The meeting room fell silent once again. Leng Youchen finished smoking a cigarette, flicked the ash off his clothes, and looked at everyone with cold authority. "Do you still have anything to say?"
The crowd exchanged glances, and someone laughed awkwardly, "We're just old folks with nothing better to do. We missed the tea here, so we came for a cup and will leave shortly."
"Exactly, we came for tea and will leave soon," someone echoed, filling the room with a momentary sense of harmony.
Leng Youchen stood up, placing both hands firmly on the table. He leaned forward just slightly, sweeping his gaze across everyone—a gesture so imposing it left the room unnervingly tense. Each pair of eyes was fixed on him, their hearts weighed with unease.
Then, his voice, as frigid and devoid of warmth as frost on steel, exploded within the office.
"In no more than two months, the Global Center project will be back under my control. That's my answer to all of you."
