Jiang Cheng stopped outside the gate and didn't ride in.
Being given face is a compliment, but one must know their limits.
"Grandpa, I'm here again."
Jiang Cheng greeted warmly, holding four or five candies in her palm, and handed them to the old man at the gate: "Brought back from the provincial city, sweeten Little Stone's mouth."
Little Stone was the gatekeeper's grandson, seven or eight years old.
"Oh—what's this for—"
The old man tried to refuse, but Jiang Cheng was already pushing her bicycle inside.
Once inside, Jiang Cheng parked her bike in the shed and shouted: "Grandpa, please keep an eye on my bike for me!"
"Leave it to me!"
The gatekeeper felt deeply moved, clicked his tongue, and nodded.
"No wonder they all say she's something!"
After saying that, the old man sat at the gate, intently watching over Jiang Cheng's bicycle.
Jiang Cheng, familiar with the textile factory, went straight to the director's office.
