Life in North America, you call this an autopsy officer?!

"How is this painting?"

A bald, middle-aged white man wearing black-rimmed glasses walked in from outside.

This private reception room was enclosed by glass without any coverings, making it possible to see inside and out. However, the soundproofing was excellent; once the door was closed, hardly any noise from outside could be heard.

Brian turned his head to the newcomer, "Professor Mycroft?"

Mycroft nodded, "Yes, but I prefer people to call me by my name directly. How do you feel about this painting? It was a gift from a friend from Hua Country. He said that they prefer the ’sense of atmosphere’ in their ink paintings. I’ve never understood what that means, so I hung it up here in hopes of finding someone to interpret it for me."

"Sense of atmosphere?"

Brian thought for a moment and pointed to Mycroft’s tall, gorgeous secretary standing behind him, "Green, how would you approach her if you wanted to sleep with her?"

Green: "Ah?"

Everyone here was respectable; it wasn’t appropriate for Brian to say something like that.

The beautiful secretary, upon hearing this, showed no change in expression, as if the discussion did not involve her.