Ren Xuan, Tang An, and Deng Jiajia were entrusted with a dangerous mission. Each carrying a camera like it was a bundle of explosives, they bravely left the office.
Tang An twisted his hefty body, his head covered in cold sweat, his steps as heavy as if he were trudging through a swamp.
Mumbling softly as he walked, he said, "This isn't going to shoot news; it's going to shoot our own obituaries..."
Ren Xuan's face alternated between expressions; he gritted his teeth and forced a smile that was more painful than crying, walking in the middle.
Though Deng Jiajia was terrified, when she passed the corridor and saw the "Golden Microphone" trophy in the glass window, her gaze suddenly turned resolute.
She pictured herself standing on the podium, a fierce look crossing her face as she dashed forward with the camera.
At the corridor entrance, Wang Cong, with a larger gourd on his back, stepped aside slightly to make way for the young people heading toward their future.
