Game of Skill

From a letter to a small village outside Canton, translated from Chinese:

Old friend,

It took longer than I wanted, but I can finally update you on my whereabouts. The captain who granted me passage on his ship made the mistake of believing I would enter servitude. He paid for that mistake the morning we docked, with three separate payments: the money in his wallet, his horse, and his life.

America has incredible wealth, that much is true, but it is mostly clenched in the hands of a lucky few. Greed rules here. I am happy to step in. It’s time to feed all the hungry mouths—not just my own, but yours as well, and the rest of our brothers. Justice is inevitable.

As to how I plan on getting the money, well, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. There are things here that rival the things in the stories the elders used to tell us. But that’s not for you to worry about. More soon. Stay vigilant—I know I will be.

From a letter to a small village outside Canton, translated from Chinese:

Old friend,

The horse I liberated is gone. I realized too late that the sickness of this so-called “Incursion Zone” seeps into everything. Terrible things happen to the animals. Worse things happen to the people. The death is as plentiful as the greed, but fear only serves to strengthen my cause. It reminds me how much is at stake. It reminds me that I am alive.

I have been honing my skills as a bounty hunter. The work is heart-pounding but satisfying. The power lies with the mysterious people who pay the bounties, the Backers. They are rich. My plan is simple, and its justice will be twofold: I will earn a bounty. Meet a Backer. Rob him and keep the bounty. Then repeat. Justice, then justice, and justice.

Do you remember when we used to play mahjong? There’s a Backer who brags about his skill in the game and earned his fortune conducting business in China. I wonder what kind of business exactly. I plan to lure him with the promise of a game of skill. Think I can win?

From a letter to a small village outside Canton, translated from Chinese:

Old friend,

My patience is wearing thin, but I hold true to the plan, keeping to the shadows. I haven’t been able to get a bounty yet. The Hunters who fight over them are ruthless. Their strain of ruthlessness deviates from mine, which is rooted in honor and what’s right. They are just as desperate for the money, and their frantic, dirty methods reflect it. I will have to make sure to leave purses of coins for them around the Incursion Zone once I’m able to. Maybe they’ll fight with more honor then.

Meanwhile, the Backer I’ve targeted lives to gamble bounties. He has more money than sense, but isn’t that true of most who are proud to hoard riches? Watching him from afar between hunts, I can tell that his pride will force him to accept my challenge. The trap is being set.

I’m curious...did you ever have a favorite mahjong tile? Mine was always the Green Dragon.

From a letter to a small village outside Canton, translated from Chinese:

Old friend,

Patience pays off. I’ve found my stride at last, thanks to two men who tried to steal a bounty from another hunter. From the shadows, I noticed the finer fur and golden buckles of their coats, the sheen of their ornate shotguns. Their entitlement was palpable. It lit my heart alive with clarity. I quietly drew my blade. Within five seconds, both of their heads had fallen to the floor. The surviving hunter and I split the bounty and parted ways.

I was finally ready to approach the Backer. I told him to meet me in a saloon out of harm’s way so I could deliver a bounty. It’s a dark and quiet place that will serve my purpose with ease. He was intrigued when I brought up mahjong; I offered to play a game with him after our business was finished. The date is set.

I’ll write again once the deed is done.

From a letter to a small village outside Canton, translated from Chinese:

Old friend,

I told the Backer that he might have a hard time beating me in mahjong if he lacked mathematical education. The way his expression hardened satisfied me. He was eager to prove his superiority—to me and to the two bodyguards he’d brought along.

To “make it more interesting,” the Backer proclaimed that the game’s winner would keep the bounty. The loser would forfeit their life. It was a pleasure to see the confidence drain from his face as the game went on. When he realized he was going to lose, he signaled to his bodyguard. I was shot.

That mistake was mine. Their mistake was leaving me for dead. They didn’t make it far before I picked them off with my rifle. The money and bounty were mine. Bloody justice has found the bayou. All it cost was a bullet wound. Still, it made me think. This place is corrupt. It needs governance. I think it’s time we widened our ambitions.

<b>The letter was sent with fifty thousand American dollars.</b>