The printing factory's machines were quiet, but the employees at the publishing house next door were even quieter.
The business license on the wall had already been taken away, and the remaining three employees waited uneasily for their final judgment.
When Chen Yu walked in, an elderly Confucian scholar in his eighties adjusted his glasses, rose to his feet, and bowed respectfully. "Young Master." Chen Yu took a step back and said helplessly, "Why are you just like Peony? Let's be a little bourgeois about this. Just call me Chen Yu." "That won't do, that won't do." The old scholar hurriedly waved his hands. "You bought this place, so you're the young master here. We must observe propriety. If you don't, people will laugh at us."
Chen Yu drew a sharp breath and carefully looked over the employees present.
Of the three employees, one was eighty years old, while the other two were a young man and woman who looked like they had just graduated from university. Yet both carried an air of old age. Although they dressed quite modernly, Chen Yu felt as though they were ancient people who had stepped out of old books, carrying a decayed, oppressive aura. No wonder young people like Jiang Wen had not wanted to stay here. If they remained too long, they would probably grow old ahead of time.
Realizing he could not persuade them, Chen Yu turned to the young woman and asked, "Could you introduce the situation here?"
The woman immediately stood up and skillfully performed a formal bow before saying respectfully, "Young Master, our publishing house had already obtained its business license, and a Grand Confucian had even decided to publish a book with us. But because paper could never be transported in, we had no choice but to