The Most Exquisite Game of the Era
Blood, Brilliance, and the Fight That Shook the Go World
By the time Jouwa (丈和) was appointed heir to the Honinbo house, he was already a name whispered with respect. Officially ranked 6-dan, he carried a reputation for methodical strength and quiet intensity. But few expected what came next.
That year, in the official Castle Games, he defeated Yasui Chitoku (安井知得)—already hailed as one of the greatest living players—by two points. The Go world stirred. This wasn’t just talent. This was ignition.
Jouwa had been a late bloomer, but now his rise was impossible to ignore.
“The Greatest Game of the Age”
In 1820, just a few years after their first major clash, Jouwa and Chitoku met again in a match that would come to define their era. Though held outside the formal Castle Games, the stakes were no less monumental. It was to be a multi-day duel, with breaks and resumption across weeks—an event whispered about for decades to come.
Chitoku played White. Jouwa played Black. What followed was a masterpiece.
Chitoku took early territory with subtle, almost humble moves—seemingly low-risk, but engineered to provoke. His groups danced with life and death, slipping out of traps and reshaping the board with quiet precision. Jouwa met the challenge with equal force. His formations were patient but powerful. His strategy, airtight.
As the match stretched across three sittings and nearly a month, both men poured their souls into the board. Each played with a level of reading and balance that few had seen before.
At one critical turning point, both spent hours calculating a single move. Jouwa’s moves landed with the weight of thunder. Chitoku responded in kind, matching his depth with elegance. When the game finally ended, it was Jouwa who emerged ahead by two points.
Historians would later call it “The Most Exquisite Game of the Era.” Even today, Go professionals study its flow and marvel at how much was held in silence between the stones.
The Duel That Was Too Much
The victory made Jouwa’s reputation unstoppable. He was no longer rising. He had arrived.
But not everyone was ready to accept it.
Toyama Sansetsu (外山算節), a senior student of Genjou (元丈), had long watched Jouwa’s ascent with discomfort. Sansetsu was older, respected, and had every reason to believe his time had come. Yet Jouwa had outshone him. And now, the younger player was being hailed as the inevitable future Meijin.
That year, a commemorative event was planned to honor the 200th anniversary of Honinbo Sansa’s (本因坊算砂) death. Players from the east and west of Japan would meet in a ceremonial match. For the east, it was Jouwa. For the West, the obvious choice was Sansetsu.
It was the perfect storm.
Sansetsu played Black. Jouwa played White. From the first move, it was clear this wasn’t just a game. It was a reckoning.
The match dragged on over four consecutive days. No time limits. No room for error. Four adjournments marked the pressure both men felt. The board became a battlefield of precision, each player struggling to balance stability with ambition.
By the hundredth move, the position was deeply complex. Sansetsu had secured clear territory, but Jouwa’s center influence loomed like a storm cloud. A single misstep could collapse the balance.
At one moment, after playing what would become the game’s final Black move, Sansetsu stood up and collapsed.
Witnesses were stunned. Years of strain, age, and the emotional toll had taken their toll. Sansetsu was helped back to his seat, trembling. He whispered to Hattori Inshuku (服部因淑), a 7-dan known for his uncanny intuition:
“If I continue, I will die. But if I stop, they’ll say I fled.”
Inshuku looked at the board. He calculated for minutes. Then more. Finally, he said, “It’s unclear. Better to adjourn.”
Jouwa agreed. The match was never resumed.
The record was sealed in silence.
A Game Beyond Result
Afterward, both players claimed victory. Sansetsu insisted he would have won by three. Jouwa said White was ahead by one.
But professionals agreed on only one thing: no one could say for sure. Later, Honinbo Shuuho (本因坊秀甫) reviewed the game and wrote:
“In such positions, trying to predict the final score is meaningless.”
That match was unfinished, unresolved, and became a symbol of the era’s tension. Not just between East and West, old and new, but between ambition and legacy.
It marked the beginning of a new chapter.
Jouwa would soon become head of the Honinbo house.
But the shadow of that unfinished game would follow him.
Want the next chapter of Go history?
🔸Subscribe to our email list to get occasional reminders to read new stories
🔸 Access high-quality lectures and Go equipment
🔸Join a growing community preserving the greatest drama Go has ever known
🡆 Because every legend begins with a move.
And every game tells a story.
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.
Contact: For verification or takedown requests, please email help@zeejyan.com.
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》)
