
There’s a tension in the air that you don’t quite notice until you’ve been living in China for a while, and by then, it’s too late. It’s woven into the concrete skyline of Beijing, baked into the neon glow of Shanghai’s nightclubs, and stitched into the endless gray grid of apartment complexes stretching far beyond what your eyes can take in. It’s the tension of millions of men—good, bad, indifferent—who know deep down that they’re playing a game they’ve already lost.









