Old Feng remembered that the city hadn't been developed the last time he took the lift. During those times, lifts were less advanced and not as quiet.
It spent some time to reach the 27th floor.
Old Feng looked at the steel plates in the lift. It was smooth enough for seeing one's figure on it, like a mirror.
He tidied himself many times before leaving his home, but he still tried to check if something didn't look good through the steel plate surface.
He had never been so nervous.
When the lift arrived at the floor, Old Feng breathed deeply, putting on a mask and adjusted his glasses, before walking to a door and pressing the doorbell.
It was as if he could hear his heartbeat. He clenched his hands, then loosened them, repeating the actions. Soon, his hands turned wet.
He felt time passed slowly---until the moment the door was opened.
"Oh, Mr. Zhou, come in please!" Zhou Zihao opened the door, "Why are you wearing a mask?"
