When Yu Lian pushed open the door and stepped inside, applause and cheers erupted at once. He swept his gaze around the room. Everyone from Outpost 12 was there, seated at seven or eight tables—enough to fill the small restaurant almost to capacity.
He'd seen this scene somewhere before, hadn't he? The people were the same, but the place wasn't.
"Welcome our shortest-serving commander at Outpost 12! Welcome our best commander!" Yoyo stood on the tiny stage in one corner of the restaurant, barely big enough for four or five people, and called out loudly.
The cheers and applause grew even louder. Yu Lian even saw a few people wiping away tears as they joined in.
He felt like crying a little too—not for himself, but for Lieutenant Mondsen and the others who had already died.
Amid the crowd's welcome, Yu Lian squeezed his way to the table where the sergeants major and senior sergeants were sitting. That, naturally, meant the feast had begun. Everyone there was a rough-and-ready soldier, so they just called for plenty of good food and drink. The restaurant was soon bustling again. Yoyo, already a little tipsy, took the microphone and showed no intention of coming down from the stage. She belted out song after song, earning rounds of applause from everyone. And, as it turned out, she was actually quite good.
"I was planning to take that mithril to the black market and sell it, but then the Alliance heiress stepped in. Here's fifty million—quite a bit more than I expected. Take it and distribute it among everyone according to... tsk, the usual rules." Yu Lian handed a card to Dr. Banks.
Without WeChat or Alipay, things sure were primitive. But Yu Lian knew it wasn't just a matter of technology; there were political