Shen Yibin still wasn't able to drag Bernanke to play tennis that day. The guy could barely even stand steadily, so how could he possibly handle hours of suicide runs on a tennis court?
"What a shame. I guess I'll just have to ask the hotel for help." Shen Yibin let Bernanke off the hook, took Hah'Er for a quick swim, and then called the hotel's concierge.
"Good day, Mr. Shen. How may I help you?" A sweet voice came from the other end of the line. So-called high-end hotels weren't just about lavish decorations; their service was equally meticulous.
"I want to play tennis, but I don't have anyone to play with. Could you find two practice partners for me?" Shen Yibin ordered. This was no difficult task for the hotel; since they had tennis courts, they would certainly offer such accompanying services.
