I Thought I Was Winning the Game… Actually, I Was Rebuilding Myself

I used to think Fuxiu Feast was just another game—something to escape into when the world got too loud.

But now I see it differently.

Every hand I played at midnight wasn’t about winning. It was about silence. About the rhythm between breaths—the way the digital lights flickered like paper lanterns during Lunar New Year, and for a moment, I forgot who I was without the crowd.

The house always felt empty after 3 AM.

I’d chase streaks of ‘Lian Zhuang’ hoping for validation—until one day, after losing my third bet in a row, I stopped. Not because I lost—but because for the first time, I heard myself breathe again.

The RNG wasn’t rigged. The numbers were fair. But my heart? That was what needed fixing.

I started keeping journals—not of wins or losses—but of moments: how my mother’s voice echoed from Shanghai through FaceTime at 2 AM; how my father sent me an old red envelope he never opened.

We don’t play a world—we rebuild it,

in quiet corners where no one else is watching.

Join me tonight under the neon glow of an empty table. Bring your silence. Your doubt. Your name.

This isn’t a strategy guide—it’s an invitation to come as you are.