Cast & Character List
Wang Baoqiang as Cui Ye
From Go Prodigy to Crime Whisperer
Picture this: A mild-mannered Go teacher (yes, the ancient strategy game that makes chess look like tic-tac-toe) gets tangled in a credit union heist. Hostage situation? Check. Forced to help criminals escape using his Go tactics? Double check. Cui Ye’s origin story is like if Mr. Bean stumbled into Ocean’s Eleven – except this guy’s actually good at crime.
Character Arc: Nerdy to Nightmarish
Early Cui Ye is your classic "awkward uncle at family reunions" vibe – introverted, bullied for being too honest, and probably still uses a flip phone. But post-hostage trauma? Dude starts treating felonies like Go matches. Robbing a armored truck? That’s just his "black stone" move. Evading his cop brother Cui Wei? Call it a family reunion with extra handcuffs.
Wang Baoqiang nails the transformation – one minute he’s nervously wiping Go stones with trembling hands, the next he’s glaring at his reflection like the Joker discovered Confucianism. The show peppers his meltdown with genius details: Is he cleaning chess pieces or scrubbing away his humanity? Who knows!
Chen Minghao as Cui Wei
As a veteran detective and older brother to small-time criminal Cui Ye, this guy’s got more emotional baggage than a Jenga tower. Ten years ago, he bungled a case that still haunts him (think: late-night whiskey stares and guilt-induced insomnia). Now, he’s stuck in a moral quicksand: arrest his own brother, or let justice slide? Spoiler: neither option comes with a clean conscience.
Here’s the kicker—Cui Wei dissects crimes like a chess grandmaster. Drop a suspect in his interrogation room, and you’ll hear gems like "Every move you make is a dead end in this game" or "Your opening was weak, just like your alibi." (Note to self: Never play Go with this man. Or poker. Or Uno.)
But here’s the tea: Those cryptic chess metaphors? They’re low-key screams to his brother. When he snarls "You’re trapped in your own endgame" at a perp, you know he’s really talking to Cui Ye. It’s like watching someone juggle grenades while reciting poetry—equal parts tense and weirdly beautiful.
Chen Minghao nails the role with a performance that’s 50% granite jawline, 50% trembling vulnerability. You’ll root for him to hug his brother, arrest his brother, or maybe just scream into the void. Either way, grab popcorn. This family drama’s messier than a karaoke bar brawl.
Chen Yongsheng as Jin Xiasheng
Picture this: a guy who looks like he could bench-press a vending machine but spends his downtime obsessing over Go boards. Yeah, that kind of paradox.
As the loyal right-hand man to mastermind Cui Ye, Jin isn’t your typical crime syndicate lackey. He’s the human equivalent of a golden retriever in a leather jacket—endearingly gullible, fiercely loyal, and weirdly wholesome for a guy who probably owns multiple pairs of brass knuckles. Cui Ye, the puppetmaster of their operation, literally lured Jin into the gang using Go strategies (think: "Join my crew… and I’ll teach you how to dominate the board!"), and honestly? We’re not sure if that’s genius or just really good hustle.
Here’s the kicker: Jin’s the muscle with a moral compass. Need a getaway driver who’ll also fix your flat tire? He’s your guy. Tasked with intimidating a rival gang? He’ll probably apologize while doing it. Chen Yongsheng nails this mix of brawn and vulnerability, turning what could’ve been a cliché thug into the show’s secret emotional anchor.
Wang Zhi as Gao Shuhua
This 2000s Shanghai stunner glides through crime-ridden streets like a walking time capsule, her silk qipao whispering secrets with every sway. While her husband Cui Ye builds a criminal empire, Shuhua serves vintage wifey aesthetics that'd make your Instagram feed weep – think lace gloves clutching mahjong tiles by day, side-eyeing mob dealings over chrysanthemum tea by night.
Here's the kicker: This isn't some clueless 1950s housewife archetype. Shuhua knows exactly where those bloodstained diamonds come from. Wang Zhi masterfully plays her like a guzheng with broken strings – all graceful surface melodies masking dissonant chords beneath. Is she a victim? Accomplice? Or just playing the longest con game in Shanghai?
The show's genius lies in making us root for this moral contortionist. When she smiles at her husband's lieutenants while "accidentally" misplacing incriminating ledgers, you'll catch yourself whispering "Yaaas queen, protect that problematic king!" against your better judgment.
Li Naiwen as Wang Hongyu
This guy is what happens when a Bond villain gets an MBA. By day, he’s all bespoke suits and boardroom charm as the CEO of a "totally legitimate" import/export empire. By night? He’s the puppet master pulling strings for Cui Ye (the show's tortured Go prodigy), turning chessboard brilliance into cold, hard cash through some very creative accounting.
Wang’s superpower? Weaponizing Zen koans. His favorite party trick is dropping cryptic gems like "The board always needs more pieces" during tea ceremonies. Translation: "I own you, kiddo – now go launder those profits through that underground Go tournament." It’s like if Yoda went full Gordon Gekko.
What makes him terrifying isn’t the money laundering (though there’s plenty). It’s how he plays human chess. Watch him gaslight Cui Ye into thinking their criminal empire is just "strategic networking" while casually destroying the guy’s relationship with his brother. By episode 6, you’ll be screaming at your screen: "HE’S NOT YOUR FRIEND, CUI YE! HE’S A WOLF IN ARMANI!"
Li Naiwen chews scenery like it’s Wagyu beef – all subtle smirks and calculating pauses that scream "I’d sell my grandma for a favorable stock price." His genius? Making you almost root for this corporate Dracula… right before he stabs someone in the back with a monogrammed letter opener.
Li Meng as Qiu Jiawen
In Playing Go, Li Meng steals scenes as Qiu Jiawen - the kind of wife who probably folds laundry while mentally drafting philosophical dissertations. Married to obsessive detective Cui Wei (who's chasing his own brother through some serious family drama), this sharp-witted literature professor proves you don't need a badge to solve moral equations.
Jiawen's superpower? Being the human equivalent of an emotional Swiss Army knife. When her husband's investigation turns into an ethical minefield, she serves equal parts therapist tea ("Did you consider that maybe chasing little brother through dark alleys isn't self-care?") and moral GPS ("Reminder: 'The ends justify the means' is how supervillains get started"). Her weaponized rationality could make Spock nod in approval, yet she still packs late-night dumplings for her workaholic spouse.
The real plot twist? This Tang Dynasty poetry expert might just be the smartest player in the game. While the boys chase each other through back alleys, Jiawen's over here decoding human nature like it's an ancient scroll. Think of her as part detective, part relationship Jedi, and 100% the reason this family hasn't combusted yet. Pro tip: Never challenge her to ethical debate night. You will lose.
