On the thirty-third floor of the clubhouse, a heavy silence hung inside the private dining room, thick enough to make one barely dare to breathe.
The two men sitting at the head of the table calmly sipped their tea, each taking a side.
Zhang Ping looked at the two men, who were a good dozen or twenty years younger than him, and felt rather ashamed. He parted his lips, attempting to break the oppressive quiet.
Chapter 107