The next day, the first thing Wang Xiaoliang did was take a brand-new notebook and a fountain pen off the shelves in his own store. The pen had a curved nib suitable for hard-pen calligraphy.
He was going to copy the book.
Starting with the very first character, he would copy that battered Book of Fate exactly as it was, stroke by stroke.
Only then could he make sure he would never again make such a laughably elementary mistake.
He had been puzzling over it since last night.
Why were there two sixth arts? And why had the seventh art abruptly appeared after the thirtieth art?
A thought flashed through his mind.
Did things change whenever seven came around?
A cycle of seven days, the seven-year itch, the Big Dipper... Since ancient times, the number seven had carried something sinister.
But how would things change? For the better, or for the worse?
The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he became.
With Zhou Qiang in trouble, all his plans had been thrown into disarray. Opening a store off campus had fallen through. The plan for a Hongbin Little Tower branch had become an even bigger joke.
An intense sense of crisis poured over him like ice water, chilling him through and through.
He suddenly thought of Kong Xiuyun.
Surely she understood better than anyone how he felt right now? They both depended on Zhou Qiang's protection, sharing in his fortunes and his losses.
Zhou Qiang had said that Hongbin Little Tower's first branch was meant to repay a favor. Did that favor still count? Now that Zhou Qiang had disappeared, would that mysterious shareholder still employ Kong Xiuyun?
Would she also become a primary target of the investigation?
How was she doing now?
Wang Xiaoliang decided that once