Chu Ming sat down at the table.
Ji Wujiang opened an oil package, and the aroma of roasted chicken wafted out: "The oil-smoked chicken from the Eight-direction Building, ten taels of silver for half a chicken, quite a splurge."
"As long as Mr. Ji likes it."
"Pity, there's meat but no wine..."
Chu Ming reached into his pocket and took out a jug of wine.
"Hehe, ask what you want to ask."
Ji Wujiang didn't shy away, tearing off a drumstick and drinking from the wine jug.
"Mr. Ji, who has worked at the Mei'an Mountain Stone Factory from the shantytown?"
"..." Ji Wujiang was taken aback, "Is that all you're asking?"
"Yes."
"... Sun Jun, he used to be a foreman at the Mei'an Mountain Stone Factory. He lives in the southeastern corner of the shantytown, in front of an old dead tree."
"Thank you, Mr. Ji." Chu Ming got up to leave.
"Is there nothing else you want to ask?" Ji Wujiang looked up.
"No."
Chu Ming clasped his hands in salute and walked straight out of the house.
