Composition had always been Pei Yan's toughest challenge.
Jiang Shuyao had tried countless methods to improve his writing skills, but the effects were minimal.
In the end, they had no choice but to leave it up to fate and his spur-of-the-moment performance.
After the Chinese exam ended at noon, while heading back, Jiang Shuyao asked Pei Yan how he did in that test today.
The guy coldly snorted with a weary expression, "I only wrote half of it myself."
She frowned at him, not understanding what he meant.
Pei Yan exhaled a breath of stale air and explained, "For the reading comprehension earlier, I saw that someone else's was really good."
So?
Jiang Shuyao incredulously widened her eyes, "You copied the paragraphs from the reading into your composition?"
No question mark needed; one look at her expression and he knew she guessed right without a doubt.
Jiang Shuyao felt a headache coming on, resignedly massaging her temples, "It's not your fault."
