The steam in the private room enveloped with the aroma of food, and the sounds of toasting gradually quieted down.
Zhang Fuqiang leisurely used a fork to slice through the roast lamb, the sizzling of the oil audible on the bone china plate.
Seeing that everyone had nearly finished eating, he suddenly tapped his knuckle on the table's edge, then cleared his throat. The deep coughing sounded like a stone thrown into a lake, scattering all discussion at the table.
Everyone simultaneously put down their bowls and chopsticks, their gazes focused on the slightly raised brows at the head of the table, even lowering the volume of their chewing subconsciously.
It was evident that Zhang Fuqiang seemed about to announce something important.
Zhang Fuqiang reclined back into his chair, his suit complementing his increasingly slick appearance.
He turned the ring on his left ring finger, his gaze sweeping over everyone's tense expressions, a satisfied curve at the corner of his mouth.
