Zhang Di's weekends always start at the table. Not for breakfast, though. For mahjong.
At 9 am, while others may still be in bed, he's already seated with his cohorts, shuffling and drawing tiles, discarding them, calculating scores and calling "hu!" — the triumphant cry that ends a round.
Zhang usually doesn't stop until 5 pm, clocking in and out as if it were his day job. He is a typical Beijing office worker in his 30s, but he doubles as a competitive mahjong player in his spare time. He plays one or two offline games each week, attends online practice sessions on weeknights, and participates in weekend tournaments.
To him, the satisfying click of tiles perfectly balances the grind in the office cubicle.
"When I first started, I'd get frustrated over unlucky draws," he said. "But now, I've learned that as long as I make the right decisions, I can accept the outcome. Same in life. Just do your best," he added.
He sees a rising number of young people catching the same bug. Peking University has a mahjong club. Social media feeds are filled with tile-table selfies.
"Mahjong isn't just for the elderly anymore. It's how our generation connects," he said.
Zhang is far from alone. A recent report in The Economist revealed that participation in global mahjong events has more than tripled over the past year, while mahjong-tagged TikTok content has surged more than 70 percent.
From New York to London, from Paris to Sydney, mahjong gatherings now appear regularly on city calendars. Young people are flocking to restaurants, bars and game parlors to find a seat at a table.
Zhang sees this trend firsthand. At the tournaments he competes in, the crowd is no longer just retirees. Students, young professionals and even international players now fill the tables.
Yuan Li, a researcher at the Chinese National Academy of Arts, attributes the popularity of mahjong to its cultural DNA.
"Mahjong was never just a pastime. The three suits featuring circles, bamboos and characters once had practical meanings," he said.
Circles were arrow canisters, bamboos were bundles of arrows, and characters were monetary rewards.
Mahjong is said to have evolved from a game played by soldiers guarding imperial granaries during the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644), based on "grain protection cards" that recorded the number of birds each soldier caught in the protection of the grain stores.
"Because soldiers invented it, the game is filled with military references and strategy," Yuan said. "Encircling and intercepting, balancing offense and defense — it's all there."
He considers mahjong's most distinctive quality to be its reflection of a Chinese philosophical ideal: harmony over conflict.
"It's not about zero-sum competition. Mahjong tells the world something about the Chinese attitude toward life," Yuan said. "Even if you're dealt a bad hand, you still play it as well as you can."
For Zhu Zekun, a 27-year-old mahjong professional based in Nanjing, the capital of Jiangsu province, the game's real magic lies in how it connects people.
Her journey began in classic Generation Z fashion. She watched a mahjong-themed anime that compelled her to understand the game. She started playing online, climbed the ranks and turned pro.
Now her life revolves around mahjong — working at a riichi mahjong shop (a Japanese style of the game evolved from the original Chinese version), traveling to tournaments, and translating strategy articles.
While visiting Moscow a few years ago, she walked into a local mahjong club without knowing a word of Russian. When she asked if anyone spoke English, they said they did, but only a little. She smiled and suggested they speak mahjong instead.
Everyone laughed. And that night, they really did speak mahjong, she recalled.
Zhu said that she often feels that, at the mahjong table, other players understand her in a way she's never experienced anywhere else.
"Even when you speak the same language, people don't always understand each other, but in this game, a gesture, a glance — that's enough." she said.
Mahjong has shaped Zhu's outlook on life.
She still vividly remembers a mentor's words, "Even if you could see everyone's tiles and the entire draw pile, there's still a 16 percent chance of finishing last."
"That's just how mahjong is," she said. "No matter how well you play, you can still lose. Same in life. What matters isn't the outcome, but whether you make the best choices with what you have."
yangfeiyue@chinadaily.com.cn
