Tonight, the bar was closed for business.
But the waitstaff, the manager, and the bartender all worked as usual, including Lu Yanhe.
The tables were covered with countless heart-shaped Post-it notes, and everyone was holding a pen, continuously writing something on them.
Lu Yanhe's wrist was sore from writing. They usually typed on computers and only picked up a pen to sign their names. When had they ever written with such earnestness?
Moreover, this wasn't for his own wife, which made it feel particularly exhausting to write.
He could only comfort himself after each note: Huo Jingting had left him a six-story building.
Thinking this way, he felt much more consoled in his heart.
It was past ten o'clock when Lu Yanhe looked up and saw that everyone was flagging, so he chuckled lowly, "Come on, buck up, write faster!"
Even if they lacked energy, there was nothing they could do because nobody dared to disobey the boss's orders, so they perked up and continued writing.
