This was a room similar to a small theater, with a stage at the very front. Unlike in a standard theater, the seats here were not densely packed, but rather just a few circular booths were scattered around the stage at various positions.
The booths were round with a ring of sofas and a circular table in the center.
Someone was performing on the small stage—it looked like an opera piece. Song Heping didn't understand this stuff, but he could be sure it was something along the lines of opera.
Foreigners really like this kind of thing.
It just didn't occur to him that in such a war-torn place, there would still be an exact replica of Western luxury.
In the central booth, several people were already seated, with red wine and cigars on the table.
The air was wafting with a rich aroma of tobacco.
Francis was leading the way ahead, arriving next to the booth, stepping over to Robbin, and whispering a few sentences into his ear.