November in Linjiang City is unreasonably cold.
On the 62nd floor of the Yantai Group headquarters building, the floor-to-ceiling windows were covered in gray. The heating was turned on fully, but no one in the entire conference room felt warm.
Eleven people sat on both sides of the long table, with the same quarterly report spread out in front of them. No one turned over it, and no one dared to speak first.
Shang Ciyan sat in the main seat.
He wore a dark gray three-piece suit today, with a tie hanging loosely from the collar, and the first button was unbuttoned as usual. His right hand rested on the armrest, and his index finger touched the edge of the ancient inkstone.
"Say."
One word.
