He didn't have time to explain to Xu Yajun.
He drove directly to the Traditional Calligraphers Association.
The Traditional Calligraphers Association's judging area.
In the middle of the conference table, a man in a snow-white shirt sat, his eyes lowered. His pale fingers tapped on the computer's surface, fine black hair falling over his eyebrows, the corners of his eyes and brows carrying an air of coldness.
Even without speaking, one could feel the chill of his lofty demeanor soaking his whole being.
With a single movement of his finger, it seemed as though a cold gust had swept through the entire judging room.
Next to him, a refined elderly man stood smiling gently, "Everyone, don't be restrained. Our young master is just here to have a look. All the teachers need to do is score properly, just relax a bit."
Seven judges clutched the artworks tremblingly, and upon hearing this, were almost in tears.
Your words sound good.