Memory fragments

Author: Jian Zhao Chai Jiao
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-01-01
Features: The Devil's Dictionary of Adolescence, Folk Language in Schools, the Genetic Code of a Generation. This book will bring back fragments of memories for those with life experience. Fragments of Memory about Mahjong Thirteen Not Relying on One, Unfettered From a Humanistic Perspective, I believe people have the right to manage their own lives. A reporter asked a university scholar, versed in both Eastern and Western studies, what his method of maintaining health was. The old man replied readily: "Smoking, drinking, and playing mahjong." His students followed their teacher's advice, one after another, becoming emaciated and dying young. That was their right. A friend once fell in love with a girl who loved playing mahjong and was extremely slender, her delicate fingers probably only strong enough to hold thirteen cards. Now they have been married for several years. Perhaps it was the mahjong that took its toll, her figure remains devilishly slender, becoming an object of envy for women who worry about their weight. That was his right. One day, a colleague invited me to play badminton, but I declined. "I've never seen you exercise before," she pouted. "Don't say that, I'm an athlete!" "What?" She was as surprised as Li Bai giving up alcohol. "Mahjong and tractors," I proudly replied. That was my right.
Two Youngsters Roaming Now, I can no longer remember who first introduced mahjong into university dorms. This has become one of the mysteries debated at our ten-year reunion graduation party, with several people hoping the organization would credit the desert preacher with it, arguing fiercely until their faces turned red. The mahjong set we played was carved from bamboo, which actually suited its cultural heritage and taste. By the next day, one set wasn't enough. Another was quickly brought in, likely a family discard, with each card made of cheap green and white plastic shells glued together with poor-quality glue, hollow and filled with fine sand to add weight. After a few rounds, the "mahjong carpet" bedsheet—let alone sleeping on it—was so uncomfortable that even a hedgehog would have found it rough. After watching two rounds and grasping the rules, I nervously picked up the cards. Thirteen cards couldn't be laid in a straight line; they had to be grouped into small fortresses of three or two to keep track. The winning hand was East Wind and Six Wan paired, but with my deep mathematical knowledge, I quickly concluded that Six Wan had a much lower probability of appearing than East Wind. Yet my then-muddled mind couldn't remember the names of these two winning combinations, so I could only mentally repeat East Wind, like a lover's name, nervously, so when someone played Six Wan, I didn't even react. It wasn't until two rounds later that I regretted it so much that I wished I could travel back in time to the moment Six Wan was played. Over the next decade of my mahjong career, I was repeatedly crushed by a clumsy beginner. In fact, I had crushed others in the same way that day—I had lost East Wind in the third round after missing Six Wan, but then, after confirming it, I wiped my sweat, steadied my emotions, and, like others who had won, spread the cards with a pose. Thus was my first win born.