Later, he painstakingly compared the differences between the two worlds, only to discover many similarities—like seasons, climate, and the pace of time.

The people living in both worlds were also largely similar—at first. As his exploration deepened, he soon discovered that many individuals and events were different.

For instance, the same groundbreaking product existed in both worlds, yet its emergence occurred at slightly different times, and its inventors were different. Consequently, the names of the companies they founded differed, and even their headquarters were in different locations.

Nevertheless, the product itself still existed and genuinely improved the lives of many people.

Past histories largely mirrored each other—great dynasties aligned, yet beneath them, the histories of lesser dynasties diverged significantly. History was rewritten multiple times, only to be pulled back each time, always climbing along the central line with minor variations.

The situations of ordinary people were even more complex.

Take, for instance, the neighbors he mentioned earlier: Uncle Zhang and Xiao Zhang.

Yet, overall, these individuals still exist. Even that person who created a groundbreaking product in one world but not in another—Fa Muzhi had spent considerable effort investigating and discovered that person still existed, albeit as an ordinary office worker. He and the individual who replaced him as the inventor of that groundbreaking product had once been classmates.

The reasons behind these discrepancies, however, were not something he could continue to explore.

Yet his previous investigations had revealed that most people existed in both worlds. Their simultaneous presence ensured the two worlds developed largely in parallel. Even when individuals were replaced, the overall divergence between the two worlds remained minimal due to these people’s existence.

Except for his family and Su Huanliu.

If we call the world where he truly grew up World A, and the world he later reached via the tree branch World B, then it seemed he wasn’t born in World B. He did find information about his parents in the same orphanage, but both appeared to have passed away shortly after entering the orphanage. With neither of them present, naturally, the three siblings never existed; Su Huanliu’s situation was different—he likely never existed in World A at all. His grandfather did exist, but he had passed away years ago in another world. Fa Muzhi wasn’t close with the rest of his family, and with their vast estate and business, he couldn’t uncover much more.

Of course, it couldn’t be entirely confirmed that Su Huanliu had never existed in World A. He might have existed, but like Father Fa and Mother Fa in World B, Uncle Zhang in World A, or even the mole on the lip of Xiao Zhang, the bus driver on Route 145 in World A, he simply hadn’t persisted to the present day for some reason.

Such distinctions permeate both worlds. If the people living in these two realms are tiny screws in society, these screws may be flawed. Yet society as a whole remains intact. When one screw is missing, another is inevitably screwed into place. and the smooth progress of society continues unabated. Yet for the individuals who are those screws, it means a small shift—or even a profound upheaval—in their lives.

Destiny is shaped by one’s own choices, supplemented by occasional strokes of luck and misfortune—this was the conclusion Fa Muzhi reached after exploring the differences between the two worlds.

When you’re here, you might as well settle in. Truthfully, due to the differences between the two worlds, their family faced some issues living on this side. Take his mother’s bank card, for instance. Since they’d paid cash for their house, she hadn’t applied for a new card. But whenever she tried to get one, she discovered that while the banks were identical—even the cards looked the same—this world simply didn’t have her mother’s records. Fortunately, by this point, Fa Muzhi had already realized the two worlds were fundamentally different. He simply got his mother a new card. The moment he saw the number on the new card, he discovered that the number was identical to the old card number from the other world.

Sure enough, this was another kind of correction, or perhaps a return.

Throughout his life in this world, Fa Muzhi experienced several similar “corrections” and “reversals.” By the time he had everything mostly sorted out, his family appeared to exist simultaneously in both worlds.

But given that his parents and siblings no longer existed in either world, this adjustment seemed rather pointless.

Well, not entirely pointless. At least it delayed his mother’s realization of the two worlds’ differences, letting her believe he still lived in the ordinary world.

Alright, even though this was a parallel world, it was actually quite ordinary.

Ordinary, right?

When the clock on the wall precisely struck 4:45 PM, Fa Muzhi promptly shut down his computer, unplugged the power cord, and double-checked his desk and cabinet. He slipped on his suit jacket, grabbed his briefcase, and headed out the door to clock out.

As a top graduate of his class, he’d earned the two most prestigious certifications in accounting before even graduating—though one remained elusive, requiring a decade of professional experience. Fa Muzhi could easily find work, even if he couldn’t hit the ground running as he did now. Starting from the bottom at a big company wouldn’t be a problem.

The reason he chose this newly established small company was simply that the owner had patted his chest during the interview and guaranteed:

“The biggest perk of our company… absolutely no overtime! You’ll clock out precisely at 4:45 PM every day!”

