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The Anniversary

Summary:

Shi Guang remembers and honors the memory of Chu Ying.

Notes:

“It’s been nine years since you left, Chu Ying,” he said, unfurling his fan and settling in for a good chat. “What new updates do I have for you since last time?” He dug into his pocket and popped a few jelly beans into his mouth, contemplative, and then began.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“That’s why I believe that the way forward is to take the best of the past and the present and bring them together,” Shi Guang finished.

The reporter smiled. “And do you think you will achieve- “ she began, before Shi Guang cut her off, lifting his arm to check the time on his very fancy and expensive watch, completely at odds with the old, but still very bright, yellow “5” t-shirt he was wearing.

“I’m sorry, but that’s all the time I have,” he said, though he reduced the sting of it by giving her a regretful smile. “I have an appointment, and I cannot be late.”

The reporter apologized, flustered as always by that ingenuous smile, and said she would follow up with any points of clarifications later. She left quickly, and then Shi Guang put on his jacket, lifted his backpack onto his shoulders, and walked outside into the sunny, mild day.

A little while later, after negotiating a reasonable rate with the vendor, Shi Guang set his backpack in the basket, sat on the front seat of the tandem bike and turned it in the direction of Lanyin Temple. “Happy 1,517th birthday, Chu Ying,” he said with a wistful smile as he kicked off. “Let’s go for a ride.”

He had become much better at riding recently after purchasing his own bike. But the tandem bike was much heavier, and he was riding to the foot of a mountain, after which he would have to climb all the steps to the temple, after which he would be exhausted.

He didn’t mind, though. It was worth it.

He arrived at Lanyin Temple late in the day, as the sun started to set. The monks greeted him warmly; they looked forward to his visits. That did not stop them from putting him to work, though, earning his keep for the night. Luckily, upon seeing his pleading glance and shaking legs, he was assigned the task of peeling potatoes and carrots. After this, he was given a delicious but simple curry dinner, with some of those same potatoes and carrots. He helped with clean-up, chatting with a few of the monks as he did so, and then went to the austere room assigned to him as the monks prepared for sleep, lifting himself up to sit on the window ledge, opening the window, and looking out at the stars.

“It’s been nine years since you left, Chu Ying,” he said, unfurling his fan and settling in for a good chat. “What new updates do I have for you since last time?” He dug into his pocket and popped a few jelly beans into his mouth, contemplative, and began.

“My student Xiao Ying beat Yue Zhi’s student in the Young Lions tournament,” he said, with obvious glee. “I texted Yue Zhi about it, but he never responded! I don’t know why.” He shrugged philosophically, but he was unable to keep a grin off his face.

“Ma is doing well. She’s still working too much, but she comes over more often after work, now that we’ve moved closer to her. She’s watching some new Tang dynasty drama. You’d probably love it, it’s all about mistaken identities and long-held family secrets.” He rolled his eyes, fanning himself.

He paused for a moment, reflecting. “I think she feels lonely sometimes,” he acknowledged.

He wondered how often Chu Ying had felt lonely, unseen and unheard by anyone except him and Bai Ziqiu for 1500 years. He wondered, as he got older, whether Chu Ying had ever had the chance to experience so many things that they had never gotten around to talking about.

Like the joy you felt when your best friend finally came back to the pro league and completely demolished you in your first match together, and then grabbed you for a smothering, snotty, wordless hug and you held onto each other so, so tight.

Or the aching pain of watching your mother age and be too proud to acknowledge it. Her glare every time you brought up the idea of her cutting down on work. Her insistence on bringing two weeks’ worth of food with her every time she visited, even though she visited once a week, and her sigh of contentment whenever you brought her some tea and a snack and settled down to watch that ridiculous drama on the sofa next to her.

How powerless you felt, witnessing a friend’s heart break and not being able to do anything to help make it better except to be present.

How exhilarating it was, riding a bike downhill as fast as you dared. That one, he knew, Chu Ying had never experienced.

Waking up in the morning, feeling safe and warm and loved in someone’s arms, and thinking of ways you could convince that person to stay in bed as long as possible so that you could keep feeling safe and warm and loved in his arms for as long as possible. And then five minutes later, being annoyed by that same someone telling you to quit pressing snooze and get out of bed, already, so that he could sleep in peace.

The pride of seeing your student make progress under your direction.

That one, Chu Ying definitely had experienced, Shi Guang hoped.

He opened and closed his fan thoughtfully, and then started, remembering something important.

“I played Yu Xiaoyang last weekend after dinner. I lost, but it was such a good game! When we reviewed it afterwards, he said he hadn’t had that much fun in a long time.” He smiled a little at the memory. “Do you think… if I played you now… that it would be a good game, too?” he asked shyly. It would always be one of his biggest regrets, that unfinished game with Chu Ying. All of the games they would never play.

He looked up into the sky, scanning the expanse for some sort of sign. None came, and he sighed softly, wistfully.

“Alright, time to sleep,” he said, sliding off the ledge and getting into bed, though he left the window open to the night breeze. He blew out the candle. “Good night, Chu Ying. I miss you.”

