Light fell on the pages of the Book of Fate, illuminating the writing clearly.
[Forty-Two Arts of Changing Fate: Achievement is what the masses pursue; cultivation is what the enlightened cherish. Those who cherish cultivation have truly achieved.]
Wang Xiaoliang read it once, then read it again.
It was not hard to understand.
Everyone pursued achievement. Only those with true understanding valued cultivating themselves. A person who cherished self-cultivation was someone who had truly achieved.
He rested the Book of Fate on his chest and leaned his head back against the headboard.
Power, fame, wealth.
Those were the same three things society used to judge whether someone was successful. Have any one of them, and people would think more highly of you. Have all three, and you were a cut above the rest.
The Book of Fate did not agree.
The Book of Fate said that a cultivated person was an accomplished person.
Cultivation here did not mean greeting people, offering someone a seat at a meal, or having a bearing that inspired confidence in others. Those were a combination of courtesy, upbringing, and substance. The cultivation the Book of Fate spoke of was an inner state.
Perhaps "self-cultivation" was not quite precise. Simply "cultivation" might fit better.
Those things An Peiwen had said tonight.
Hu Yang had halted real estate projects worth billions to get into snacks, not to make money, but for children's health and more time together with family. The decision had seemed unreasonable, yet the returns had been even better.
Did that count as a kind of cultivation?
Wang Xiaoliang closed the Book of Fate and slipped it back into the bedside drawer.
He turned off the light.
He rolled over in the darkness, his mind refusing to stop.
Was this cultivation about refining one's character,