Meng Lang took a cab home, checked the time, and used his key to unlock the door of his study.
As the saying goes, read on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, lay flat on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, the "true fragrance" law proved inescapable.
For tonight's dress rehearsal of life, he had no choice but to draw in advance from tomorrow's Meng Lang...
He now understood why, once Pandora's box was opened, it was so hard to close again.
Like smoking and drinking heavily, everyone knows it's slow suicide, but who could resist that floating sensation as if everything was under control?
Blame it on fate, for laying out the script of life so bare before him...
Pulling the fourth book from the third row of the shelf, Meng Lang looked at the familiar yet unfamiliar autobiography before him...
White Night.
A regular pure white cover, apart from the typically sensational title, showed no extra information, and Meng Lang had no intention of playing mind games with himself.