**********************

The next morning, he woke with the sun. Not because he wanted to, but because he was staying at a temple, and that was when the monks rose. He washed and changed his clothes, helped with breakfast, and then made his way to the library, where the lazy monk greeted him grumpily.

Shi Guang was undaunted. “One color go,” he challenged. It was what they did, every anniversary, though the monk claimed not to understand why. He always seemed to have carved time out of his day for it, though.

They sat in the dimly lit library and played for a couple of hours. Other monks wandered in and out to watch and comment, and after they were done with their game, Shi Guang played with those monks, too. He loved playing at Lanyin Temple, loved the complete lack of ego playing here required, loved the monks, loved knowing that there were people everywhere who loved the game, loved that you could find them anywhere.

As the sun passed its peak and started its downward path, Shi Guang stretched his arms above his head and said he had to get going. “That bike won’t ride itself back,” he said regretfully. He waved goodbye to the monks, promised to visit again soon, and then made his way back down to the tandem bike.

The way back to town was easier as it was more downhill than uphill, and Shi Guang wasn’t in a rush, so he took a leisurely pace. Along the way, he updated Chu Ying on Fang Xu and Bai Chuan’s relationship. It took the entire time.

“I didn’t know when I promised Xu-xiong that I would help him that it would be a decade-long commitment,” he grumbled as he slowed to a stop and got off the bike. He shook his head regretfully, and then perked up, never down for very long. “But I’m sure they’ll work it out eventually!”

He paid the vendor the remaining amount owed, and then walked to the nearest bus stop. His phone caught onto the fact that he had signal again, and it chimed cheerfully in his pocket, alerting him to several missed messages.

**********************

The Golden Trio Group Text

Hong He [10:14am]

I cannot believe Wang Chong made it past the prelim rounds. Is there no justice in this world?

Shen Yilang [10:42am]

This way, you can have the satisfaction of beating him again yourself!

Hong He [11:27am]

Yeah, good point! I can’t believe it was what, a decade ago? Punching him in the face that time felt so good! I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Shen Yilang [12:35pm]

I meant beating him *in a game*.

Hong He [12:37pm]

Oh.

Hong He [12:38pm]

…Do I have to choose just one way of beating him? Wouldn’t it feel twice as good to do both?

Shen Yilang [1:03pm]

Maybe Shi Guang can talk some sense into you. Whenever he plays someone aggravating, he tells them how he was taught to relentlessly pursue and strike down those who defile the game of go. Then he smiles and tells them how many more moves it will take before they realize loss is inevitable.

Hong He [1:05pm]

SHI GUANG, God of Weiqi Vengeance. ⚡⚡⚡

Shi Guang [3:19pm]

I have only ever said that to Wang Chong. But I have said it multiple times. 🌊🌠🔥⚡

Hong He [3:23pm]

Ah, shit, we’ve woken the gods. O, Shi Guang, Shi Guang, I swear to never defile the game.

Shen Yilang [3:24pm]

Maybe it would be better to promise not to defile anything.

Hong He [3:24pm]

Don’t be so restrictive, A-Lang! I don’t go around making promises to gods I can’t keep!

Shi Guang [3:25pm]

I love you guys.

**********************

On the ride home, the bus passed a playground, and Shi Guang pressed the stop button on a whim.

He got off the bus and sat on the seesaw as the sun ducked beneath the treetops on its descent. His phone rang, and he picked up.

“Shi Guang, I am sitting at the best hot pot restaurant in all of Fangyuan,” Xu Hou declared excitedly. “Let’s have our meeting here tomorrow instead of at the club.”

Shi Guang laughed, lifting the seesaw up as he stood. “Hou-Ge, are you going to put me in one of your videos?” he demanded. “Last time you did that, I was wearing some old t-shirt. My mom won’t let me hear the end of it. She can’t believe so many people saw me on video with a hole in my shirt.”

Xu Hou chuckled. “Tell her you’re trying to expand your celebrity past the narrow confines of professional go,” he suggested.

“It’s ok, Ye Ye is a big fan of yours,” Shi Guang informed. “He defends me!”

“Really?” Xu Hou asked, clearly delighted. “He can join us one day, too!”

Shi Guang grinned. “That would be fun!” he agreed. “He would love it, and gosh, the stories he tells when he gets a beer or two into him…” He paused. “You might have to do some editing,” he warned.

He could practically see Xu Hou wave this warning away. “Worth it,” he said firmly. “Ask him when he’s free.”

Shi Guang agreed, and there was a slight lull in the conversation, during which he continued to manually lift the seesaw up and down as he stood and sat. Finally, Xu Hou asked, very gently, “How are you?”

Shi Guang remembered the night when he had sat on a seesaw much like this one with Xu Hou, during the worst time of his life. How Xu Hou had accepted him back to Fanyuan Club and never mentioned that period again. How he had always given him days off around this time of year, no questions asked. How Xu Hou had been such a steady, kind presence in his life for nearly a decade, soup stains and cat hair and mentorship and brilliant go, all in one supremely lovable person.

