Jing Ya's eyes never left Ye Fengsheng's voice, but he held his phone in his hand, dialed Jing Zhu's number, handed it to the foreman, and said, "Tell him Mr. Ye and I want to open his wine."
Of course, there was Ye Fengsheng's voice.
The sound of footsteps gradually approached, accompanied by the subtle laughter of a little girl and the slightly amplified voice of a man.
As they walked indulgently, a few people came over and looked at the two by the pond under the dim light. They didn't know who had come, so they didn't deal with it. Instead, they comfortably walked into the water, squinting their eyes to enjoy the tranquil and comfortable midnight time.
Forty-seven years of wine, I wonder what it tastes like.
Suddenly, someone opened his mouth, his words full of admiration. He should usually be a drunkard.
"Pah, the Meng Zimo family is dreaming again."
