As the car disappeared from view, Sheng Yan finally retracted his gaze and looked down at the business card in his hand.
Meng Chuzheng, Agent...
Agent?
Sheng Yan tightly gripped the business card, parked his bicycle properly, and then, with his guitar slung on his back, entered the company.
Half an hour later, Sheng Yan came out with his head down.
He had just rescued his bicycle from a line of luxury cars, when his pocket began to vibrate with a struggling phone.
Sheng Yan fished out his phone and answered, "Hello?"
On the other end of the line was a slightly aged but concerned voice: "Xiao Yan, how did it go? Did you pass?"
With his head lowered, Sheng Yan kicked at the bicycle wheel: "No, I was late."
"Huh? How were you late?"
"It's alright, there will be another chance." Sheng Yan knew the person on the other end couldn't see him, but he still put on a smile: "Grandpa, I won't keep you, I'm heading home now."
