With a single sentence from Director Song, everyone fell silent.
Li Ye was embarrassed. Uncle Yue was embarrassed too, and Wen Qingsheng's expression was not entirely natural either.
Because when Li Ye had just asked whether they sold dried noodles, it had carried the suspicion of exposing someone's sore spot.
And Director Song's words—"I don't sell dried noodles anymore. I sell ducks now"—left even more room for imagination. It felt as though an honest man, pushed beyond endurance, had picked up a soft blade and stabbed back hard.
Wen Qingsheng pulled a stern face and reprimanded Li Ye. "Who told you all that nonsense? You even went digging into someone buying dried noodles from a thousand miles away?"
Li Ye hurriedly said, "Dad, please don't misunderstand me. It's like this—there's an engineer surnamed Xie at my unit. Some of his classmates seem to have been assigned to Director Song's system.
"He told me conditions over there were rather difficult. Then several leaders taking the lead each found ways to raise money so research could continue normally. I heard someone even distributed foreign currency they had saved from overseas trips to the researchers."
"Yes, that did happen."
Director Song took over, speaking in a low voice. "One leader in our system was even disciplined over it, because according to regulations, that foreign currency was supposed to be handed back.
"But now everyone only has eyes for money. If you don't raise young people's wages, they'll all run off in the blink of an eye."
"At first, I was too embarrassed to set up a stall selling dried noodles. I always felt it was shameful and humiliating. In the end, my family stepped forward and held up the stall for me.
"Now I don't care anymore. Otherwise, I wouldn't have switched from