In the evening, Zhu Wencong stayed in his cozy study, busy with social engagements during the day and fervently writing at his desk at night.
Now busy with taking over the cotton market of the state government and even California, Zhu Wencong wished the days could be stretched into two.
"Are you writing letters again?" Su Yanqiao offered a cup of Wuyi Black Tea.
"Yes! You can come over and look, it's no big deal!" Zhu Wencong said to the reticent Su Yanqiao, knowing that peeking at letters was impolite.
Su Yanqiao knew Zhu Wencong had no one to correspond with in America, and there was no one he longed for, so writing letters was indeed strange.
Zhu Wencong believed there were no secrets between him and Su Yanqiao, as she had always silently supported him, deserving recognition if not for contributions then for her hard work.
Still, Su Yanqiao chose not to come closer to look, her curiosity overruled by propriety despite its extra weight.
