The first period the next day was Chinese class. Ten minutes in, the entire class was, by unspoken agreement, reciting classical Chinese texts—all except for that rascal Mortimer Quincy, who was working on a chemistry worksheet.
Holly Winslow flipped from one passage to another, feeling like she could be called on to recite any of them.
It was so overwhelming.
After she'd flipped through the book several times, Mortimer Quincy noticed and let out a mischievous chuckle.
He reached over and flipped through her Chinese textbook, stopping on a classical text—"The Epang Palace Rhapsody." "Memorize this one," he said.
Holly Winslow turned to look at him and asked earnestly, "Are you sure?"
"Just memorize it." Mortimer Quincy raised an eyebrow, projecting the confident air of a top student. "If I'm wrong, I'll give you one Mortimer Quincy as compensation."
Holly Winslow was speechless.
'You infuriating tease, Mortimer!'
'Why not just say you'll give me yourself as a husband?'
