The streets were dark and rainy, but an electric bulb was shining brightly.  My prize was dangling from a wire by two cloth-pins, its plastic wraps glittering.  Surrounding it were magazines with suggestive subtitles on the cover dubbed over cheesy photos of women dressed in army costumes.  These "war commentary" magazines were a common sight in China back in those days, filling in the hole that was left by the government's ban on pornography.  I had never stopped at such a magazine stand before, but the lure was too great this time.

The old man in worn, green army jacket eyed me, waiting.  For some reason, he didn't look very friendly.  I mustered my courage, pointed at the brightly-colored cover hanging behind him, and asked: "How much is this one?"

"Not for sale!"  He immediately barked without glancing back.  He was angry, disappointed, disgusted.  I fled, but not before hearing him grumble about little girls and "big books".  My face was burning so hot that going back to explain was out of the question.

I was in middle school, and that day was my first encounter with a gaming magazine.  I don't remember if I ever got that specific issue.  For the next several years, though, a good portion of my lunch money became a large stack of various gaming magazines, a couple of which carried my fan-fiction and gaming stories in time.

This morning, I saw a familiar title on a Chinese website I was reading.  "After the publication was cancelled..." it read, and continued to talk about the editors whose pen names opened floodgates of memories.

I remembered that rainy night for the first time in years.  It felt worlds away.