Yan Wangchuan was standing at the door, wearing a perfectly ironed black suit with a stern expression. When he looked at Qiao Aiyun, eyes were gloomier than the winter wind, looking stiff and solemn.
He looked down at his watch. "The Civil Affairs Bureau will open in ten seconds."
It was as though he could hear the ticking of the second hand sliding across his ears. It felt like torture in these short ten seconds.
Qiao Aiyun frowned. It felt as though someone was strangling her throat inch by inch, making it difficult to breath.
When the second hand skipped past 59 seconds, Yan Wangchuan suddenly tightened his grip on the paper bag in his hand and gave her a profound look.
"I'm going to work." Then he turned to leave.
Qiao Aiyun suddenly reached her hand out to stop him. "Wangchuan…"
Her voice was gentle and even trembling.
