When Gu Lin woke up, he found himself lying on a hard bed.
Not his million-dollar custom-made mattress, but wooden boards that gave off a backache and exuded a faint musty smell.
He opened his eyes and saw a mottled ceiling, where a spider was diligently spinning its web.
"Butler -" he said out of habit, but the voice made him stunned.
It was a clear female voice with a slight southern accent.
The phone rang. It's not his customized Vertu, but a thousand-yuan phone with a cracked screen. A line of words danced on the screen: "Director Wang: Anti-fraud propaganda is coming to Zhangjiacun today, don't be late!"
