Have You Ever Tried Pretending to Be Happy While the Silence Holds You?

I sit alone in my North Side apartment, the glow of streetlights through the window like distant temple lanterns—not because I’m chasing luck, but because I’m listening.

The Fuxiu Banquet? It’s not a game of chance. It’s a ritual whispered in rhythm:庄 vs. 闲, win vs. loss, each hand a silent prayer. I used to think strategy was about odds—until I realized it was about pacing your breath. The RNG doesn’t lie; you do.

I watch players chase streaks like children chasing fireflies—believing patterns are signs when all they are is noise masking stillness. They bet big because they fear emptiness more than failure. But silence isn’t cold—it’s where souls gather to rearrange themselves.

I don’t sell answers. I offer space—for the woman who scrolled past her screen at 2am and wondered why she smiled after losing everything.

There’s no ‘福牛大师’ title waiting for you—only an open door with soft light and gray walls, where you can sit quietly and remember: you were never meant to be loud to be loved.

You didn’t need to win.

You just needed to be still long enough to hear yourself.