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... irmed his name. Then entered.

The classroom was almost full.

Desks were spaced evenly, and a small privacy panel was on each one. Pencils. Sheets. Nothing else.

He took his seat. Set down his bag. Sat back in the chair.

The room was quiet but not silent. A few whispers carried through the space. Some students were already hunched over their desks, reading the pre-exam sheet again and again, even though it hadn’t changed.

Others leaned back like it was just ...

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Zhang Ping’s eyes turn red—I curse your ancestors for eighteen generations!

He is just little uglier; weirder than normal people.

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