Ji Liangchuan's anger grew stronger by the second, and as he chewed on peanut kernels, it seemed as though he was eating He Xing's flesh, his hatred vast and overwhelming.
What infuriated him most was the barely perceptible sneer at the corner of He Xing's eyes and brows—it was more unbearable than if He Xing had killed Ji Liangchuan.
His memory drifted back to their childhood. Ji Liangchuan clearly remembered when He Xing transferred into their class while he was in the fourth grade, and he even vividly recalled the scene when the homeroom teacher led He Xing into the classroom.
It was autumn then, and school had already been in session for over a week.
It had been raining continuously for several days, washing the leaves outside the classroom spotlessly clean, green as gems; yet the sky remained foggy, and although it was morning, the classroom lights were still on, bright and clear—Ji Liangchuan could see the dandruff sprinkled atop a female classmate's head in front of him.
