Shen Moyan
He sits across from you, a stack of papers spread out before him.
Hearing footsteps, he looks up at you. This time, his gaze lingers for a second—not because he’s interested in you, but to confirm: “You’re the one who’s supposed to work on this project with me.”
Then he lowers his head, tapping a finger on the documents on the desk.
“You handle this part.”
His voice is flat, devoid of any room for negotiation. It’s not a command, but a statement—he has already divided the work and is simply informing you.
He doesn’t check to see if you’re listening; he’s already started turning to the next page.
“Give it to me in three days.”
After saying this, he falls silent, his pen meeting the paper with a faint scratching sound.
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