Before dinner, I received a call from Lu Mingzhu.
She said that more than half of the staff in the hotel are loyal to the big boss, making it difficult to take over.
Zhang Fusheng didn't say much, he just asked her to organize some information and send it over.
At night, dinner was as usual in the small quiet room on the fourth floor.
But this time, the meal was eaten in silence.
Chen Yuque's left hand was limp, and the pale skin on it occasionally throbbed, as if some unique power was wandering within, destroying vitality.
She frowned, enduring the pain, silently eating vegetables,
Little Child was also uncharacteristically silent, burying his head in his meal.
The atmosphere was somewhat heavy.
On the contrary, Niu Dali, with a usually honest appearance, was constantly expressing concern for Zhang Fusheng,
Zhang Fusheng responded to every sentence, a faint smile on his face.
The two seemed inseparable.
