Reading always had a way of extracting one's consciousness subtly, especially when fully absorbed, thinking, and memorizing, unconsciously blocking out everything external, like time, hearing, perceptions...
Lin Suqing closed his eyes and yawned hugely, unable to recall how many times he had stretched his arms or flexed the muscles and bones of his spine. Then, massaging his brow, he waited for the next pile of books he was supposed to read. He waited and waited, but his view remained empty. Seeing no movement, he finally relaxed his brow and lifted his head to look around the desk.
He froze instantly; the books that once piled up like small hills on both sides of the desk were gone!
Could it be... he had read them all? He hurriedly turned to look at the French windows behind him... still blindingly white; either little time had passed, or perhaps many days and nights had unknowingly gone by.
