"Alright," Griss shook his head, "anyway, when I go to sleep tonight, I'm definitely going to have my protective shield on."
Yang Ming raised an eyebrow slightly, picked up a nearby drink and took a couple of swigs: "How's the situation, are we starting to engage with their patent bureau tomorrow?"
"According to their schedule, tomorrow is the official talks with the New Federation's government, and it will be hosted by a few young-looking senators," Griss laughed, "I guess those old geezers don't want to come out and make a fool of themselves."
"Senators?"
Yang Ming immediately became interested: "Give me the documents."
"Here," Griss operated his left wristband briefly, and Yang Ming's shell-shaped network terminal received an email.
A few seconds later, projections of seven or eight middle-aged men appeared in front of Yang Ming, each accompanied by a string of data.
"You call these young people?"
Yang Ming laughed and cursed:
"Aren't these all old guys?"
