The Coronation of Zero Wins

Old Li sat in front of the TV, a bag of peanuts in his hand, as the award ceremony for a Go competition played on the screen. He wasn't a Go enthusiast; he'd only been following it because everyone in the neighborhood had been talking about it these past few days, saying there was a "zero-win champion." It was a novelty, something he had to see.

On the screen, a young man received the trophy with a stiff expression, forcing a smile. The commentator’s voice was laced with a hint of awkward excitement: "Let's once again congratulate Mr. Bian Xiangyi, who won this year's LG Cup with a record of zero wins!"

Old Li "pffft"ed, spitting out the peanuts in his mouth. What kind of world is this? Zero wins and you can be champion? He felt like all these years he’d lived had been for nothing, his logic completely turned upside down.

These past few days, discussions about the "zero-win champion" had been raging. Some said the rules were flawed, some said the player was just lucky, and others called it a "black humor" in the world of Go. But Old Li felt that things weren't so simple. He stared at the young man’s face on the TV screen and felt his smile didn't look genuine, but rather a little helpless and tired.

Old Li was an old factory worker who had toiled his whole life. He didn't have much education, but he knew one thing: everything has its logic, even something as profound as Go. He felt there must be something he didn’t understand hidden behind this zero-win champion.

He started watching replays of the matches. He saw Bian Xiangyi lose every game thoroughly, showing no sign of struggle. After losing, he would silently put away the stones and return to his seat, expressionless. Throughout the competition, he was like an outsider, just mechanically executing the rules, like a precise robot, not a flesh-and-blood Go player.

Old Li suddenly thought of himself, of the same repetitive actions he had performed on the assembly line for decades, of the dreams he once had, and of how life had worn away his edges. Was Bian Xiangyi the same?

He began following news about Bian Xiangyi. The news said Bian Xiangyi was not a Go prodigy; he was just an average professional player, with mediocre skills, perhaps even a bit lacking. He was able to win because the competition used a very unusual "double-elimination" format. This meant that as long as he didn't lose two games in a row, he could stay in the competition. The other players, eager to win, often made mistakes and were eliminated early. Bian Xiangyi, on the other hand, used an almost passive "losing" attitude to "lay down and win" to the very end.

Old Li understood. This wasn't about playing Go at all; it was about who could endure failure more. He suddenly felt a little ridiculous and a little sad. It was like his life; he had always worked hard for a living, but in the end, he found himself just a cog in the machine, controlled by the system, with no autonomy.

He remembered a circus performance he had watched as a child, where a performer walked on a tightrope blindfolded. Everyone in the audience held their breath, but the performer remained calm, step by step, moving forward. Back then, he thought the performer was amazing. Now he realized that the performer, like himself, was simply completing a pre-determined goal, mechanically executing to meet the expectations of others.

Old Li turned off the TV and went to the balcony. It was raining outside, and the rain pattered against the window. He looked at the gray sky and sighed. He didn't know if this zero-win champion was successful or not. He only knew that in this absurd world, sometimes failure is an art of survival.

The next day, Old Li sat in front of the TV again, hoping to see news about the "zero-win champion." Instead, the news was about something else: The LG Cup Organizing Committee announced that to recognize Mr. Bian Xiangyi's "unique competitive spirit" in the competition, they decided to adjust the competition rules to "better reflect the fairness and competitiveness of Go."

Old Li was stunned, his hand holding the remote trembling slightly. He suddenly understood that the world was more absurd than he thought; it always seemed to justify itself, always using seemingly reasonable reasons to cover up the truth.

He saw Bian Xiangyi's stiff face on the TV screen again. He was still smiling, but this time, Old Li felt his smile was even more helpless. Old Li grabbed a handful of peanuts and silently put them in his mouth. The bitter taste kept him from calming down for a long time. He suddenly thought that maybe one day, he too would become a zero-win champion, watched by everyone in an absurd world.