In the twilight, the Shanghai stock market was soaked in neon, and Su Tang was sweating in his hands holding the script. The glass-walled office building in front of her looked like a steel behemoth. The window on the top floor with cold white light was the "battlefield" she was about to enter.
The elevator number jumps to the 38th floor, and the smell of sandalwood mixed with cedar hits your face. The door of the conference room was ajar, and the man's deep voice was filled with electricity: "This movie must make a profit, otherwise the entire film and television department will pack me up and leave."
