The afternoon sun tried to peek through the dusty blinds of Class A, but it only managed to cast thin, pathetic strips of light across the wooden desks. The air was thick with the smell of floor wax and the collective anxiety of thirty students waiting for their midterm test results.
Tang Xiaowen sat in the third row, his face blank, his chin resting in his hand as he stared out the window. He did not care about the grade. He already knew the outcome. When the teacher finally dropped the white slip of paper onto his desk, Xiaowen did not even blink at the red ink.
"Sixty-eight," he muttered under his breath, folding the paper in half and shoving it into his pocket.
It was an average score. It was enough to pass, but it was not enough to keep his father from reminding him how much of a disappointment he was compared to his brother Zihao. Xiaowen let out a quiet, tired sigh, watching the dust motes float in the air.