He stood up, patting the seesaw as if in farewell, before walking back towards the bus stop. “I’m well, Hou-Ge,” he replied warmly. “Thank you for calling. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**********************

When he opened the door to their apartment, he was greeted by the sound of pop music playing on the expensive surround sound speaker system. He grinned to himself. There was a meme that had been popular in go circles earlier that year. Yu Liang, aloof as ever, wearing a lavender eye mask and noise-canceling headphones, utterly unfazed by the loud, bustling crowd around him as he went through his pre-match preparation ritual. He wondered how people would react if they knew his playlist consisted mainly of bubble gum pop songs, not Bach cello concertos.

He walked to the living room and leaned on the doorframe without announcing his presence. Yu Liang stood in front of the bookcase. He was wearing, Shi Guang noted, a very familiar red hoodie. A feather duster and a rag lay on the shelf in front of him, momentarily forgotten. He was facing the window, bracing his weight on his arm against the bookshelf, completely absorbed in a book he must have picked up while cleaning. He looked lovely.

The music changed, and Shi Guang was unsurprised by the song that was up next. He watched Yu Liang with unholy anticipation. When Mariah Carey started singing, Yu Liang’s lips formed the lyrics of the song, his fingers tapping lightly against the book cover with the rhythm. Shi Guang moved forward slowly, as though Yu Liang was a bunny in the garden that he did not want to startle, until he could slide his arms around the other man's waist.

“I want a lover who knows me,” he crooned, off-key but with enthusiastic commitment to the impersonation, into Yu Liang’s ear. “Who understands how I feel inside.”

Yu Liang froze, just like a bunny who knows it has been caught, and then he relaxed and his lips curved upward. “I didn’t think you’d be back until later,” he said, closing the book and returning it to the correct spot on the shelf before turning to face Shi Guang. His dark eyes searched Shi Guang’s face quickly but thoroughly.

He must have been satisfied by what he saw because he rested his hands lightly on Shi Guang’s chest and the slight upturn of his lips blossomed into that rare, megawatt smile that could still turn Shi Guang’s legs to jelly. “But since you’re here… time for a game?” he asked. Shi Guang’s eyes lit up at the prospect.

Cause I wanna share forever with you, baby, Shi Guang sang along with Mariah in his head, but did not say out loud. Yu Liang knew, anyway.

They went to the living room, where prime placement was of course given to the go board. It was on a table directly in front of a large window. Yu Liang pushed back the curtains and Shi Guang opened the window to invite the moon and the stars and whoever else might be interested to watch their game, and then the two of them sat down and began.

I think if you saw me now, you would be proud, Chu Ying, Shi Guang thought, some time in the middle game after he completed an attack he had learned from studying Bai Zi Qiu’s game records. Your go is my go. It’s our go.

Yu Liang countered with a defensive move that Shi Guang had used against him in a previous game. I play Yu Liang every day, so your go is in his go, too.

Shi Guang played another move that he had learned from the lazy monk, who had learned it from old game records. And I play Xu Hou and Hong He and Shen Yilang, so you are in their go, too. Every game each of us plays, you play, too.

He opened his fan as he contemplated his next move, and looked out the window to see the full moon coming out from behind the clouds. Was it a sign? A greeting? An acknowledgement of Shi Guang’s thoughts? Maybe not.

He returned his gaze to the board. The moonlight illuminated it, and his next move suddenly became clear. He placed his next stone, and looked up to see Yu Liang in the pose he loved most. He had pushed his sleeves up past his elbows at some point in the game, as though impatient with the clutter around his wrists. He was leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees, fingers steepled against his lips, frowning down at the board with that deep concentration, that intense focus that Shi Guang had wanted directed towards him from the very beginning, that he still wanted. He reached his arm out and rubbed between Yu Liang’s eyebrows. “Stop frowning, you’ve already lost,” he said cheerfully.

Yu Liang swatted his arm away distractedly. He trained his eyes on the board, unconsciously rubbing the fingers of his right hand along the face of the blue digital watch he wore on his left wrist. After a moment, he sighed and sank back in his chair, accepting defeat.

“Another game?” Shi Guang quizzed with a smile. He was already clearing the board because he already knew the answer.

Chu Ying, if you played me today, it would be a good game, he thought, and was confident that this was true.

Notes:

This is a slightly different feel than the rest of my Snapshots of a Life Spent Together series, but I hope people still like it! I read this article about the concept of Ambiguous Grief, and it immediately struck me as being very applicable to Shi Guang after Chu Ying leaves. I was influenced by the guidelines shared in the article on ways to move past grief. This fic is me trying to find ways to show how Shi Guang coped with and grew around his grief and how he found ways to honor Chu Ying while still being very much the happy, kind Shi Guang we all love. I hope that comes across, and thank you for reading. Please feel free to share a comment (no matter how long it’s been since this fic was posted)!
As always, please let me know if you spot any errors, and I will fix them. Apologies in advance!

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