"Sir, it's been a while since your last visit to Nibelungen."
Alfred Messerschmitt, the factory manager, eagerly and carefully approached him, like a cleric attending to a true deity.
"My apologies." Li Lin spread his hands, a picture of frustration, "You see, the more stars on my shoulder, the more my workload increases."
"When can we toast to your wedding, sir?"
A young lad, who looked like he had just graduated from technical school, hollered. After a round of laughter, other elves also waited for Lin's answer to this gossip question concerning all of Alfheim, each wearing a teasing expression.
"There are plenty of ladies around me, but I'm just too busy. Look, I don't even have time to change out of the uniform that attracts the ladies' attention, and I plunge headlong into a pile of men."
The laughter grew louder. Middle-aged workers also loosened up a bit.
At this point, another young man shouted,
"Sir, how does it feel to be surrounded by ladies?"
