Zhou Ning pushed open the door and entered. The room was filled with an antique charm. In the center was a tea table carved from a tree root, surrounded by Luohan beds and various antique-styled furniture.
Xia Shouchang didn't stand up but sat behind the tea table, pouring tea. He glanced at Zhou Ning, who was dressed in his police uniform, and gestured with his chin.
"Come over and sit. I'm not your direct supervisor, I can't manage your Public Security Bureau, just call me Mr. Xia."
Zhou Ning walked with short steps to the other side of the tea table and perched on half of the chair. The feeling was incredibly uncomfortable; he had never experienced anything like it.
How should he put it? He felt more humbled than during his postgraduate thesis defense—as if he were the cadaver on the dissection table, unable to move but able to feel the gaze and touch of those around him.
Xia Shouchang placed a cup of tea in front of Zhou Ning and glanced at the watch next to him.
