Dean Li's voice wasn't loud, yet it struck heavily on everyone's heart in the examination room. His old black cloth shoes stopped by her desk, and the shadow he cast completely enveloped her.
"Pick it up."
He repeated again, his tone unchanged, as calm as saying "The weather is nice today."
All the classmates around stopped writing, and everyone looked over, like searchlights shining on Su Jiaojiao, leaving her nowhere to hide. There was no sympathy in their eyes, only cold scrutiny and a hint of understanding.
Su Jiaojiao's fingers clutched the pen tightly, her joints turning blue from the force. She opened her mouth, wanting to say that it wasn't hers, but her throat felt clogged with cotton, and she couldn't produce a single word.
Under Dean Li's calm gaze, she finally couldn't hold on. She bent down, her fingers trembling uncontrollably, struggling several times before finally gripping the dirty and crumpled paper ball.
