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.












