"Oh, sorry about that!"
With a laugh that carried a hint of nonchalance and a touch of flamboyance, the frosted glass door of the conference room was abruptly pushed open.
A middle-aged man in his forties strode in, wearing a floral shirt under an ill-fitting black suit, a thumb-thick gold chain making a dazzling appearance with each step.
His face was bloated with flesh, cheeks stained with an abnormal shade of wine red, his aura emanating a mix of cologne and smoke, a typical nouveau riche crashing a formal occasion.
The judges who had been sitting upright changed their expressions slightly, and stood up in unison, chairs scratching against the floor with a harsh sound.
"Teacher Zhang."
"President Zhang."
In the greetings from everyone, there was a deliberate obsequiousness.
Zhang Fuqiang glanced around with satisfaction, a smile playing on his thick lips, his gaze accurately landing on the real leather chair in the main seat: "I hope I'm not late?"
