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It was snowing outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. For summer days, the sun set very late in Astana, and of course the sun hadn't set by the end of the game, so Richard could see the snowflakes outside reflecting the twilight, shining in a gorgeous light that pierced his pupils and fell on the umbrella of his outdoor seat.
There were few people in the dining hall, walking around. He guessed they were staff who had also just finished a long day of work trying to get themselves some food, and had the good sense to take seats far away from them. The two of them sat by the window. He scanned the room and finally turned his attention back to Ding sitting across the table. He still looked completely focused on checking out the game with engine on his phone, and the food on the table was no longer steaming.
He whispered, “I thought you said in the press conference that you'd be very hungry after the game.”
He seemed startled by the sudden sound of the words, or more precisely, pulled out of the state of being so focused on something that he was oblivious to his surroundings, and then noticed the cold chow mein on his plate. “Ah, sorry.”
“There's nothing to be sorry about.” He said, a little amused, “But your chow mein probably deserves an apology.”
He also smiled slightly, “Sorry, I find that I seem to add sorry in my sentences a lot… maybe it's a habit?”
“Is there such a usage in Chinese?” He asked purely out of curiosity, but Ding put down his chopsticks and began to think seriously.
“Maybe...?”
He was glad that his attention had finally been diverted from today’s loss - to anything, or to him, for this matter. It wasn't good to overthink things all the time especially when they already happened and can’t be changed. There was no way he could take his place in the match, much less bear the consequences, but Richard is his second, and it was his duty, in addition to helping him prepare for the match, to be there for him and support him through it all, no matter what the outcome will be.
Even the dream he is pursuing is also his own dream.
“It seems to have.” Ding nodded. “It's just a show of courtesy.”
“You don't have to be so polite to me, you know.” Richard said in a lighter tone. “We’re friends.”
“I know.” Richard reached out and nudged his plate to remind him, and Ding smiled at him, picking up his chopsticks again.
“Rapport!” He heard his name being called, in an accent that was completely unfamiliar to him. The Atlantic sea breeze was really cold in January, and he couldn't get used to it no matter how many times he played in Tata Steel. He tries to snuggle his nose into the collar of his coat and turns his head to look.
It was Ding. He was also wearing a white jacket and a mask, squeezing through the door and walking quickly into the warm hotel lobby, just like him. Richard couldn't remember the last time they had spoken, maybe in Madrid? They had taken the same cab to the tournament venue. At that time he already knew there’s no way he can finish the tournament in first, or even second, although like most of the others, he didn't believe Magnus’ words at the time.
The atmosphere in the car was unexpectedly not too tense, Ding had always been a quiet person, the language barrier was probably one of the reasons, but he remembers they talked for a while. Although the two of them picked the subject of jazz music as the chatting topic - the furthest thing from chess they could think of.
The world knew afterward that Magnus was telling the truth, and that the second-place finisher in the candidate’s tournament was standing right in front of him. They came to the corner of the hall where the sofa was. Richard watched as Ding looked around the hall, making sure there was no one else but the hotel clerk, wondering why he had been called. Then he heard him ask in a quiet voice.
”Can you be my second for the world championship?”
It hasn’t stopped snowing yet. Ding didn't pull the curtains down, but the cold wind outside made him close the windows even though he was used to opening them a little, a thin layer of fog rose covering the glass.
They were in Ding’s room, which had been replaced with a smaller one than before, but still had a large desk that could probably put a dozen laptops on. The television was muted with the Premier League on, and the only sound left in the room was the tapping of their keyboards.
“Okay, I know you told me you didn't think this was a good idea before, but look at this line I've checked many times," he snapped, pulling back from staring down at the screen, feeling a soreness in his eyes and neck, and turning the laptop screen in Ding’s direction with one hand. “In this line, after this novelty, naturally black will take take take but it’s very hard to see this critical move -“
Ding looked at the screen and apparently immediately recognized the idea that Richard had proposed in an email earlier. The distance and the time difference, as well as the countless important and complicated tasks that had to be squeezed into the limited calendar grids, meant that they exchanged countless emails at countless moments that were unkind to their body clock. Ding didn't even have a gmail account, so they both had to set up a Hotmail account.
He blinked, thinking he was going to point out what he was questioning, or give a simple no, as he had in his previous emails, “But, this is not really my playing style,” and then add a polite thank you to move the conversation on to the next variation. But then he took a deep breath and said, “Richard, I think this is an awesome novelty, but I think it’ll be better if you save the idea and play it yourself.”
“Really…? I mean, what? Why?”
“I know you prepared this idea for me, but I think this one suits you better.” with a look of stress and fatigue in his eyes, that of a man who was a point behind in the World Championship. But Ding looked very sincere. “I know you can use this idea and win a pretty game when you need to win.”
“I'm here to give you interesting ideas,” Richard said, he just got more confused. “You paid me. I'm your second. That's why you pay, for good ideas.” Plus you're a point behind. If you think it's a good idea, isn't it a good chance to win the game for you?
