The classroom is an extraordinary place.
As a student immersed in study, you're only a small part of this large collective, yet sometimes your every move quietly catches the eyes of the majority of your classmates.
Regardless of what you might be thinking when you enact certain behaviors, those onlooking classmates have their own scales in their hearts.
They weigh you in this collective, your possible place in the teacher's heart, your potential place in the heart of the prettiest girl in the group.
They measure you.
Then comes either schadenfreude, pity mixed with a sense of superiority, or envy tinged with jealousy.
Just like now, at this moment, during the calligraphy class taking place in the Lanzhou Crossing Open Space.
Yu Huaijin had just said that not all of the papers were collected, without specifying who exactly was missing, but all students from Shuaixing Hall present knew who it was, tacitly aware.
