"Whoa!"
Zhao Yan's eyes lit up, and he let out a whistle.
"This kid looks pretty good! Those sword-like brows and starry eyes—he's no less impressive than I was in my youth!"
Wan Changzheng, who was pouring tea beside him, trembled at the words, his eyelids twitching wildly.
"Xiao Zhao, one must have some self-awareness."
"Do you remember how, at that selection conference, everyone mistook you, the Chief of Staff, for the captain of the special forces?"
"Look how dark you are. You could rival those Eagle Country darkies who came with their own camouflage at night."
"Cough, cough..."
Zhao Yan's old face reddened as he scratched his head.
"Chief, listen to yourself..."
"We're just chatting. Don't go tearing open old scars, will you? Didn't I just not grow into myself back then?"
"Enough, enough. Stop spouting nonsense."
Wan Changzheng impatiently waved a hand and set his teacup on the table.
"I waited for you to wake up so we could analyze this S-class file together. Quit dawdling and get to the important part!"
"Yes, Chief. I'm looking now!"
Zhao Yan put away his playful grin and lowered his gaze to the bloodline concentration data beneath the photograph.
However, the next second—
He froze.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking he had seen things.
Then he nearly pressed his face against the document, carefully counting the digits after the decimal point.
Wan Changzheng lifted his teacup and glanced at him.
"What's wrong? Did sleeping make your eyes blurry? Want me to get Logistics to fit you with a pair of reading glasses?"
As he spoke, he took a sip of hot tea, savoring the lingering aftertaste of bitterness giving way to sweetness.
"No... Chief..."
Zhao Yan straightened up and pointed at the number on the document, wearing the expression of someone