With the last endgame move that could be played taken, the game finally ended.
Without even needing to count the territory, Dafflin knew that he had lost by exactly twenty points—no more, no less.
At that moment, the villagers watching nearby were also nervously counting the score.
"1, 2, 3... 15, 16..."
"19, 20!"
"Did he only lose by twenty points?" an old woman asked, rubbing her eyes uncertainly.
"Twenty points! We're saved!" A young man jumped up.
"That's right! This year, the weather will be favorable again, and we only have to pay thirty percent in taxes, rent, and levies!" The others erupted in joy.
"We'll have enough to eat! We can eat as much as we want this year!"
"Dad, can we really eat until we're full every day?" a little girl asked a middle-aged man, sucking on her finger.
"Of course. This year, we can eat three meals a day." Her father picked her up happily.
"Then why don't we save one meal for next year?" the little girl asked curiously.
The middle-aged man fell silent. After a long while, he said, "If we save it for next year, then if we can't play a good game against Heaven next year, the government will take however much we save. They'll only leave us enough not to starve to death. We might as well eat it ourselves and put some meat on our bones. You need to grow taller too. Only when you're full can you learn Go properly."
The little girl nodded as though she understood.
Meanwhile, the people standing on the board gradually regained their senses, then ran out and embraced the others.
Some adults even tossed their children back and forth in the air.
Dafflin felt a pang in his heart. He had only ever