Peng invited the guest to play. The guest had once lost to Kai, and Kai had once lost to Peng; Peng believed himself certain to win. After several games, victories and defeats were evenly split.
The guest won several games in succession, believing he had broken Peng’s spirit. Yet Peng’s nature was wild and arrogant; his keen spirit was not crushed, and upon defeat he immediately sought to play again.
The guest was displeased and repeatedly tried to stop him, but Peng paid no heed. They played until nightfall before stopping. The guest smiled but said nothing.
The record states: "In chess, nothing precedes victory like spirit. Without spirit, the heart grows timid, and there is no way to win.
Peng had spirit but his skill was not refined; thus he won seldom and lost often, his spirit floating and chaotic. Therefore it is said: First refine your skill, then cultivate your spirit—this is the way of good chess."
Chapter Three: On Style
At first, the disciple Lü played with the guest, fighting bitterly for a long time, victory and defeat difficult to distinguish.
Later, when the guest played with Rui, he saw that Rui’s style greatly resembled Lü’s. Surprised, he asked the reason.
Rui said: “I once played against Lü and never won.”
The guest was greatly astonished. Examining Rui’s style carefully, he sighed in puzzlement:
"Lü’s style: swift, firm, vigorous—like spears and blades advancing in attack, the way of forceful assault;
Rui’s style: swift yet perilous, complex, surprising, supple—close-quarters adaptation, the way of bodily technique."
Examining his own style, he said: “My way is slow, brocade-soft yet internally strong, hiding cleverness behind, the way of craft.”
The next day, Kai played against Master Sun. Kai had thrice been defeated before, his spirit depressed, yet today he unexpectedly won, his momentum greatly stirred.
Observing his style: unexpected moves, attacking where unprepared, hidden ambushes unleashed—different from Lü, the way of shadow.
Peng’s style: flowing yet extending, turning and reaching through, like water’s course, the way of water.
It is said: Chess has its styles, and style reflects the person. When two play, similar styles lead to fierce struggle; slightly different styles allow mutual learning and complementation, and the way of chess advances.
Chapter Four: On Initiative
Another day, the guest was at leisure and invited Rui to play. Rui was troubled by affairs, his mind restless, his words disrespectful.
The guest was disappointed and reviewed old games. He wished to borrow Peng’s equipment to take back moves, but Peng would not give it; the guest grew more sorrowful.
Peng pitied him and gave it, and the guest turned from grief to joy, again delving deeply into the games.
Reviewing his previous games, distinguishing the gains and losses of initiative, he sighed with realization: When chess players are hasty, they often lose the initiative.
Initiative is choice, is power. The wise weigh benefit and harm, judge priority, sometimes abandoning small gains to seize the advantage.
Therefore it is said: First secure the initiative, then deploy formations; first establish momentum, then apply technique. Once initiative and momentum expand, the whole game stabilizes. Clinging to formations while losing initiative causes later positions to shrink—certain defeat.
Observing Lü and Rui’s play, both valued formations but neglected initiative; thus though they often won, their chess realm did not advance.
Chapter Five: On Carefulness
At noon, Peng again played with the guest, locked in difficult struggle. The guest launched surprising attacks in succession, but Peng defended like an impregnable fortress and could not be broken.
The guest worried and pressed on. Peng saw the guest’s composed manner and manifold deceptions, and his heart grew anxious, unable to respond; his position collapsed of its own accord, and he was defeated.
This illustrates: The skilled player attacks swiftly yet moves carefully, with clear style and stable heart—thus victory.
Soon after, Kai arrived and took the guest’s place against Peng, while the guest recorded the game from the side. The contest was most excellent.
Kai was not careful and missed a fine opportunity—alas!
After more than thirty exchanges, Peng finally saw Kai’s formation was sparse, struck through the gap, and Kai was defeated.
Kai was not satisfied and played again, unexpectedly winning; the two parted in joy.
Thus it is concluded: “In chess, put carefulness first. Carefulness brings completeness; only with completeness can one strive to attack with full effort.”
Postscript
In years past, schoolmates gathered beside the small chessboard, holding black and white stones, discussing the arts of advance and retreat, laughing and shouting together, their spirits high. Then youth was in full bloom, hearts clear and pure, unaware that time passes swiftly, unconcerned that roads would diverge—only taking joy in play and glory in companionship. Now the way is long and wandering; recalling it, Peng’s wildness, Kai’s care, Lü’s firmness, Rui’s cleverness remain; momentum, spirit, style, initiative, and carefulness can still be distinguished. Yet time flows on, youth returns no more. Three or five schoolmates have each gone their separate ways. Even in greetings, distance grows. Gazing toward the dormitory—once upon a time, passions burned like fire; now departed, leaving only memory, making me unable to contain my melancholy. The rivalries of old were the spirit of youth, mutual admiration beneath the competition; words of mockery held no malice, free and spontaneous. Now the chessboard gathers dust, old friends scattered. I sigh for the joy of games past, for the warmth of days and nights together. Youth is like morning dew, gone in an instant; schoolmates are like sunset clouds, meeting only to part. That friendship born of Gomoku is engraved upon the heart, never to be forgotten.
With this text, I record the scene of schoolmates playing chess in days gone by, cherish the feelings of youth, mourn departed time, and treasure friends growing distant.
May this treatise on chess leave a mark for youth, establish a record for schoolmates;
May we remember, even as years grow long and roads stretch far, that there were once youths who knew each other through chess, kept each other through companionship, who did not waste youth or waste their meeting. Time is silent, but friendship leaves its trace.
This is the postscript.