Inside Shuaixing Hall.
Two Confucian scholars' gazes collided in mid-air.
One remained calm, eyes lowered, silent.
The other was cold-faced, with icy eyes.
Dozens of people, either standing or sitting, were silent.
In Shuaixing Academy, you could hear a pin drop.
Zhao Rong had actually anticipated that today's calligraphy makeup class would likely have some issues.
It wasn't that he possessed foresight, but he had early on noticed certain undercurrents stirring within Shuaixing Hall.
In fact, the occurrence of anything follows its internal laws, revealing hints beforehand, provided one observes carefully.
This was something Zhao Rong had remembered from the casual chatter in a class he hadn't paid attention to.
The conflict between him and most of the students in Shuaixing Hall had been accumulating for a long time, starting with initial prejudices.
Then, this simple yet complex seed of sentiment slowly took root and grew in the hearts of most students of Shuaixing Hall.
