"Latecomer, do you think 'Fear' is the true essence of the Second World?"
"Wrong! Utterly and disastrously wrong!"
These two sentences handed down to Xu Xiaoshou unmuted him, rendering his body stiffer than that of a corpse dead for three days.
What does that mean?
He felt as though he had pierced through a paper window, tremblingly smoothing out the torn paper, yet feeling as if he had been hit by the Second World itself.
Thus, with some unease, nervousness, and anxiety, he continued reading:
"Reality is the true essence of the Second World!"
"No one knows oneself better than oneself, and no enemy knows him better than he knows himself."
"The Second World doesn't require 'shaping' but 'guidance'—drawing out all of one's inner desires, true or false, good or bad, allowing one to indulge in them."
