The midday sun was somewhat dazzling.
Warm sunlight permeated through the towering glass windows, casting a shimmering white glow in the classroom. These spots of light trembled slightly as a breeze brushed past the window, like transparent jelly that could induce salivation.
Old Yao held a blackened tobacco pipe in his hand, leaning against the window. Pale blue smoke twisted and twirled in the sunlight, and his glossy bald head appeared and disappeared in the wafting smoke.
He slouched against the lectern, his eyelids drooping, almost squinting to such a level that one might think he was dozing off.
Of course, this was a misconception.
Each time a freshman finished their introduction, Old Yao would knock his pipe, flip through the roll book, and call out the name of the next person to take the stage.
He was calling names based on the college entrance exam score.
This was very easy to judge.
