Standing practice became the opening ritual of every day.
Wang Xiaoliang kept breaking his own records.
On the third day, fifteen minutes.
On the seventh day, twenty-two minutes.
On the eleventh day, thirty-one minutes.
The day he reached thirty-one minutes, his legs still ached and went numb, but he held steady. When he finished, warmth coursed through his body-not the heat of sweating, but a sense of everything flowing freely. It felt good in a way he could not describe.
After standing practice came washing up, breakfast, brewing tea, and reading.
Fan Qishan read widely, dipping into everything. Some of his books were even in English.
Wang Xiaoliang had not read many books. He chose only classics.
The Tao Te Ching, the Diamond Sutra, Zhuangzi, Records of the Grand Historian...
Books his brain had long since labeled dull and tedious.
Now, once he opened one, he could sit there all morning.
He pondered them carefully, thoroughly absorbed.
The days passed like that.
Quiet, orderly, clean.
Wei Zijin called at least twice a day. Once in the morning, once at night. Occasionally, she added a call at noon.
It was all everyday chatter. What he had eaten, how the weather was, whether he was feeling well. Her voice was soft and gentle, and she changed subjects with great care.
Wang Xiaoliang could tell.
She was steering clear.
Steering clear of any topic that might remind him of sex. And anything connected to their argument that day.
She did not mention He Rumeng or Li Lanxiang, much less Tian Jiayi.
Wang Xiaoliang naturally played along.
He was avoiding things too. He tried not to mention work.
He no longer wanted to get involved in her work.
The more he got involved, the more conflicts arose.
Zhao Nan's messages, on the other hand,