Blood on the Board: The Death Game of Akaboshi Inseki (赤星因彻)
The Silent Cost of Power
In 1831, Honinbo Jouwa (丈和) ascended to the Meijin position without drawing a single stone in contest. He had outmaneuvered his rivals politically, winning favor with the court and sidestepping the need for a formal ten-game match. But the way he claimed the seat left bitterness in its wake.
The old master Yasui Chitoku (安井知得) retreated in silence, too old to fight, with no successor strong enough to challenge. But Genan Inseki (幻庵因碩), the eleventh head of the Inoue house, would not forget. He had been played, tricked into supporting Jouwa’s rise with false promises, and he burned with the desire to bring him down—not through schemes, but on the board.
The Scheme and the Chosen One
Genan understood that to defeat a Meijin politically was one thing, but a public defeat in a high-profile match could unravel everything. He needed a champion. And he had one: Akaboshi Inseki (赤星因彻), a 26-year-old prodigy who had trained directly under him. Inseki was brilliant, calculating, and young enough to be dangerous.
Inseki wasn’t just talented—he was ruthless. In sparring matches against Genan, he had won four straight games. It was enough to convince Genan that he was ready. When an opportunity arose to organize a high-profile Go exhibition at the residence of a powerful shogunate elder, Matsudaira Nariaki, Genan knew it was time.
The plan was simple. Inseki would face Jouwa directly in front of the political elite, not in a formal ten-game match but as part of a post-banquet "entertainment." The implications, however, were immense. Should Inseki win, it would cast doubt on Jouwa’s legitimacy as Meijin and shake his standing from within.
Setting the Stage
On the day of the match, five boards were set in the grand hall. Each pitted a promising challenger against a senior player. But all eyes turned to one board alone: Jouwa versus Akaboshi Inseki.
Jouwa was forty-nine. Heavyset and sharp-eyed, he had built a reputation as a precise and brutal player. Inseki, in contrast, was pale and focused, his nerves tightly wound. Both men bowed, and the game began.
Taisha and the Tilted Blade
Akaboshi opened with Inoue’s signature diagonal formation. Jouwa answered, quietly and ominously, by stepping into the Taisha—a Joseki of his own invention.
The Taisha was infamous.
A complex labyrinth of variations and pitfalls, it was said that a misstep in the first thirty moves could end the game. Intricate and deceptive, it looked like a challenge, but it was a test of nerve and clarity. For Jouwa, this was no ordinary match. It was personal.
Akaboshi met the challenge with grace. He parried, he countered. For the first fifty moves, he looked as if he might match Jouwa, even surpass him. Observers whispered. The Inoue student was pushing the Meijin into unfamiliar territory.
The day ended after 59 moves, and Jouwa returned to the Honinbo house in silence.
Akaboshi and Genan rented a boat, anchoring it on the river for peace and cool air. All night, Akaboshi replayed the moves by moonlight, seeking a fault line in Jouwa’s position.
Back in the Honinbo house, Jouwa and his disciples reviewed the game. At first, the Meijin was calm. But when his pupil Tsuchiya Koutarou (土屋恒太郎)—later known as Honinbo Shuwa (本因坊秀和)—pointed out a small adjustment that could have dramatically changed the shape, Jouwa’s expression shifted.
He retired to his room and did not come out for hours. At one point, he grew so absorbed in replaying variations that he forgot to relieve himself and soiled the tatami. His wife found him murmuring lines of play to himself, completely unaware.
Later that night, she walked barefoot to the temple of Kannon in Asakusa, praying to the goddess to protect her husband. She bowed every few steps along the way. It had become a spiritual war.
The Collapse of Inseki
The next session resumed with a promise for Inseki. But the momentum began to falter. One small move—a seemingly natural territorial approach—turned out to be a critical error. Jouwa responded with a masterstroke that redefined the balance of the board.
Inseki attempted to recover, striking back with force. But Jouwa, playing without a trace of hesitation, continued to peel away at the structure of his opponent’s position. With each move, the Meijin found space where there should have been none.
Inseki, sleep-deprived and rattled, miscalculated a sequence in the lower right corner. He believed he had a chance to initiate a complex ko fight that could turn the tide. But Jouwa handled it calmly, delaying the sequence, taking territory elsewhere, and returning at the exact moment when it mattered. The threat was neutralized.
Day Three: A War of Wills
On the final day, with the other games long finished, everyone gathered around the last remaining board.
Inseki pushed hard, trying to destabilize the left and upper side, sacrificing his own stones to create complications. Jouwa refused to be baited. He played steadily, matching aggression with restraint.
The board tightened. The territory counts became clear.
Inseki was behind.
When the final major exchange ended, he stared at the board. His position was irreparable. The result, undeniable.
He reached for the lid of his stone bowl and gently placed a few stones on the board to signal resignation.
He had not even spoken before blood poured from his mouth.
The Death of a Prodigy
Inseki collapsed in front of the board. The room fell into chaos.
A month later, he was dead.
The official cause was tuberculosis, but everyone knew. He had spent too much. Given too much. The pressure, the expectations, the sheer emotional weight of carrying his teacher’s revenge on his shoulders had broken something inside him.
Later, Hayashi Motoyoshi (林元美) visited a monk at a nearby temple and spoke of the match. The monk, to his surprise, already knew. Genan, it turned out, had visited the temple weeks before and begged the priest to pray to the wrathful deity Fudo Myoo for Inseki’s victory.
The priest had done as asked. But after the loss, he said quietly, “The heavens did not grant our wish. It was not meant to be. The boy was sacrificed for a cause the gods did not bless.”
Motoyoshi relayed the words to Jouwa.
The Meijin, usually so implacable, sat in silence for a long time before replying: “When he resigned, I felt it—a moment of vertigo, as though my soul had been struck. I closed my eyes, recited the sutras in silence, and waited for it to pass. It still hasn’t.”
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Copyright Notice
This English adaptation is based on Japanese Go Stories (《日本围棋故事》, 2016) by Xue Zhicheng (薛至诚).
For non-commercial use only: Shared for educational purposes under fair use.
Rights retained: All copyrights belong to the original author and cited sources.
Modifications: Minor narrative adjustments were made for readability; all historical content remains accurate.
No affiliation or endorsement: This work is independent and unaffiliated with the original author or publishers.
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References
Adapted from:
Xue Zhicheng (薛至诚), Japanese Go Stories (《日本围棋故事》), 2016.
Cited in original work:
Watanabe Hideo (渡辺英夫), Shin Zaigin Dansō (《新坐隱談叢》)
Watanabe Yoshimichi (渡部義通), Kodai Igo no Sekai (《古代囲碁の世界》)
Lin Yu (林裕), Weiqi Encyclopedia (《围棋百科辞典》)
