I opened my eyes suddenly and saw a plastic-cased ballpoint pen slipping from my fingers, leaving a light blue scratch on the answer sheet. The air was filled with the smell of ink and sweat, and the old ceiling fan above my head was humming, bringing out bursts of hot air.
I froze.
In front of me is a light yellow Chinese language test paper with the title "My 1998" written on it. The shadows of the French paulownia trees outside the window are mottled, and the sun shines in slantingly, falling on the shoulders of a girl with short hair in the front row. The invigilator was pacing in the corridor with his hands behind his back, his leather shoes making a slight squeaking sound on the terrazzo floor.
