I started on a deserted island and encountered Ying Zheng, who insisted I was an immortal.

Ying Zheng, Meng Yi, and Wang Ben, three heads, crowded together, facing a table full of mahjong tiles, and fell silent once again.

"What... is this?"

Meng Yi picked up a square with the character "发" (fa) engraved on it, turning it over and over to look at it, completely puzzled.

Zhang Ying skillfully began arranging the tiles, the clattering sound particularly crisp in the sea breeze.

Mahjong is a form of entertainment, used to pass the time.

"Come on, I'll teach you. We're one short, perfect."

Wang Ben wasn't interested in these little cubes; he felt they weren't as good as his sword, which had been used to remove bones.

He reached out and picked up a ceramic "cake" character tile, weighed it in his hand, and then, imitating Zhang Ying, tried to place it on the wall of tiles.

You used a bit too much force.

A crisp "snap" sounded.

The ceramic mahjong set shattered into several pieces upon impact.

The air froze instantly.

Zhang Ying stopped typing the cards.

He slowly turned his head and looked at the pile of fragments in Wang Ben's hand.

"Holy crap!"

Zhang Ying suddenly stood up and pointed at Wang Ben's nose.

"What are you doing! I painstakingly sculpted this and roasted it for several days! Do you think I'm cracking walnuts?"

For the past three years, he has spent countless lonely nights carving this set of mahjong tiles by himself.

These people are something else. They yell when he feeds potatoes to pigs, and now they've smashed his beloved mahjong set.

Wang Ben was taken aback by his shout. He had only wanted to see if the thing was sturdy, but he hadn't expected it to be so brittle.

"It's just a tile, why are you yelling?" Wang Ben retorted, his soldierly temper rising.

"Marquis Tongwu!" Ying Zheng shouted.

Zhang Ying took a deep breath and waved her hand.

"Forget it, forget it. I've already lost to argue with you bunch of brainless drama queens."

He turned and crawled back into the cabin, swept the pile of ceramic mahjong pieces aside, and then dragged another wooden box out from under the bed.

"Here, change to this one, it's made of wood, now you can't break it, right?"

Zhang Ying poured a more intricately carved wooden mahjong set onto the table, the wooden pieces clattering together with a dull thud.

"Listen carefully, I will only teach you once."

"See that? Three identical ones, that's called 'Pong'."

"Three in a row are called 'eat'."

"When you draw four identical cards, it's called a 'gang'."

Finally, if you can combine the cards in your hand into a fixed combination, you can "win".

As Zhang Ying spoke, she demonstrated with the cards.

Meng Yi was the first to react. He was well-versed in divination and understood this kind of permutation and combination game immediately.

"This thing... contains so many variations, it's almost like a deduction play."

Wang Ben was still a little confused, but he understood the meaning of "touch" and "eat"—simple, direct, and in line with his personality.

Ying Zheng remained silent, simply observing Zhang Ying's actions and silently memorizing the rules.

Zhang Ying dealt cards to the three of them.

"Come on, give it a try."

In the first game, the three of them struggled to keep up.

Wang Ben tried to "eat" his opponent's card, but Zhang Ying slapped his hand on the back of his hand.

"You can only eat from your supplier's restaurant, you idiot!"

Meng Yi was overly cautious, holding a good hand but not daring to play it, and as a result, he missed the opportunity to win.

Ying Zheng played quite skillfully; although he didn't speak, his moves were decisive and methodical.

After a few rounds, all three of them had grasped the basics and were quite excited.

On the deserted island at night, shouts of "Bang!", "Eat!", and "Gang!" rang out for the first time.

Zhang Ying yawned, feeling that playing like this was a bit boring.

"Just fighting isn't fun, we need to add some stakes."

"The prize?" Meng Yi asked.

"It's a bet; the loser has to give something to the winner," Zhang Ying explained.

Ying Zheng became interested: "Oh? What do you want to bet on?"

Zhang Ying rubbed her hands together: "Let's keep it simple, let's gamble. One hundred coins per hand, how about it?"

He casually gave a number; after all, these guys were all drama queens, and the money they mentioned was fake.

"One hundred coins?!"

Meng Yi's voice suddenly rose, and he almost dropped the cards in his hand onto the table.

In the Qin Dynasty, one hundred coins were enough for an ordinary family of three to live on for half a month.

This is no longer a small gamble; it's a high-stakes gamble.

Wang Ben also found the number a bit frightening.

Ying Zheng simply waved his hand and said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"It's alright, it's just a hundred coins."

He glanced at Meng Yi and Wang Ben.

"I will pay for theirs as well."

Zhang Ying laughed: "Great, boss, you're very generous!"

He was thinking to himself, "Keep acting, keep acting." He even said, "I'll pay for it all," his tone more arrogant than athlete's foot.

The atmosphere changed immediately after the bet was placed.

Wang Ben played cards with a murderous aura, each move as if he were charging into battle.

Meng Yi became even more cautious, calculating every step carefully.

Ying Zheng remained calm, but he played his cards even faster.

"Don't move!"

Zhang Ying suddenly shouted and pushed the cards in front of her.

"Pure suit, all pairs, self-draw! Pay up!"

The three looked at the cards Zhang Ying had laid out; they were all "bamboo" tiles, neatly arranged, indicating that she had indeed won.

"Thank you, three hundred coins." Zhang Ying held out her hand.

Ying Zheng and the other two looked at each other in bewilderment.

They didn't have a single copper coin on them.

"No money?" Zhang Ying had an "I knew it" look on her face. "No money is easy to solve."

"Write an IOU."

"IOU?" Meng Yi heard a new word again.

"It's just writing a note, stating how much money you owe me, signing your name, and promising to pay me back when you have the money," Zhang Ying explained.

Ying Zheng thought this method was feasible: "Yes."

"Where are the writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone?" Meng Yi looked around. The wooden house contained nothing but pottery jars and wood; there was nothing to write on.

"Wait."

Zhang Ying stood up again, walked to the corner of the wooden house, and took out a stack of things from a dry earthenware jar.

It was a stack of yellowish-brown, rough-looking "cloth".

He then took out a dark, burnt charcoal stick from another small jar.

"Here, use this to write."

Zhang Ying placed the stack of "cloth" and "charcoal strips" on the table.

Ying Zheng, Meng Yi, and Wang Ben all froze in their tracks at that moment.

They stared intently at the stack of yellowish-brown things on the table.

The material was very thin, thinner than the finest silk they had ever seen.

Although the edges are rough and the surface is somewhat uneven, its smooth shape is definitely not made of fabric.

Meng Yi reached out with trembling hands and carefully picked up a sheet.

It's so light, too light.

Light as a feather, thin as a cicada's wing.

He gently rubbed it between his fingers; the texture was supple and completely different from silk.

"What...what is this thing?" Meng Yi's voice trembled. He had lived half his life and had never seen anything like it.

"Paper," Zhang Ying replied casually, "made of flax, it'll do for writing. That's graphite, it can be used for writing."