Xiao Lang came to his senses, his cold face remained expressionless.
"Turn on the TV."
"Yes, sir!"
Di Sheng turned on the television which was mounted on the wall of the study room. The screen flickered, revealing a man in his fifties.
He was seated at a large desk, dressed in a white shirt and a black vest.
He was Xiao Lang's father, Xiao Zibin.
Xiao Zibin leaned against his leather rolling chair, holding a cigar between his fingers. His face, filled with vicissitudes, remained cold and emotionless.
His hawk-like eyes were sharp and cold, like a knife, so sharp that no one dared to directly gaze into them.
Xiao Lang stood respectfully in front of the television, bending his body at a right angle. "Father, may I know your orders?"
"Xiao Lang, don't you know you've done something wrong?" Xiao Zibin asked coldly.
Xiao Lang's eyes twinkled, his face darkened somewhat.
