Chapter 126

Chapter 126

Drawing, skipping, discarding tiles—after a few rounds, the bystanders started catching onto the fun.

They began asking the nearby attendants for explanations. After receiving answers, they studied the players’ hands and gradually grasped the basics.

At first, they struggled to contain their excitement, waiting to see who would win the round. But after observing a few rounds, they felt they could predict the players’ moves and wanted to try their own hand at it.

“Are there more of these? I want in on this,” a count said, plopping into a seat and snapping for an attendant to set up a game for him.

While waiting for the attendant to bring the tiles, the count glanced around, unsure who else had picked up the rules. Still, he knew the game would only be fun with others who understood it. So, his gaze swept over his “friends,” and he cocked an eyebrow. “Anyone care to join?”

Class distinctions were everywhere, even at this small gaming table. The first to respond to the count were peers of equal standing.

Others followed suit, scrambling for seats and noticing that those around them were of comparable standing.

Though there were plenty of stone tables, some still couldn’t find a spot. “Surely there are more tables in the estate—bring a few more over.”

Though their status and wealth might not match those already seated, they could afford to lose a few rounds. They had no intention of just watching, dying to get in the game.

“Apologies, but the estate only has a limited number of tile sets—no more are available,” the attendant stammered to the wealthy cloth merchant. Even if glared at, he couldn’t magically produce more.

Those who had secured seats clumsily began fumbling through shuffling the tiles, the cool texture gliding under their fingers, fueling their thrill. They wondered how their first game would go.

Those left without tiles kept hounding the staff for solutions. Hearing the commotion, Ning Chan slapped down a Two Dot and raised his voice to resolve the issue. “If there aren’t enough tiles, then rotate. Anyone who loses five rounds steps down to make room for the next player.”

At Ning Chan’s words, the casual mood at the tables snapped taut. Only five rounds? That meant they’d just be getting the hang of it before being forced to step aside.

No—they couldn’t afford to lose.

With this rule in place, the others now had hope. They wandered between tables, observing who played poorly and who excelled.

They could learn from the skilled players, while the weak players would get booted.

These newcomers to mahjong grew more engrossed with each round. Even as night fell, they wanted lanterns lit to continue, but Kane firmly refused. After treating them to dinner, he sent them home.

Still buzzing from the game, they couldn’t stop thinking about it even after returning home.

They commissioned their artisans to replicate the tiles and spread word among their circles about how entertaining the game was.

Others, intrigued by their descriptions, eagerly awaited the chance to play once the tiles were made.

“Hey, why not ask the king for a reward? Or see if he’s willing to sell the tiles—he probably wouldn’t mind, right?” While most were still planning to make their own sets, one sharp cookie considered going straight to the source.

Hadn’t the king sold plenty of his treasures before? For the right price, he’d surely part with them.

Hearing this, the others agreed and approached Kane to ask if he’d sell his tiles.

Naturally, Kane agreed, tipping them off that a newly opened shop in the city was dedicated to the game. If they were interested, they could visit and support the business.

With these influential figures spreading the word, even those who hadn’t seen mahjong yet memorized the rules, counting down to the grand opening of the city’s mahjong parlor.

“It’s finally open! What’s this shop for? Why’s there such a crowd?” asked a newcomer to the city, clueless but intrigued as they questioned those around them.

“It’s for mahjong—a game for four players...” Someone familiar with the “game” immediately jumped in to explain. Judging by the newcomer’s attire, they seemed wealthy—perhaps they could even play together later.

Amid the chatter, the parlor’s owner stepped aside and invited everyone inside.

The wealthy who had already played at home now found the parlor far livelier, offering the chance to let them flex their skills against a wider pool of opponents.

Not to mention the mothers and wives at home, there are plenty of people fighting over that one set of tiles—whether they’d get a turn was uncertain. Better to leave the space to them and come here to play instead.

To prevent those with barely any money in their pockets from daring to step into such a money pit and ending up bankrupt, Ning Chan required them to register in advance and buy chips.

Those with plenty of spare cash could buy more chips, while those from poor families who still wanted to take a gamble were limited to just three chips.

For dockworkers, this was equivalent to a day’s basic meal of two vegetables and one meat.

Lose, and you’re done—no more coming here to play unless they got a promotion and a raise, giving them another chance.

Ning Chan only wanted to keep the well-off and leisurely under his watchful eye, not to see ordinary people ruined by these things.

Of course, Ning Chan also knew that once this was out in the open, many would secretly make their own sets and invite others to play.

But let’s not forget—he had a reporting system in place. Gambling for money was allowed in officially recognized establishments, but private betting gatherings would lead to arrests, fines, and being sent to fix roads.

Naturally, if no money was involved, or if it was just a family playing behind closed doors, no one cared.

So Ning Chan didn’t even wait for people to figure out how to make their own mahjong sets—he simply put them up for sale in the government-run department store. Since it couldn’t be stopped, he might as well cash in.

With the mahjong craze, everyone seemed to have found a new pastime. Logically, something like this should have made people lazier, affecting work or daily life.

But thanks to Ning Chan’s rules, the opposite happened.

Whether money was involved or not made for two entirely different experiences. Playing for fun was just a way to kill time—no big deal.

But once money was on the line, even just a few coins, people got competitive instantly.

And perhaps it was the atmosphere—they felt this game was only fun when played in a crowded room, where everyone could discuss who was skilled and who was terrible.

If several skilled players ended up in the same game, people would even try to gather them together for a clash of the titans.

But gambling for money could only happen in officially designated venues—so what could they do? Those with deep pockets and plenty of free time naturally had no worries, but what about ordinary folks?

Forget about playing—even exchanging chips was restricted by their wages. In such cases, the only solution was to work harder for a promotion.

Especially since some people had even sealed business deals and expanded their networks at the mahjong table. They began valuing this place even more—was there anywhere more entertaining and convenient for their work? Maybe only the dinner table could compare.

Both Ning Chan and Kane were quick at calculating tiles but had terrible luck, so they weren’t particularly addicted. When they learned others were experiencing positive effects from this, they were even a little surprised—was it really that addictive?

If those people heard their doubts, they’d probably nod furiously. For folks with little entertainment, finally stumbling upon something this engaging meant they’d be hooked for a long time—only a new game could shift their attention.

As for new games, Ning Chan spun a lightbulb in his hand and glanced at the card deck on the nearby table. "Into collectibles, pal? Or maybe—how about Werewolf?"