“Yes, but you already gave me a lot of great ideas and played a lot of training games with me. Just keep this one.” Ding looked very insistent, turned the laptop screen back to face him, and went back to checking his own screen.
He didn't know how to react for a moment, staring blankly at the folders on the computer screen. The TV screen beside him flashed white as the crowd waved their towels in passion, like their team had just scored a goal or missed a penalty. The silence in the room was suddenly interrupted again, as Richard heard Ding speak slowly across the two opposing screens.
“I really appreciated that you agreed to be my second, Richard. And I really hope that one day you can be competing for this title too, I believe you can do it. Use that novelty in the upcoming World Cup match, I'll love to see how you play that out.”
They fell silent again, this time without the sound of the keyboard. Richard couldn't see the look on Ding’s face when he said those words, but it wasn't the kind of silence he hated. It was a silence that conveyed more emotion than words.
After a long time, he whispered, “Okay.”
His voice came through the microphone, and the signal seemed to be poor, not very clear. “That was a nice game from you.”
“Thank you. It’s interesting that exchange on g6 feels like it leads to a draw. We can try to find a way to avoid the trade from white.” Richard said as he clicked on the analysis board. Ding hmms, apparently checking out some of the variations he finds interesting as well.
“It’s sad that we can’t find time to arrange a training camp. It’ll be much easier to do all of this if we can hold one.” Ding says. It's Richard’s dinner time, but it's already late night for him. His voice sounded unusually tired. With the match just three weeks away, no amount of preparation is enough, and as his second, he feels that way, and the feeling must be even more intense for him. Anxiety was a bottomless pit that no amount of reassurances could fill, and it expanded rapidly as the final days approached.
“Yeah.” Richard replied. Especially thinking about Ding’s opponent - their opponent, now probably surrounded by super grandmaster seconds, using a national supercomputer, while they were doing voice call on WhatsApp, playing with anonymous accounts, clicking on the request computer analysis button on lichess.
Ding probably thought of something similar to him and sighed imperceptibly. His voice sounded like he was trying to find something to distract him from all of the negative am I fighting a war I've already lost speculation. “Do you want to play another game? Same line?”
“Ding,” he interrupts the question and calls his name, “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“No, I didn't have time.”
“Actually, close the laptop and eat something, watch a movie, relax, and go to bed earlier today. It's not like Ian is fasting for the match and saved all of the eating time to prepare.”
Ding thought about it for a moment and apparently agreed that it was a good idea to set aside his anxiety. “Hmm, thank you for reminding me to rest, Richard. I guess this is indeed a good idea.”
Richard tried to convince the insecurities inside Ding, and himself. “I think we're more well prepared than they thought. they're definitely underestimating us, so don't worry about it too much.”
"You're right," he heard his voice suddenly take on a distinct smile. “Also, They don’t know I have Richard Rapport being my second!”
“Yeah.” He also smiled and closed the tab.
“Actually,” Richard said suddenly, Ding noticing the sound of his voice and looking up at him. The short hand on the clock has pointed to another number, the Premier League on TV has long since ended, and the nightly news is on instead.
“I think we should stop preparing for now and you should relax for a bit, recover from the stress of the loss. It's getting late, and for tomorrow's game,” he said, turning off his laptop, “There's no need to over-worry about it. It's not like Ian's going to be up all night preparing to press you with black to get the two points lead.”
Ding looks at him, then nods. “You have a point. I think my plan is to get a draw tomorrow and stabilize. there's another rest day ahead after tomorrow’s game.”
“Trust me, I think you can at least get a draw.” Richard stood up. “I'm seconding for a world champion contender, I understand chess psychology quite well.”
Ding chuckled, turned off his computer and stood up too. “I guess I'll just go to sleep early. It's a tiring day.”
Richard turns off the TV and picks up his laptop, walks to the door, and prepares to open it to go back upstairs to his room. All of a sudden, he heard Ding’s voice again. “Thank you for your help today, Richard. And being here with me in Astana… it helps me a lot too. I’m very happy you’re here with me. Thank you.”
His hand on the knob paused, feeling an emotion in his heart that was expanding, healing a hole that had always been there. He suddenly realized that the hole was not only anxiety, but also a wound dug by his own unexplained jealousy over the person standing behind him, who made him miss the chance of achieving his dream.
He doesn't know when that old hole has been covered up, just like snow covering the ground outside the window. Many thoughts crossed his mind all at once, but he could not form any sentence to convey it all. Finally, he managed to say the first thing that came to his mind out loud.
“I have a great idea to relax after the game for us. not now, but after the upcoming SuperBet classic.”
“Really?” Ding sounded a bit expectant and curious. Richard knew he couldn't see his face against the door, but he gave a genuinely happy smile.
“Yeah. My wife once took me to a very good steakhouse in Bucharest…”