The middle-aged man supervising the work felt his breath catch in his throat. He stammered, "C-c-c-coun..." for what felt like an eternity, but everyone—sharp or not—understood what he was trying to say.
The man before them, dressed in a worn-out overcoat, was the new...
"My surname is Shan, and my given name is Yang. You can all just call me Shan Yang. No need for formal titles."
Shan Yang's gaze shifted to the middle-aged man. His smile was faint, his tone mild.
"Director Wang, what brings you here? What a coincidence to run into you."
This single sentence made one thing clear to everyone: Shan Yang's arrival had nothing to do with Director Wang. That meant the whole story about shoveling snow was suddenly questionable.
Director Wang quickly dropped his iron shovel. A nearby villager, wincing at the waste, immediately picked it up—it was a rather expensive tool.
