Fat Steward's lips twitched. After reading the profound and shocking professional opinions of Mr. Specialist all night, he suddenly received this message—cough, cough, the style has really changed.
But he asked about the "appearance," and Mr. Specialist's answer didn't seem wrong either.
Behind them, another engineer couldn't help but ask a more in-depth professional question.
Qin Xin answered quickly.
Fat Steward somehow pulled out a robotic dog: "Mr. Specialist, do you think there's a potential market for machine pets…"
Qin Xin was about to answer.
Suddenly.
She paused.
Slightly raised her chin, her eyes lightly glanced at him.
She wrote a line on the white paper: "What is Mr. Emperor's license plate number?"
Fat Steward was stunned.
He didn't know why Mr. Specialist was asking this.
Mr. Emperor's car license plate wasn't exactly a secret; the group's security and senior management all knew it. Since Mr. Specialist asked, he answered honestly.
