In a very ordinary office, an elderly man with graying temples quietly leaned back in a recliner, clutching a report in his hands.
Zhan Rong stood in the center of the office, somewhat uneasy. He slightly lifted his head, surveying the surroundings—the office was decorated simply, with just basic furniture and a cactus perched under the windowsill. The cactus, over a meter tall, was thick and dark green. Its slightly bulging outer skin studded with neatly arranged spikes shimmered under the sunlight.
The older generations of soldiers did not fancy flowers and plants but rather displayed these types of potted plants, symbolizing the austere and resilient character.
"Getting old," the elderly man suddenly sighed, "back in our youth, being a soldier was the highest honor, but now times have changed. Whatever you do, it's all about dealing, without suffering any loss."
A bitter smile appeared on Zhan Rong's face.
