On Thursday night, Zheng Qing lay in bed, tossing and turning.
This state was very rare for him in recent weeks. The reason was simple, it was the Shanglin Garden Spring Hunt abruptly mentioned by Jiang Yu in the afternoon.
The young teaching assistant calculated that in this busy spring, he would have to pay attention to three Hunting Competitions consecutively— the privately organized student Hunting Competition, the Shanglin Garden Spring Hunt, and the school's traditional Spring Hunt in mid-April.
Thinking about this time last year, time passed like flowing water, leaving almost no deep impression on his freshman year except for the aftertaste of the Black Tide and the thunder of Awakening of Insects. Unlike this semester, endless matters have desperately crammed into his already expanded timeline, still unsatisfied.
The Ruby Ring flashed by his pillow.
