It's midnight, most of the lights in the Presidential Palace are already out, only a desk lamp in the Presidential Office remains lit.
The busy work has consumed all of Yeh Huang's energy. Having signed all the documents on the desk, he hears footsteps, instinctively reaches out, but no document is passed over as expected.
Stephen's voice arises, "Your Excellency the President, you've signed all of today's documents, and even some for tomorrow, you can go and rest now."
Yeh Huang has been somewhat abnormal recently, like a workaholic, fully absorbed and working tirelessly, like a machine wound up tightly.
Stephen said worriedly.
Yeh Huang takes a deep breath, leans back, and rests his head on the chair, closing his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fist, the swivel chair turning, his breathing somewhat labored.