Fa Muzhi accepted the job on the spot and has worked steadily there ever since—leaving precisely at 4:45 PM every single day.

Stepping out of the office building, the afternoon sun still blazed fiercely. He squinted against the glare, and when he opened his eyes again, he spotted Su Huanliu emerging from another office tower.

Well, this guy leaves at 4:45 sharp, too.

While the other office drones behind them were busting their asses and the plaza was deserted, the two punctual coworkers had already met up on time.

Exchanging a knowing smile, they both felt pretty good about their unconventional departure time.

Being different from others wasn’t bad—as long as they were the same as the guy beside them. In that shared glance, both eyes held the same unspoken understanding.

Just like their student days, many of their after-school/after-work hobbies stuck with them.

Like crane boxing.

Come to think of it, it was Su Huanliu who originally chose this martial art for them back then—to build strength and stamina, and fundamentally defend against any punks who might come back for revenge~

Somehow, they’d stuck with it all this time—or more accurately, Fa Muzhi had stuck with it.

No wonder. For someone like Fa Muzhi, who still carries a steel plate in his office bag to build strength, crane boxing is the perfect workout: space-efficient, no fancy gear needed, practice anytime—two words: cost-effective.

Crucially, this style isn’t just flashy—it actually works against real opponents. That’s why Fa Muzhi stuck with it.

By his third year of crane boxing training, his mastery had surpassed his instructor’s. Yet he remained deeply respectful toward the man who had introduced him to the art. So when his master recently asked him to support the event by performing at his crane boxing tournament, he readily agreed.

He had only invited Fa Muzhi, but Su Huanliu insisted on participating too. Well… his involvement wasn’t as a punching bag for others, but rather designing Fa Muzhi’s costume, selecting competition music, and collaborating on choreography with him.

So lately, after work, the two of them had been rehearsing together constantly. Except for the days when Fa Muzhi had to go home early (to wait for his family), they spent almost every other after-work hour on this.

Today was no exception—

“I refined the song again yesterday. Let’s run through the full set today.” Su Huanliu shed his elegant overcoat, slipping into a loose-fitting, yet equally refined double-layered robe. He left it unbuttoned as he settled onto a cushion in the corner of the room.

As he spoke, he cradled a fine pipa in his arms. Beside him, incense burned—a floral scent he couldn’t quite place, likely a blend of several blossoms.

Nodding to him, Fa Muzhi stripped off his upper garments entirely. He removed his suit trousers, replacing them with loose cotton pants, and walked barefoot to the room’s center.

They were now in Su Huanliu’s private training hall. Its original purpose remained unknown, but its location was exceptionally secluded. Outside lay an exquisitely arranged garden, complete with pavilions and waterside pavilions. To be precise, the hall they occupied was set up within one of these waterside pavilions. Surrounded by water on all sides, it was accessible only by a narrow path across the water. There were no doors or windows, only sheer, translucent curtains. From inside, the garden outside was the scenery; from outside, the faintly visible figures within were likely the attraction.

Especially when the strings began to play. Fa Muzhi instantly transformed into a feather in his hand. With an opening stance, he then began to stretch and extend, gesturing rhythmically—

The melody was exquisite—like rolling pearls, like jade falling. At times delicate and murmuring, at others crisp and continuous, it entwined and unfolded, weaving a tale through the pipa’s notes.

This was one scene.

And beneath the gauze veil, the young man practicing boxing—clad in white trousers, his exposed skin nearly as white as the fabric itself, even radiating a jade-like glow—was another.

It must be said that after over a decade immersed in this boxing style, practicing without fail each day, Fa Muzhi had truly grasped its essence. He trained in a martial art—a ruthless fist for slaying and purging evil. Yet, because the style itself was rooted in the spirit of the crane, his movements carried an unexpected grace and beauty. Like a mature crane, fully feathered, in the prime of its life. Its sharp claws and beak were weapons of the fiercest kind, yet its natural beauty—white plumage and black robes—and the inherent “grace” in every movement meant that amidst its lethal precision, not a trace of ‘ferocity’ remained. Instead, it was pure, innate “beauty”!

The melody and the boxing movements harmonized perfectly, creating a truly exhilarating performance. Yet, at this moment, there was no one to appreciate it.

No, it wasn’t entirely without an audience.

The white-clad boxer leapt and landed, and the scene of crystalline sweat beads trickling down his taut, lean abdominal muscles was captured by the harpist beside him, who had been smiling from start to finish, while the musician’s slender fingers dancing across the strings formed another performance. Each time the martial artist spun around, he was struck by a sense of wonder—though whether it was the fingers’ dance upon the strings or the musician himself that captivated him remained unclear…