Military Shifts in the Strategic Landscape

Military Shifts in the Strategic Landscape

When Lin Qi pushed open the door, everyone in the room stood up.

"This is one of the most famous writers on the West Coast..."

Penny's manager had already hurried over. She hadn't flown in; after the cruise ship accident a few days ago, she had come to the West Coast and waited here for news.

Fortunately, Penny had returned safely. Afterward, however, she locked herself in the bathroom and washed for a very long time. She didn't look to be in very good condition mentally, either.

Of course she wouldn't be. She had spent two days in a cramped, enclosed space. It wasn't winter, and Penny had blocked the airflow, making the temperature in her little hiding place noticeably higher than elsewhere.

Not to mention that beneath the ventilation opening had been the scene of a murder. A corpse had slowly changed from fresh to somewhat desiccated right in front of her eyes. Even now, whenever she closed her eyes, that horrifying scene appeared before her.

She needed rest—proper rest.

Lin Qi looked toward a gentleman beside the sofa.

He wore the sort of hat painters liked to wear. It had a button on top and sat somewhat loosely. Many painters liked this kind of hat, though writers did too.

Wearing a hat in a setting like this was impolite, so the gentleman had naturally removed it and held it in his hands.

It was clear that aside from reflecting his identity, the hat also concealed a minor problem of his—hair loss, for example.

"Very pleased to meet you..." Lin Qi shook his hand, then looked toward the others.

There was one other person in the room: a young girl with a portable typewriter in front of her.

It was called portable, but