Wang Xiaoliang pulled the quilt over his head, bit down on a corner, and howled.
His cries were muffled in the cotton filling, his throat tight, his chest heaving in spasms. He had no idea how long he cried. A patch of his pillow was soaked, and snot smeared his hand.
He finished crying.
That mass still blocked his chest, like a stone he had swallowed that he could neither get down nor cough up.
He sat up, his messy hair plastered to his forehead, the skin around his eyes stretched tight.
Coming out of his stupor, he pulled open the bedside drawer and took out the Book of Fate.
He turned to the latest page:
[Final Art of Fate Change: This is thy universe, and thou alone art supreme. Shouldst thou doubt it, lower thine eyes and close them; then heaven and earth shall cease, and all things return to nothingness.]
Wang Xiaoliang stared at that line for a long time.
Hu Yang's voice echoed in his head-did this world really exist?
Qishan's answer then had been:
This is your world.
What the Final Art of Fate Change said was that this was your world, and you were its sole protagonist. If you did not believe it, try closing your eyes. Heaven and earth would immediately cease to exist, and everything would turn to nothingness.
So this was what Qishan had meant when he said this was his world.
He suddenly gave a smile with no real amusement in it.
"My world," he said to himself. "Is this my world?"
No one answered him.
The room was so quiet he could hear the water pipes inside the walls. Wang Xiaoliang closed the Book of Fate, set it on the bedside table, and sat for a while with his hands