The locust tree outside the window had transformed into a dark silhouette, and a single leaf suddenly detached from its branch, drifting lazily toward the earthen mound outside the factory compound like a butterfly attempting to glide across time.
Director Song, holding an enamel mug, leaned sideways against the doorframe. A stain of this morning's corn porridge still clung to the chipped rim of the cup. He gazed into the smoke-filled office, where Director Liu’s bamboo tobacco pipe and Wang Jianguo’s safety helmet cast jagged shadows on the windowsill. Suddenly, he grinned, his face creasing into a web of lines.
"Speaking of holding meetings—"
Chapter 666