The black Rolls Royce gracefully glided into a bustling alley and stopped in front of a screen wall.
The driver jogged from the front seat, pulling open the rear-hinged door for Huang Qiangmin to step out with a broad smile, gracefully.
"This won't do, this won't do," Huang Qiangmin patted the old man's hand who followed him out, repeatedly saying, "This car isn't suitable for us, it's not right."
"I think it's quite suitable instead. You all work so hard on the case; the seats in this car need to be softer so you can sleep comfortably. And look at Jiang Yuan—his legs are so long, he's uncomfortable in ordinary cars; he needs a stretched Rolls Royce," the old man, Hassan, flattered shamelessly, as if treating mouth ulcers with a health drink, only talking about how beautiful American double tails are.
