"...?? What’s Instagram?"
The person shoved their phone in front of him, eyes twinkling with delight like they’d just exhaled a breath of spite, briskly asking, "Is her Instagram userna QN?"
Several professors from the dical Association grew curious due to his questions, bombarding him in turn, "Mr. Vinson, what are you talking about? What’s this INSTAGRAM, what’s QN? Be clear with what you’re saying."
"I’m asking Professor Sullivan here, am I not?" The man chuckled, patting his belly, muttering to himself, "I reckon this Instagram must be hers; isn’t Nathalie Quinlan’s initials QN. I’m sure it’s her with no mistake!"
"What’s exactly the matter, so what if it’s her Instagram?"
"Yeah, what’s the big deal, be clear with your explanation."
Seeing that a good number of people were curious about what he was saying, the middle-aged man smirked, modestly bringing his phone to their attention, "Take a look."
They all crowded around, bending over to see.
There was a new Instagram Mont with over ten thousand likes posted half an hour ago.
[QN: [image]]
"Just a picture, what about it?" The first person didn’t understand and looked up with a puzzled face asking.
"Don’t rush, let zoom in for you." The pudgy man zood in on the image for them to see.
It was a ranking.
Specifically the ranking of this year’s dical competition, the screenshot only showed two people, the first and second places.
001, Nathalie Quinlan. The final score: 97 points.
002, Evelyn Quarles, overseas dicine. Just scraping by with a passing score, 63 points.
That Instagram post contained not a single superfluous word, just that image, yet it conveyed to those who saw it two capitalized letters loud and clear — ARROGANCE!
Definitely, this Instagram post had a tit-for-tat vibe, like rubbing Evelyn Quarles and overseas dicine on the ground.
Winston Sullivan hadn’t expected that Nathalie Quinlan would actually post on Instagram, especially upon seeing the words ’Tsinghua University’s Traditional Chinese dicine Departnt’ on the image, he, being a man, felt an unusual warmth in his eyes for the first ti, nearly losing control of his emotions.
He turned his head away, taking a deep breath.
For the first ti in many years, he felt he’d seen a true glimr of hope for the Chinese dicine Departnt!
*
The ’hope of the Chinese dicine Departnt’ he saw was currently lazing about at her seat enjoying Hot Pot.
Govert Griffin, a true native of Beijing, had recomnded this Hot Pot Restaurant, which served authentically spicy and diverse dishes.
Nathalie Quinlan was eating with relish, sweating the sweat of joy. It had been over a week since she indulged in spicy food, and finally having the chance to savor so Hot Pot felt incredibly satisfying.
She had just finished the beef in her bowl when another freshly boiled slice of tripe was placed in it.
Nathalie Quinlan raised her head to see the man sitting beside her calmly using the serving chopsticks to pick up a new slice of beef and putting it in the pot to boil for her.
Seeing her look over, Amadeus Yancey spoke calmly, "Don’t eat it too hot, let it cool a bit first."
Nathalie Quinlan was silent for a mont when the phone on the table lit up.
She put down her chopsticks, picked up the phone, and looked down.
Sadam Vinson had called over seven or eight people, but with Sadam Vinson and Amadeus Yancey in attendance, everyone sat nervously like quails, shrinking their necks, trembling. They would chi in with a sentence or two to keep the atmosphere lively when Sadam Vinson and Govert Griffin talked, but as soon as Amadeus Yancey made a move, they would act as if petrified, too scared to utter a word.
Sadam Vinson also felt a headache coming on in this situation, yet he didn’t know how to break the dry atmosphere.
He had invited people over to energize the mood and celebrate together.
But he ended up with a bunch of fools.
Damn it, each acting like a schoolkid watching Nathalie eat dinner, sitting upright, what’s wrong with them!
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