"People live their lives, some cultivate their surface, some nurture their substance..."
On TV, Master Zhao was expounding his grand principles, while Qin Guanglin and He Fang were snuggled on the couch, with baby Anya sleeping soundly in the stroller beside them.
A three-month-old baby's life is all about eating, sleeping, and the occasional cry—annoying at first, but once you get used to it, they're surprisingly easy to take care of.
Not like adults, who want too much, think too much.
"Sigh..."
Qin Guanglin, with his arm around He Fang, running his hand through her hair, suddenly sighed.
"What are you sighing for?" He Fang glanced at him.
"Do we count as people who nurtured substance?"
"You a big-time artist, talking about substance?"
"That's all just a virtual reputation online; who would recognize me on the street... A crappy car worth barely over two hundred thousand, a small three-bedroom apartment, living a simple life, almost like being unemployed."
