After a struggle, Pedro Langley sighed aloud.
The girlfriend he found, he had to spoil her himself.
With Pedro Langley’s consent, Nora Scott swiftly closed the headache-inducing docunt and forwarded it to Pedro Langley.
...
On the other side.
Pedro Langley, after carefully browsing the application form template, curled his lips into a smile and then picked up his phone.
Opened an app to search: Biel Hall.
An APP.
Click to download.
Really a progressive grassroots organization.
*
Afternoon, one o’clock.
Nora Scott sat on the sofa, bored, waiting for the application form, and with a tentative thought, called Fátima.
Under normal circumstances, it’s impossible to reach Fátima.
The phone never connects.
When not busy, WeChat replies once a week, usually on weekends; when busy, WeChat disappears for three or four months, without a trace.
But this ti, strangely, the phone rang twice and was successfully picked up.
"Finished writing the review?"
"..."
Fátima’s first words imdiately blocked Nora Scott.
"Seems not." A few seconds later, Fátima confird the answer, then asked, "Go on, what’s up?"
Nora Scott leaned sideways, holding a glass cup, took a sip of water.
She spoke leisurely, "Want to ask you sothing."
"Hmm."
Narrowing her eyes slightly, Nora Scott asked, "Did you just make up those hundred and eight school rules?"
A light chuckle ca through the phone, followed swiftly by Fátima’s surprised inquiry, "You only just found out?"
"..."
Nora Scott was choked.
The hundred and eight school rules were recited to Nora Scott by Fátima after Nora Scott beca her apprentice at age ten.
Fátima spoke them fluently, effortlessly reciting them backwards.
Ask anyti, answer anyti.
She knew them by heart.
Quite convincing.
At that ti, Nora Scott suspected so of them were false, but then Fátima was only ten, the sa age, thinking she couldn’t have devised such an elaborate set of formal rules. So over the years, she remained doubtful but didn’t dare to entirely dismiss them.
The result—
Fátima outright admitted it.
Fingers massaging her temples, Nora Scott was speechless, "You really missed your calling not doing pyramid sches."
"Thanks." Fátima chuckled lightly, then asked, "What, you’d rather copy the rules?"
"Rivers said you’ll have ti in the latter half of the year. I need a new set of hall rules here." Nora Scott murmured.
Creating hall rules herself was impossible.
Reading through them once is enough to make her headache.
But, if she doesn’t create a perfect, modern, humane new set of rules, no matter how rigid the thods, it would be difficult to bear.
Nora Scott eliminated her rowdy friends one by one, counted around—all she found was this "a ten-year-old who could contrive a set of one hundred and eight rules without a flaw" little senior sister to handle it.
Just don’t know if the senior sister has the ti.
Fátima asked, "Bathhouse?"
Nora Scott answered, "Biel Hall."
"...is that thing real?"
"It is."
Fátima found it curious, "You martial world folks really have one set after another."
"..."
Your mouth skills are just as elaborate, quite a match.
Fátima asked, "Editing?"
"Yeah." Nora Scott said, "Want it to be humane."
"I can."
Fátima showed interest.
Just then—
A low male voice ca through the phone, "You say you’ll do this, do that, all you can do. Can’t you rest for half a day?"
Fátima replied over the phone, "Life is valuable in being busy and fulfilling."
Nora Scott, whose life philosophy values enjoynt, "..."
Senior sister’s state of mind is higher.
Admitting she’s inferior.
Nora Scott finished the water in her cup, continuing her leisurely life.
*
In the office, Amy Mansfield adjusted her makeup and outfit, sat in front of the computer to type.
"Heard you fought with the new hall master?"
Accompanied by a clear and lodious voice, the office door was pushed open.
Poking where it hurts.
Amy Mansfield, who was writing a review, paused, looking up towards the newcor.
It was a lady in a white long dress, ethereal, around twenty-sothing, her hair in a bun, delicate and lively features.
Rosie Sullivan.
"Yeah."
Rosie Sullivan asked with a smile, "And lost the fight?"
Glancing sideways at her, Amy Mansfield, feeling irritated, sowhat displeased, "Can you stop flaunting your ’happy at other’s misfortune’ expression?"
"Just curious, joining the fun."
Rosie Sullivan poured herself a glass of water, walked over. Just as she was about to see what Amy Mansfield was doing, Amy Mansfield swiftly moved the mouse, minimizing the review docunt.
"It’s just writing a review, Barton told ." Rosie Sullivan leaned over, sipping water, "The new hall master is quite interesting. Such a great opportunity to kick you away from the front, wasted—making you just write a review."
"..."
Amy Mansfield’s face darkened slightly.
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