Back home, Wang Xiaoliang took a shower and lay down on the bed.
With the bedside lamp on, he kept rubbing his hair with a towel.
Luo Bisheng's question kept turning over in his mind.
Bro, which one is the real you?
Honestly, he had never thought about that question.
How many versions of Wang Xiaoliang existed in other people's eyes? Fang Dongxu and Li Xiaoman thought he was just someone riding on powerful coattails, even living off a woman. Liu Xinyu and Huang Xueli considered him talented. Third Uncle had recognized his worth early on. Ma Yuanyuan thought he had cut off their source of income, yet her parents considered him their benefactor.
His older cousin Zhao Nan thought he owed his current life to Wei Zijin. Wei Zijin thought he was her emotional pillar.
Which one was real?
Was there anything objective in the way people like Fang Dongxu and Li Xiaoman saw him? Was there anything subjective in the way his close friends and family saw him?
Perhaps both.
He sat up, pulled the Book of Fate out of the nightstand, and opened it.
There was only one line on the latest page.
[Forty-seven arts of changing fate: understanding people, understanding things, understanding yourself-the way is one and the same.]
Wang Xiaoliang read it twice, his eyes remaining on the book without moving.
Ten characters.
Short enough.
But the principle was anything but simple.
Understanding others, discerning things, and seeing yourself clearly all used the same method, or rather, followed the same underlying principles.
He closed the book and shut his eyes.
Strip away the superficial glitter, cast aside titles and honors, disregard outward appearances, and shut out others' judgments. He had just interpreted that passage for Luo Bisheng in the car: throw away all