"West Street" was opened by a retired senior in the entertainnt industry a couple of years ago, exclusively for those within the circle and wealthy heirs to enjoy.
As an international tropolis, Jiang City has seen its economy develop rapidly, which in turn has driven the progress of entertainnt culture, with a particular focus on the developnt of "bar culture."
The reason this bar has beco the top choice for various celebrities and the upper class to unwind and relieve pressure, aside from the owner’s fa, is largely due to its top-notch service and interior design.
The bar is divided into two levels; the first level is a fully open space, whereas the second level has private rooms that offer more privacy. The environnt design on the second floor is quite ingenious, with rooms surrounded by one-way glass, providing a psychological thrill. The angles and distances of the booths are ticulously asured, allowing patrons to see the energetic performances on the stage from any area.
Wen Qiao and Jiang Yao didn’t book a private room; instead, they chose to sit in a booth in the first-floor lobby.
Before Wen Qiao was drawn into the book, her life was actually quite simple. She lived a routine life, moving between the classroom building, dormitory, and bar every day. It had been a long ti since she last went to a bar, and as soon as she entered, the restless energy within her burst through as if breaking a seal, imdiately sweeping over her.
With a wave of her hand, she ordered a row of whiskey.
Seeing this, Jiang Yao was stunned for a mont. After coming to her senses, she hurriedly tried to stop her: "What are you doing? Who’s the one heartbroken here, you or ? Are you planning to drink yourself to death so that President Fu will hold accountable?"
Wen Qiao blinked innocently: "What do you an ’drunk to death’? This little bit of alcohol is nothing. I can drink all of it and still fluently recite an entire ’morial on Sending Troops’ for you."
"It’s not that I doubt you," Jiang Yao leaned forward, pointing at the table with sincerity: "But it’s been five or six years since you studied the ’morial on Sending Troops,’ right? I won’t make it difficult for you; I just want to ask if you rember who wrote this classic essay?"
Wen Qiao paused for a mont, then spoke a na: "...Zhuge Liang?"
"..."
Although her answer was a bit hesitant, it was correct nonetheless.
Jiang Yao leaned back, raised her hand: "Go ahead, drink up. I’ll wait for you to finish and recite the entire ’morial on Sending Troops’ for ."
-
While Wen Qiao was partying at the bar, Fu Jinghen was working overti at the office.
The top floor of the FS building was brightly lit, with the sounds of pages turning and keyboards clattering echoing in succession.
After a while, a sudden "bang" ca from one of the seats, catching everyone’s attention.
Liu Tiantian’s solemn expression turned into a bitter lon face the mont she closed the docunt: "When can we leave work? It’s already—"
She glanced at the ti and her voice suddenly raised by two pitches: "It’s already midnight! Isn’t President Fu usually off work at six sharp every day? Doesn’t he need to go ho to put Little Jiaojiao to bed today?"
"Little Jiaojiao" is the nickna Liu Tiantian privately gave Wen Qiao, which perfectly matched her persona and beca the exclusive moniker the entire secretary’s office used for Wen Qiao.
Across from her, Feng Li looked up from behind the computer, adjusting his glasses: "Your information needs updating. The Boss Lady spent the whole day with her girlfriends and didn’t have ti for President Fu. He’s using work to channel his sorrow and passing the ti by working overti."
"Going ho ans being alone in an empty house," Hu Yueke spun her pen, swiveling her chair back and forth: "Might as well stay here and earn more money so he can buy Little Jiaojiao more bags and make her happy."
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