Halfway through the morning meeting, Fu Jingze knew that he couldn't escape today.
Lin Zhenghong stood in front of the projection screen, and the laser pointer in his hand made a snapping sound on the screen. The force was like stabbing someone with a knife. His face was livid, his lips pursed into a straight line, and the air pressure in the entire conference room was frighteningly low. Fu Jingze sat in the third row by the window, lowering his head and pretending to read the report in his hand. In fact, he didn't read any of the figures.
"Fu Jingze!"
Lin Zhenghong shouted, and the twenty-odd people in the conference room all turned their heads to look over. Fu Jingze's heart skipped a beat, but he still stood up slowly, with a standard expression of recognition that he had practiced for three years - his eyes looked down, the corners of his mouth turned down slightly, and his shoulders moved forward, making him look like an eggplant beaten by frost.
