Meet the Mahjong Master Who Has Never Played

Spending nearly his entire life making hand-crafted mahjong tiles, veteran craftsman Cheung Shun-king of Biu Kee Mahjong in Jordan surprises everyone when he tells them he doesn’t play. “I don’t even know how!” he exclaims. His words, tinged with pride, reflect the devotion of a true artisan. “I’ve spent decades carving mahjong tiles. When would I have the time to learn how to play? This is simply my service to the people – if I didn’t carve, they wouldn’t have tiles to play with!”

Cheung is now in his 70s. People often say that life is short. But for Uncle King, as he is often called, more than half a century has passed within the walls of his small mahjong workshop. Over the years, he has witnessed how Jordan evolved. He recalls the pier that once stood near where Kowloon Station and Elements are today. “As kids, we caught crabs and fished there,” he says. “Yue Hwa Chinese Products Emporium was once a mansion. I still remember climbing up its walls just to have a glimpse of the parade celebrating Queen Elizabeth II’s birthday [in 1957].”

Most of Uncle King’s childhood days weren’t spent wandering around the neighbourhood: in primary school, he had already found his place in his father’s mahjong workshop. “At first, I just played around,” he says. “Then I started helping out – delivering orders, painting mahjong tiles. The master carvers only did the carving, while apprentices like us handled the colouring. By my teenage years, I was fully dedicated to the shop already.” 

From youth till now, Uncle King has only ever had two jobs in his whole life. “I only worked three days as a delivery boy during summer vacation when I was in Form Two. That’s it. Other than that, I’ve been here for nearly six decades.”

Uncle King recalls that, half a century ago, Canton Road was lined mostly with jade shops, followed closely by mahjong stores. “There were at least 10 in Jordan alone – six or seven on Canton Road itself,” he says. “Back then, if you wanted to buy mahjong tiles, you came to Jordan.” 

Uncle King’s father, originally an employee in one of these shops, later opened his own shop. “The word biu1 (標) in Biu Kee is my dad’s name,” he explains. As the second-generation successor, Uncle King has seen the shop relocate several times, but it has always stayed in Jordan. “We moved within these few blocks,” he says. “From here, I can still see the location of our old stores. In old times, businesses had to stay near your original neighbourhood – if you moved too far, customers wouldn’t follow.” 

Today, only two mahjong stores remain in Jordan and there are no more than five hand-carved mahjong tile masters left in Hong Kong. Biu Kee Mahjong, despite facing the threat of demolition in the past, has managed to remain in the same spot for years.

The art of slow craftsmanship

Mahjong has long been one of Hong Kong’s most popular pastimes, but few appreciate the artistry that goes into each tile. When talking about the art of hand-carving mahjong, Uncle King never holds back. He said that he could carve two to three sets a day in his youth – not including the colouring process. Nowadays, it takes him ten days to complete the whole set. “At my age, there’s no way I can work that fast anymore!”

Understanding the process makes one appreciate the saying of “quality comes with time.” Uncle King usually carves the mahjong tiles two to three times. “The first round is just the outline – I could do it with my eyes closed,” he says. “The second round refines the details of each tile. The third is a final inspection from top to bottom.” 

Traditional mahjong tiles are divided into four suits: circles (tung4 zi2 筒子), bamboos (sok3 zi2 索子), characters (maan6 zi2 萬子), and honours (faan1 zi2 番子). Each requires different tools to be carved. “For circles, I use a compass and a curved drill,” explains Uncle King. “Bamboos are carved with a metal scraper. The real star of the show is my main carving knife wrapped in cloth. I use it for 80 percent of the work.”

A full mahjong set consists of 144 pieces, including flower tiles (faa1 paai2 花牌) and season tiles (sei3 gwai3 四季), each bringing special bonus rewards. Mahjong from different regions has different rules and even tile sizes. For instance, Taiwanese mahjong tiles are much smaller than Cantonese ones, which makes them even more difficult to carve. Uncle King says characters are the most time consuming. “They have the most complicated strokes,” he says. “First, I sketch them with a calligraphy brush on blank tiles, then slowly carve them out.” There’s no room for mistakes – one wrong stroke and the tile is ruined. “That’s why my handwriting needs to be precise too! I was never formally trained in Chinese calligraphy, but in school, my work was often displayed on the notice board.”

Although colouring is usually an apprentices’ job, it is still a meticulous process. Each colour is applied separately and left to dry before brushing the next tile. Excess paint is then scraped off. Uncle King compares it to makeup for a more lively explanation. “Before painting, I dust the tiles with talc powder – like a primer for foundation. It helps the paint to be scraped off more easily and prevents the tiles from sticking,” he says. 

He insists on mixing his own colours for perfection. “50 years ago, we had pigment powders, which made richer and more vibrant colours. Now, the colours of those standardised paints are computer-generated – especially blues, which look dull and flat. I have to lighten them myself with white paint.” 

Even the weather plays a crucial role in this mahjong craft. “Carving produces tiny plastic shavings,” says Uncle King. “In humid weather, they could be wiped away easily. But in dry conditions, static electricity makes them stick to the tiles – it’s annoying!” It turns out HK$6,000 gets you more than just a mahjong set: it also comes with craftsmanship, culture, and dedication.

Living as intangible cultural heritage

Hand-carved mahjong sets are becoming rare as more affordable machine-made sets take their place. No matter how skilled a craftsman is, they can’t match the speed of mass production. Jordan’s once-thriving mahjong industry has dwindled to just two small shops at risk of closing at any moment. “Even if I pass down the craft, it has a dimmed future,” Uncle King says with a sigh. “You can’t make a living out of it.” His children are interested but see it more as heritage preservation than a lucrative career.

In 2014, mahjong tile carving was selected as one of Hong Kong’s Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH) by the government, which then made efforts to promote the craft. “The Hong Kong Tourism Board once ordered 100 custom tiles with a junk boat graphic on it,” says Uncle King. “The Airport Authority also hosted an ICH exhibition in the arrival hall for several months last year in 2024. More promotion means more people will learn about it, which is good.” But he admits the heritage label is bittersweet. “Being called ‘intangible cultural heritage’ means this is already a sunset industry,” he says. “Machine-made tiles are the inevitable trend and there’s no stopping it. I’ve already come to accept that.”

Despite a seemingly doomed future, Uncle King still works nearly 12 hours a day, taking only one day off: the first day of every lunar new year. Retirement is not yet on his mind, as long as he is still fit and healthy. Many may see hand-crafted mahjong as a relic of past generations. But to artisans like Uncle King, it’s life itself – something that can never be left behind.

Biu Kee Mahjong is located at 26F Jordan Road.