“Everything not saved will be lost,” says the Nintendo “Quit Screen” message. I shall not know what it meant to me in 2010 when the abolition of No. 44 announcement was four years yet to come.
The year 2010, I received a domestically made Media Player 4 from my grandfather as my birthday present. It looked like a PlayStation Portable: a central screen, a direction pad, three face buttons, and two shoulder buttons. It would probably be safe to say that the manufacturer of this MP4 is intentionally mimicking PSP’s front design. However, the MP4 was a sparkling magical box to me that contained dozens of video games to play. Nobody cared about how the MP4 was a lesser imitation of a PSP because no one had ever seen a PSP before.
Video games installed on my MP4 included Ys 3, Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the War, and other classical pieces. The legal platforms to play those games were gaming consoles produced by Nintendo like Super Famicom, but the games installed on my MP4 were all cracked by folk localization groups and distributed. Among all the other games, one of them echoed the deepest to me, one called Dragon Quest 3.
It was a familiar story of a fearless hero gathering companions and finally slaying the Demon Lord. It was the first dragon slayer story I’ve ever heard, or to say, played. Comparing to the other games in the arcade that mostly involves gun-shooting, car race, and basketball, it was the only one that told a story happening on a distant land. I embarked the journey, waked up in a forest, walked to a cliff where a giant waterfall occupied my sight with its rushing torrents under a dazzling sun that burnt my eyes. I heard a mysterious voice claiming it is the God who controls everything. The voice asked me a question, “Do you consider Adventure as something arduous?”
“No,” I said with resent as if my precious treasure was criticized as worthless. “So you don’t think playing video games will interfere with your academic success,” said the father of a friend of mine, who wore a pair of glasses and spoke with concern, “both of you should look up to something better than the addictive games. They are essentially electronic heroin.” Feeling awkward about the conversation, I decided to look for some snacks and a place with Air-conditioning in 7-11 to spend some time with my friend on a scorching summer day.
Sitting in the emblem tradesman shop in an underground space below a well within Aliahan, I contemplated the King of Aliahan and his quest for me. To get a better understanding of my dragon quest and the secrets of this continent, I should start talking with people and search for information from everything that looked useful. The bookshelf next to the stool I was sitting on was promising, for I found a list of rare items I can trade with the shop owner using collectible emblems.
Then I grew habit on books, becoming an avid reader. I read through fantasy novels that told horror, adventurous, and strange stories like the Goosebumps series by R.L. Stine. My mother was more than happy to buy books for me yet disappointed when she saw me playing video games. She told me that I could spend as much money as I want on readings and studies. Thanks to her support, my bookshelf was taller than me, loaded with various kinds of books, silently emitting the light of knowledge like a lovely tavern full of good companions yelling for another round and telling fireside stories to each other.
A magician, a monk, and a rogue came downstairs to the counter of the only bar in Aliahan, where I was standing and talking to the receptionist about recruiting some adventurers to my team. Stubborn and dressed in purple as the magician was, while the monk looked like a coward hiding behind the others, and the rogue plays with a dagger, undoubtedly brave enough. Witnessed by the smiling receptionist and the bright hearth, we shook hands with each other and would weave stories unique to us all.
“Why don’t we make a story about us venturing around a fantasy world,” one of my friends said so with frowned eyebrows. We were trying to invent a new form of entertainment that should be competitive, story-like, and exciting at the same time. The hand game “rock paper scissors” was the base, and each round of win gave an action chance to the winner, who was supposed to eliminate other players. We were all trapped in an eternal arena where the only end is to fight in various environments. Through every day we spent on the dusty playground, the noisy classroom, and the crowded dining hall, our mind flew into a space station, treacherous jungle, desolate ruin, and gigantic tower.
I stepped into the cold grey tower that glared at me as if I was an intruder. It was a maze, where monsters like slimes and enchanted rabbits crawling all over the place, attacking me when I tried to get past. It was said that a hermit lived in the tower, who knew where I could find the magical orb that would unlock the secret lay inside the oasis. The labyrinth remained its hush, and I knew there was no escape from my destiny. I sharpened my newly equipped blade and slashed through an oozing slime, thinking I should make it back to Aliahan before the twilight, when monsters began to act ferocious.
I lost my way in the maze. The final exam that was coming could determine our selection in middle schools. They said we should stop playing video games and focus on studies. “One score higher takes down a thousand students,” was the saying that popularized among teachers, parents, and students. Quickly worked through dozen sets of sample math examination papers, I couldn’t give up the idea that maybe video games were hazardous to academic progress, and perhaps the warnings that adults had been tirelessly repeating were correct. Perhaps life about studies and examinations wasn’t that boring. Maybe the sky was just as blue as it used to be without games.
I didn’t finish Dragon Quest 3 because I was stuck on how to find the magic orb. The oasis remained a mystery to me. The time approached 2014 before I could notice. The hourglass flipped again and again, and I ran through middle school without ever again starting Dragon Quest 3.
No. 44 announcement was a governmental act, issued in 2000, that prohibited any form of transactions of any gaming consoles in China mainland until it was abolished in 2014. No. 44 was born in a social environment where video games were portrayed as tsunami, beast, and drugs. It was profoundly influential to the domestic gaming culture and market.
I found my old MP4 in a drawer someday. Charging up it by linking it to my laptop, I reopened the simple menu where I can find a whole list of classical video games. Dragon Quest 3 was started again, after years of silence. The magic orb was dynamite that was able to blow up a wall in the basement under oasis, where I could find a secret passage behind the wall. I walked through the path, which was another maze filled with hungry and howling monsters; I arrived at an unknown kingdom. The king welcomed my team and showed us a world map to illustrate where I should go to find the demon lord. Aliahan was the small island in the lower middle side of the map.
I gently laid down the MP4 and closed the game. I thought I should never finish playing Dragon Quest 3. Unknown world, life, and future awaited, and it was better to leave them unknown to me so that my curiosity will never die out.
In my middle school and high school years, I gradually knew all those amazing video games around the world like Assassin’s Creed, God of War, The Last of Us, and whatsoever games that everyone can name. My parents supported my love in video games, and now I am infinitely grateful to them.
This article is originally written as a writing assignment in USC, it is also translated into Chinese and published on Project GC. Click the link to visit.
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