Qian Zhenyu stood outside the crowd, looking at the small mountain made up of letters and remittance slips.
His body swayed, and his old face instantly lost its color.
Old Zhang, the postman, dragged another sack from the car.
"Bang!"
Another small mountain piled up.
"Chief Editor Sun, there's... only one bag left in the car."
The entire Renminhua Newspaper was silent.
All the editors were looking at Qian Zhenyu.
Their gazes were like burning needles.
Qian Zhenyu could no longer hold his enamel cup steadily.
He placed it heavily on the table beside him, making a loud "clang".
He cleared his throat, trying to regain his authority.
"Nonsense!"
He finally spoke, but his voice was somewhat shaky.
"This is simply nonsense!"
He pointed to the mountain of letters and turned to Sun Ping.
"Chief Editor Sun, do you see this?"
"This isn't an achievement; it's a hot potato!"
