Ding Liren: A Legend in the Making—A Decade Before His Crown"

In November 2014, the air was brisk with autumn’s quiet chill in Moscow, and the city pulsed with the sound of chess. Tigran Petrosian’s memory hung over the city like the weight of old wisdom, drawing grandmasters from every corner of the globe. Among them was a young, relatively quiet talent from China, playing his first steps in the citadel of chess elite—the soon-to-be-legend, Ding Liren.

The tournament was fierce, filled with titans. Kramnik’s steely resolve, Aronian’s elegance, Grischuk’s intensity. Yet among these giants, there was a gentler presence. Ding Liren moved through the hall like a whisper, modest, collected, unburdened by the dazzling expectations surrounding him. Game by game, he demonstrated a different kind of power—not in victories, nor triumphalist poses, but in steadfastness. He drew each match with a quiet strength that belied his youth, embodying what can only be described as “fortress chess.” A kind of calm that showed wisdom beyond his years, a balance of precision and composure that won the respect of everyone in that hall.

Though he didn’t claim the tournament, Ding claimed something far more enduring—the admiration and hearts of the spectators. His seven draws weren’t the headline, but rather the respect he carried in his bearing. There was no flash, no bravado. Only the unmistakable feeling that something timeless was unfolding, an intuition that one day he would sit among the greats.

I remember him well from those days. After the fourth round, as he left the hall, I saw my moment and couldn’t resist reaching out. "Mr. Ding, excuse me, may I make a selfie with you?" The man whose every move was watched by hundreds paused, smiled warmly, and nodded, “Of course.”

Perhaps it was fate or just a twist of luck, but I couldn’t quite get the photo right. First try, then the second—still nothing. I could see my own embarrassment, worried to be taking too much of his time. But then, without hesitation, Ding laughed softly, took the phone, and said, "Let me try." And in that quiet, unassuming gesture, he captured something beyond just our image. He shared a glimpse of who he is—a generous soul, kind and sincere.

Now, a decade later, we know where that path has led. From the young player in Moscow who would not yield, to the man who would eventually reach the pinnacle of the chess world, Ding has never lost that calm, modest spirit. He is now a World Champion, a title that feels like destiny. But whether he wins or loses has never defined him. What defines Ding Liren is his integrity, his unbreakable spirit, and his passion for the game he loves.

Ding Liren has long been a legend, in Moscow and beyond, in hearts and halls around the world. I wish him well, that he may always find joy in the game and in life. And I believe, no matter what, he’ll be true to himself—because that is the mark of a true champion.