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A gentle breeze blew softly.
Pine trees swayed quietly.
A-Piao danced on a motorcycle.
The director, with an irregular heartbeat and pale eyes, leaned back as light as a swallow.
"Director, director..." A subordinate quickly supported the director's waist.
Having been the director of a funeral parlor for several years, Meng Deyuan forced a smile: "I knew this day would come. Did any of you see it just now? There were several white objects moving rapidly."
"Director, that was the forensic doctors riding motorcycles." The subordinate was young, with keen eyesight, unlike Meng Deyuan, who had presbyopia and heart disease and always liked to think about strange things.
Meng Deyuan said, "You're not even trying to make up a lie now. I just saw several white ones. And why would forensic doctors ride motorcycles?"
The subordinate helplessly said, "Ghosts don't need to ride motorcycles either."
"Use honorifics."
"What?"