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The chalk tumbled through the air, hurtling toward Ye Wutian's head at breakneck speed. Just as it looked like Ye Wutian was going to be struck, only ten centimeters from his head, his snoring abruptly stopped. At the same time, his body "whooshed" upright, and his right hand reflexively snatched forward, grabbing the chalk mid-air—an example of the keen reflexes expected of a true master.
"Crap! Which bastard tried to hit me with a hidden weapon?" Ye Wutian slammed his hand on the desk and stood up.
The expressions on his classmates' faces were quite something to behold—some took pleasure in his misfortune, some wore looks of sympathy, and of course, some were utterly gobsmacked.
"What's wrong with you?" Feng Yong scolded with a stern face.
"Heh, sorry, Teacher. I thought someone was attacking me with a hidden weapon, so I got a bit carried away. Don't worry, I definitely didn't mean to call you my grandson," Ye Wutian said with a chuckle, trying to smooth things over.
