"Whistle—whistle—whistle—"
Three familiar whistles pierced through the silent jungle.
Within the jungle, resting birds took flight in a panic, flapping their wings and soaring into the sky.
The next moment, all the students perked up their ears, intently discerning the direction from which the whistle came.
Oftentimes, when you become accustomed to something, you can discern it in many ways.
For instance, the whistle of Mo Shangjun.
Mo Shangjun's whistle normally consisted of three even tones, sustained and long to ensure everyone could hear them clearly.
She disliked raising her voice, so she would use the whistle to cut through the noisy environment, which they had grown accustomed to hearing often.
Gradually, they had become used to the rhythm of Shangjun's whistles. By now, they almost didn't need to look to know the identity of the person whistling.
Mo, Shang, Jun!
