Qin Haoran strolled down the wide marble steps of the observation terrace, holding his megaphone in his left hand and a digital tablet in his right.
His polished dress shoes clicked lightly against the stone. Above his head, his emerald-green halo hovered with warm, steady brilliance:
[Qin Haoran: Goodness 80.6 / 100]
[Title: Taichu Yanjing Public Relations Director]
As he reached Gate Number Three, Qin Haoran flashed a wide, welcoming corporate smile that looked like a toothpaste advertisement.
“Step right up, gentlemen!” Qin Haoran called out cheerfully through the megaphone. “Taichu Sanctuary City welcomes every honest soul in Yanjing! No need to push! There are plenty of one-yuan apartments for everyone who lives with a clear conscience!”
Situ Peng leaned heavily on his aluminum crutch, dragging his left leg through the slushy snow.
His face was contorted into an expression of theatrical misery. He touched the corner of his eye with a dirty cotton handkerchief, letting out a dry, raspy cough that sounded like a broken bellows.
