In the face of the sorrowful and helpless voice of his supervisor who always felt cold and aloof, Zhang Lisheng, who was sitting in the driver's seat of the car, had nothing to say. He sighed quietly and said in a hurried voice, pretending he did not hear anything, "New York Medical Research Association Affiliated Hospital? Alright, I'll go over now. See you later!"
Then, he hung up his phone.
Starting his car, he slowly drove on the spacious road of the factory and when he passed by the gate of the slaughterhouse, a guard blocked Zhang Lisheng's car.
"Is there anything?" The young man rolled down the window and asked with a frown.
"Mr. Zhang, there seems to be an accident among the protesters in the wilderness. They're showing signs of commotion right now so it's better for you to stop for a while before going out." The young guard handed him a binocular and said.
