The office was silent.
Hastings flicked the switch on his wheelchair, moved to the window, and quietly gazed at the early winter scene of Hydefield.
The sky was as clear as a polished jade, with only a few wisps of floating clouds. Two warplanes moved slowly, one after the other, in the vast expanse of blue on the horizon. Behind the warplanes were two white lines, tightly knit and unbroken. A rain had made the distant view doubly clear. Towers of soaring Space Cities, spiraling aerial highways and the undulating Feaoqi Mountain painted a pristine, immaculate picture.
"After you leave, will it be destroyed by the war?" Francis walked noiselessly to Hastings' side, staring at the city outside the window. The temples of this Feiyang President were already streaked with white. At this moment, he stood quietly here, more like a cultivated scholar.
"That depends on our luck." Hastings smiled slightly, without turning his head.
