"Wonderful. Truly wonderful."
As Xia Ping contemplated the contents of the True Explanation of Illusion Arts, the deeper his understanding grew, the more he sensed the greatness and unfathomable profundity of this secret manual. It contained an endless sea of knowledge.
What was an illusion art? It was deceiving a living being's senses, making them believe it was real. That was illusion art.
But how could one cast a true illusion? Some illusions were so crude that they could not fool even a three-year-old child, while others were so exquisite that even Saints could not see through them.
What accounted for the difference? The key lay in the details.
In truth, illusion arts were much like lies. The secret to telling a successful lie lay in devilish details.
For example, when you were young, you told your mother you were going to a friend's house to study, when in fact you were heading to an internet café to play games. Simply saying you were going to so-and-so's house to play would not be enough; your family would not believe you.
But what if you filled it with details? For instance: I went to Li Ming's house. His home was a one-hundred-and-fifty-square-meter apartment with four bedrooms and two living rooms. Green potted plants were everywhere, and there was a fifty-five-inch Sony LCD television, along with a gray Kafuyah sofa. It was soft and comfortable to sit on—I even wanted to lie down on it and sleep.
Later, when Li Ming's mother saw me arrive, she warmly entertained me and treated me to lunch. She made stir-fried duck chunks with fresh ginger, three-colored eggs, beef tripe with wild chili peppers, and pan-fried tofu. It all tasted quite good.
Finally, I even had some butter cookies before riding my bicycle home.
Put that