Just a little bit more, finish revising before one o'clock
"How many points?"
Bi Fang, with a thatch needle in his mouth, leaned on a spear cradled in his arms against a tree, fixing his gaze on the scoring official. The thatch needle in his mouth swayed back and forth as if it was about to shoot out and pierce someone's neck.
March is the season for eating thatch needles, but by July, they are too tough and prickly—eating them would cause nosebleeds.
Ikeda marked off checkboxes on paper with trembling hands, as large beads of sweat fell from beside his temples. He only felt as if a sharp blade hung over his neck, its edge menacingly close.
"Is it that hot?"
Ikeda forced a smile, "No, not at all."
Bi Fang looked up at the sun. Although it was midsummer, they were in the shade of the trees—it shouldn't be sweaty enough to soak through one's back, right?
The young people these days seem to be getting weaker and weaker.
"So, how many points?"
