Strider Laiperze was stumped by that question.
He couldn't help but inwardly regret boasting too much.
Just after showing off, he got struck by lightning.
To solve it right there for Mr. Richard?
It's not that he didn't want to, but even if he used all his strength, he still couldn't do it!
Strider sat there like a wooden sculpture, stuck for half an hour, without writing a single word on the scratch paper.
His face was red.
Like a chronic constipation sufferer.
"Mr. Laiperze, take your time to think about it when you get back. No rush, you have a week to prepare."
Mr. Richard, seeing Strider's embarrassment, waved a hand as he spoke.
But just from this incident, Mr. Richard's impression of Strider had been tarnished a bit.
This person is too impulsive!
And architecture is a rigorous discipline.
He is not suited for it!
...
Strider sullenly returned to Huston University.
These past few days, he's been burying himself in researching that turbulence question.
