My inclination had been to win (if I could) in order to prove to the Wangs I was smart enough to match their incredibly intelligent daughter (which I wasn’t, but I needed some way to trick them into thinking that, and mahjong was a good one). However, her father definitely had an ego, and so did her mother (especially with mahjong, it seemed), so there was some risk with that too.

I paid attention to what they were discarding: useless directionals and other non-suit tiles, plus numbered tiles from the two ends. They were playing it safe, not wanting to help anyone else, or worse, “drop the bomb” and discard the winning tile (leaving them to fork over some dough—or plastic chips, in our case).

After a few more circles around the table, I was pretty sure both Mr. and Mrs. Wang were making their hands worse by only discarding the safer tiles.

Okay. I decided to focus on maximizing my chances of winning, even if it meant taking risks. Especially because that was how Jing-Jing was playing, and there was something romantic and poetic about our united front, even in mahjong strategy, right?

After another “risky” discard on my end, Jing-Jing beamed at me, already catching on to my plan.

And she didn’t even have mahjong training with Master Liu. (There aren’t actual mahjong masters, to my knowledge—he just insisted we operatives call him that.)

I smiled back at her, and for a moment it felt like it was us against the world. Er, well, us against her parents, who were indeed formidable foes.

“Pòng!” I exclaimed, grabbing the one circle tile Mrs. Wang had just dropped and melding it with the other two in my hand. If she wanted to drop the numbers on the ends, I’d take advantage of that. This must be that equilibrium thing Jing-Jing was talking about.

Jing-Jing and I continued to “pòng” and “chī” her parents’ tiles, but at the expense of dropping risky pieces, which they picked up. And with each declaration of “Pòng!” or “Chī!” it felt as though a one-against-all game had become team versus team.

No one said anything as I declared, “Hú,” and pushed my winning hand onto the table to reveal my tiles.

Mrs. Wang sniffed at me. “You’re reckless.”

“But it worked,” Jing-Jing said with a laugh. She was gradually becoming more like the girl from the application, the one with oomph and humor and a sparkle hinting at the three suns’ worth of light beneath. I stared at her with a lopsided grin before catching myself and wiping it off, only to realize that, wait, I was supposed to be looking at her like that.

Christ, I had to pull myself together.

Eight minimal-talking games later, I had won four, Jing-Jing three, and Mrs. Wang one.