As Shang Ruohai closed in on the row of nominees, the tension in the air was palpable. He could almost feel the nervous energy radiating from each individual.
Their faces were as tight as a drum, and their posture as rigid as a statue.
One could almost hear their internal scream.
Every single nominee offered silent prayers to heaven, hoping to be the lucky recipient of the trophy and bouquet in Shang Ruohai's hands.
All but Shen Jingwei, who almost appeared nonchalant. As if he did not covet the award at all.
As if it was not attractive enough a reward in his eyes.
Shang Ruohai passed by the nominees one by one.
He missed the rapid shift in their expressions, the barely perceptible quiver of their lips, and the subtle loosening of their tense bodies.
Shang Ruohai moved steadily forward.
And then, he abruptly stopped.
The crowd held their breath.
Shen Jingwei raised his eyes and met Shang Ruohai's.
