"Tang Zhengming, please have some self-respect."
For some reason, looking at Tang Zhengming's still calm and composed face, Shen Yuyan felt an inexplicable sense of unease.
Her eyes, subconsciously, glanced toward the guest sofa to the side.
There sat a person, a middle-aged Daoist wearing ancient robes, his hair in a bun, and a white horsetail whisk hanging from his belt.
He had come with Tang Zhengming, but since entering this office, he had remained silent from beginning to end, simply sitting there quietly.
But Shen Yuyan vaguely sensed an extremely oppressive aura emanating from this Daoist. It was as if he were a crouched tiger, still until motion—and when he moved, it would be with the force of thunder!
"Hehe, Mr. Shen, why bother with all this? Joining Haotian International is only beneficial for your company; there's no downside. Why not enjoy it?"
Tang Zhengming still wore a smile, gazing at Shen Yuyan with passionate and fervent eyes as he continued:
