"Senior, here's the anatomical drawing you requested!"
Song Zimo spread the drawing with a bit of swagger.
Before drawing, he had reviewed many anatomy books and charts; while drawing, he referred to nothing, relying solely on his memory. He had checked several times—there were no mistakes.
The drawing is quite good, even more beautiful and detailed than anatomical wall charts, but Yang Ping only glanced at it casually and collected the picture. He crumbled it up in his hands, squeezing it tighter and smaller, then with a casual flick of his wrist, he threw the tiny ball several meters towards a trash can. It drew a beautiful parabola and landed precisely inside the bin.
"You may have misunderstood, or I didn't make myself clear— I didn't ask you to draw it well and then bring it."
Yang Ping clapped his hands, walked to the whiteboard, and drew a whiteboard marker from the penholder, tossing it to Song Zimo.