
At nine o’clock sharp a swoosh of sheets being pulled off tables sounded across the ancient wooden town. Then there was a communal rustling as bottoms settled into chairs. Finally a deafening click-clacking echoed through the stone streets. It was mahjong time in Shangli.
Dinner was finished and the entire town was at it. They would stay at it until the early hours. Every night. My nightmares echoed with the sound of mahjong tiles being rattled around by electric tables. Accompanied by a concentrated sucking on cigarettes, clinking of tea cups or whiskey glasses and much muttering. Continue reading









