Where Does the Wind Come From

About This Novel

When Zhang Zhengfan was sitting in front of the window basking in the sun, Xiao Liu called and asked him if he would do it. After discussion between the two parties, the price was finally reduced to 100,000. Zhengfan raised his head and saw Old Huang's figure reflected on the floor-to-ceiling glass window in front of him, like a shadow in a dream, erratic and thin, but you could still see that his back was a little stooped and his hair had almost fallen out. Most of his bare forehead was exposed, like a bare rock, with a few strands of deliberately long hair twisting unyieldingly around it. Forty-five-year-old Huang is really old. Do it, why not do it. Zheng Fan's voice was not loud, but his words were like nails chiseled into the wooden board. This Li Nihao actually told me that the price Mr. Huang had given me before was a rebate of 200,000 yuan per year. Xiao Liu was aggrieved over there and really thought we were fools. If Mr. Zhang hadn't been an insider, we would have almost been blackmailed by him.

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